When Sarah Went to School

CHAPTER VII SARAH SAVES THE DAY ONCE MORE The curtain went down and rose almost immediately. There had been only faint applause. Scrooge had done his best, but the ghost, speaking from behind the scenes, had not the power to amuse and thrill which he would have had if he had been able to appear. Miss Ellingwood remembered, with a pang, Edward Ellis's delightful vanishing through the window. Miss Ellingwood's face was pale. She realized that the first scene had fallen flat. And they were depending for the success of the second upon little Sarah Wenner, who had never even practiced with the rest of the cast! It had been madness in Sarah to offer, it had been worse than madness for Miss Ellingwood to accept. She peered out from behind the scenes, her hand on Sarah's shoulder. Scrooge was in bed, his night-cap tassel nodded from his pillow. It was time for Sarah to go on. Directions trembled on Miss Ellingwood's lips, but she said nothing. It was too late now to advise. The light was dim, and the audience could see nothing but the outlines of the old four-post bed, and a faint, tiny, white figure, which glided about, now slowly, now swiftly, once with a dash of yellow light upon it, once with a faint glow of purple. Her dress was short, her feet were sandaled, she looked even shorter than she was. The audience gasped. They thought that Edward Ellis was to play the part. Who was this sprite who moved about so lightly? They leaned forward breathlessly as the fairy thing approached Scrooge's bed, and drew the curtain back. A trembling, faltering voice issued from within. "'Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold me?'" It seemed to Miss Ellingwood that long moments passed before the answer came. The child had never been on any stage in all her life. Miss Ellingwood knew what stage fright was. She was suffering from it now herself. Then faintly but clearly came the answer:— "'I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'" "'Long past?' inquired the trembling Scrooge." "'No, your past. Rise and come with me.'" The lights went out, there was the sound of a great wind, then a wild cry which made the timid clutch one another's hands. "'I am afraid! I am afraid! I shall fall.'" The clear voice answered, "'Bear but a touch of my hand upon your heart, and you shall be upheld in more than this.'" The curtain before the back of the stage was lifted, the light came on slowly. There, on the bench in an old-fashioned school-room, sat a small boy, tired, homesick, forlorn. To him entered a little girl, who threw her arms about his neck and told him that he was to come home. The little boy cried happily, and there was a strange echo from the front of the stage. "'It is I!' cried Scrooge. 'I and my sister Fanny.'" "'And here?' said the spirit." The curtain fell and at once was lifted. "'My old master Fezziwig!' laughed Scrooge." The laugh died away at the next scene, when he saw once more the girl whom he had jilted because she was poor. A wild horror was in his voice. "'Leave me, spirit! I cannot bear it!'" The spirit in the white dress and with the streaming hair had already gone, and Scrooge felt his way across the room to bed. When the curtain went up again, it was in a blaze of light. The bed-curtains were closely drawn, and sitting upon the green throne at the other end of the room was a little figure in a long green robe. Even now her schoolmates did not know her. She laughed merrily as she called to Scrooge, whose frightened face peered out from between the curtains. It brightened at sight of this cheerful ghost, but not for long. The Ghost of Christmas Present had sad sights to show. The light faded, and though Christmas bells rang merrily, one could not hear them or enjoy them because of starved, wolfish children living in misery, and poor Cratchit and his family trying to make merry over their goose, while want stared them in the face. The audience sighed when the curtain fell once more and Scrooge wandered about his room alone. By this time Miss Ellingwood had dropped her book and was devoting her whole attention to the tableaux. They were saddest of all now. Sarah was a tall figure without shape. Miss Ellingwood had contrived a support far above her head for the black robe. The stage was almost dark, and Scrooge had fallen upon his knees, as he watched the scenes of future Christmases. Tiny Tim, the Cratchit cripple, had died from want of care, Scrooge himself lay in the churchyard, hideous Mrs. Dilber and her friends discussed his scant personal possessions, and the vast amount of his wealth went back into his business without ever having profited a human soul. The audience caught the spirit of Scrooge's horror of himself, of his ecstatic joy at finding that he was still alive, and that there was time for him to redeem himself. They laughed and applauded, and there were those who cried. Then when the applause had died down, there was a loud call for the ghosts. "It sounds like Edward," said Miss Ellingwood. "Run out and bow, Sarah." Sarah clutched Miss Ellingwood's dress. " Ach , I cannot!" "Yes, dear, you must." In a second she found herself in the middle of the stage. She saw the laughing, astonished faces, she saw Dr. Ellis applauding, she saw Professor Minturn smile, and back against the wall four tall boys, the real ghosts, who had come back at last. Near them, there stood some one else, a little taller than they, who waved his hand. It was William; he had come to take her home. Then her fright vanished. She was not Sarah any more. She was the Christmas Spirit, just as in the old days, when she played with the twins, she had been Jacob Kalb or Uncle Daniel or the Judge of the Orphans' Court by turns. "Merry Christmas!" she cried, and then, like Tiny Tim, "'God bless us, every one!'" Mr. Sattarlee was back of the scenes when she returned. He took both her hands in his. It was as though she had saved the day for him, instead of for Miss Ellingwood. "Everybody is coming over to my rooms to have something to eat, Sarah, and of course we want you." Sarah smiled at him. "I thank myself, ach , I mean I am much obliged. But my brother is here, and—" "We will have him too. We couldn't get along without either of you." Ethel and Gertrude each held out a grateful hand. Even a tale-bearer must have her due. "You saved the play, Miss Wenner." Sarah's happy little smile died away. " Ach , no, ma'am." But she could not be long unhappy. Miss Ellingwood's hand would not let her go. When William came he only said, "Why, you little rascal!" which was praise enough. He talked and laughed with Miss Ellingwood and Mr. Sattarlee, and made friends with the boys, until he grew more wonderful than ever in the eyes of his little sister. She sat on the sofa beside Miss Ellingwood, and Edward Ellis and the other ghosts told them how they had walked home, despairing of getting there in time, but determined to do their best. Ethel and Gertrude glanced at them, and Ethel shrugged her shoulders lightly. "How do you suppose she ever did it?" said Gertrude. A mocking smile came into Ethel's blue eyes. It was well for Sarah that she did not hear; it would have grieved her heart almost as much as it hurt generous Ethel's to say a thing so mean. "Isn't it her usual occupation to listen and tell?" asked Ethel. CHAPTER VII SARAH SAVES THE DAY ONCE MORE The fall term of school is a time of adjustment, and the spring term flies so quickly that it is hardly begun before it is over. It is in winter that most real work is accomplished. Then, too, when the days are short, and life out of doors does not call so insistently, friendships quicken and school spirit grows. Sarah felt very much better after her return from home. Laura had sternly forbidden her to do any heavier work than drying dishes, and looking after the twins and Albert, and she had told stories to her heart's content, and coasted and skated until she forgot that a grammar or a geography ever existed. Now she worked diligently. It is safe to say that never had one small girl learned so much in so short a time. Professor Minturn was delighted with her progress; he regarded his theory that the sub-Junior and the Junior History could be combined as already proved. The Geography professor cheered her enthusiastically on. He had meant to speak to Dr. Ellis about her transference from one class to the other, but he had forgotten it, and Sarah proceeded undisturbed. Mr. Sattarlee continued to have her read at sight for him in the evenings. He had begun to be really interested in seeing how much she could do. Class rivalry always came to a head at the annual gymnasium exhibition, which took place just before the close of the winter term. There were performances by individuals, elaborate swinging of clubs and heavy work of various kinds, Gilbert dancing and intricate drills. The class which made the best record was given a silver cup. Hitherto the cup had always been won by the Middle or the Senior class. Each year the enthusiastic Juniors made a frantic effort and failed. Occasionally they excelled in individual work, but the other classes had the advantage of longer team-work in the drills. This year the Senior class was weak, and the Juniors would have had some hope, had it not been that the Middlers were exceptionally strong. By this time the glow which followed the Christmas vacation was gone, and Sarah was once more a very tired girl. She had looked forward to the entertainment for weeks, but now that it was at hand, she wished with all her heart that she could go to bed instead of attending it. The sub-Junior girls gave only an elementary wand-drill at the opening of the exhibition. The audience was still gathering; they formed merely the inconspicuous orchestra before the beginning of the real performance. When the drill was over, Sarah was glad to climb the steps to the running-track, and look down sleepily over the crowd in search of Miss Ellingwood. The floor of the great gymnasium was divided into two parts. One was left bare for the exhibition; the other was covered by a steep tier of seats occupied by the invited guests of the faculty and the faculty themselves. The students, when they were not at work, watched from the wide running-track which circled the gymnasium. Its railing was gayly decked with school and class banners, and it was crowded with close-packed groups of enthusiastic boys and girls. Far above in the dusk, showed dimly the great beams which upheld the vaulted roof. Presently Sarah found Miss Ellingwood, sitting almost beneath her, with Mr. Sattarlee by her side. Then Sarah grew more and more sleepy. She heard the girls of her own class whispering round her. Mabel and Ellen were near by, but she did not turn her head, which rested comfortably against one of the upright supports of the great beam. Below on the floor the girls of the Middle class were beginning an elaborate swinging of Indian clubs, moving in such perfect time with the music and with one another that the difficult task seemed the easiest in the world. Already the girls of the Junior class, who were to follow, were quietly slipping down the stairs. Sarah saw them dimly, Ethel and Gertrude and all the others whom she so admired, and who paid no attention to her. The fact that she had saved their class play seemed to make them not more but even less friendly. The tears came into her eyes, and she brushed them angrily away. What a goose she was! She tightened her hold a little on the upright iron, and leaned her head against it once more. If she could only go over to the Main Building and go to bed! Then suddenly she awoke. It seemed to her at first that she heard the cheering in her sleep; then it grew to a great roar all about her. The sub-Juniors beside her were cheering, the group of boys of the Middle class on the opposite side of the running-track were yelling madly, and "Bobs," Edward Ellis's collie, who would not be left at home, was barking as though he would burst his throat. Sarah made out the Middle class yell:— "Hip, hip, hooray, Scarlet and gray, We win the day!" Then, looking up, she saw the cause of the excitement. Floating proudly from the great central beam, far above her head, was the scarlet and gray banner of the Middle class. The banner must have been rolled up and fastened there by some adventurous climber, and a cord by which it could be unfurled carried down along the supports to the opposite side of the running-track. It was no wonder that the Middlers had insisted upon having that particular spot. The cord had unfastened itself properly, and the great flag was left free to float back and forth in the slight breeze which came in round the many tall windows. There was a wild yell from the Junior class, not of delight, but of disgust and dismay, and "Bobs" changed his bark to a howl. The trick was a clever one, and it did not add to the comfort of the Juniors to realize that there was nothing to be done. The next number on the programme was a minuet by the Junior girls. They would have to give it, alas, under the colors of their rivals. Edward Ellis and half a dozen others tried to push their way through the close-packed ranks of the Middlers, but Dr. Ellis saw them and motioned them back. Meanwhile the Middler girls went quietly on, not losing a beat of their time. When they finished, they marched out amid loud cheers and clapping of hands. The sub-Juniors round Sarah were dancing up and down. Traditionally they were the friends of the Middle class, and the Middle class itself did not enjoy the sight of the great banner as much as they. "Won't the Juniors be furious?" laughed Ellen Ritter. "I can just see Ethel Davis and Gertrude Manley when they behold it. And they can't do a thing. Good for 'em!" And the sub-Juniors moved a little farther down the running-track, crowding the Seniors behind them, so that they could see the faces of the Junior girls when they caught the first glimpse of the scarlet flag. The same flame leaped suddenly in Sarah's heart that had flared before she pursued Jacob Kalb with a gun, and before she had poured the water out through the transom. But this time she deliberated and laid her plans more slowly. She owed the members of her own class no loyalty. She looked up at the great beam far above her head. She tried to shake the iron upright upon which her hand rested and found it as firm as the boards beneath her feet; then she stared up again at the beam and down at the floor far below, and her eyes brightened. There was a Junior flag just under her hand. The Junior class would enter in the dark, the lights were to be entirely extinguished, so that they could slip to their places without being seen, and then the light would come, not from the electric globes, but from a stereopticon lantern at the end of the room, which would throw colored lights upon the performers. Sarah knew all the arrangements. Already the gymnasium director had risen to announce that the lights would be turned out, and that no one should be alarmed. Sarah glanced about once more. It was fortunate that she was just above the entrance to the dressing-room, and in the most undesirable place on the track. There was no one within ten feet. She put her hand on the belt of her gymnasium suit to be sure that the buttons were all tight and that nothing should hamper her, and then she thought of the tall hickory tree at home, up which she had scrambled ever since she could remember, and smiled. The row of lights above the running-track faded and went out, and she put her arms round the slender iron pole. Then those below were darkened, and with a spring her rubber-soled feet were on the railing. When she felt the great beam, she had one moment of awful fright. What if they should suddenly turn on the lights and she be discovered hanging in mid-air? She would not be able to keep her hold. There would be one agonized moment, then she would drop down, down to the floor beneath. But the fright did not make her stop. It vanished completely when she felt under her hands the cord which fastened the flag. She did not attempt to untie it, there was no time for that. There were two pins on the front of her blouse, which had fastened on the sub-Junior badge which she had worn during her own drill. Wrapping the Middler flag round the beam, so that it was completely hidden, she pinned the Junior flag to its edge, and then crept slowly back. She could see far below her the line of dim white figures crossing the gymnasium. In another instant they would be in their places, and then the lights would flare out. Thankfully she felt the iron pole beneath her feet, and in wild panic slid down, the iron burning her hands like steam. Then she stood holding desperately to it, panting. It was the man who managed the stereopticon who revealed the new banner. The Junior girls in their white dresses wove back and forth in intricate figures, now in the gleam of violet, now in the glow of rose-color. Now they spread out from one end of the wide floor to the other, now they were close together. Presently there was a glow of yellow light which illuminated the whole gymnasium and rested especially upon the high beam. The stereopticon man had no sympathy with any particular class. He realized that the scarlet and gray flag was an object of interest, so he trained his light upon it. Every eye in the gymnasium was lifted at once. Bedlam broke loose, after an instant's pause, during which faculty and students and guests stared open-mouthed. Where was the Middler banner? Who had dared to climb out there and remove it? And who had hung the Junior banner there? "Light blue and white, We're all right!" roared the Junior boys. "Wow, wow, wo-o-ow," howled "Bobs." "Bang, bang, bang," played the pianist, in a noble effort to be heard above the din. Only the Junior girls seemed undisturbed. They wove more intricate evolutions, deaf to the piano as they were; their powdered heads bowed to one another, their motion seemed to grow more light and fairy-like. Presently one of them glanced upward, then another, and some one smiled faintly, and without another sign, they went on with more spirit than ever. A Middler started at once to climb the pole, but was ordered back. Then another tried it, and was sternly reproved. The flag must hang there now, there would be no more seasons of convenient darkness in which it might be torn down. The Junior girls marched out, Ethel Davis and Gertrude Manley leading, as they led most affairs in their class. Now it was the turn of the Middler boys to take a taste of their own medicine, and give their drill under a rival banner. They gritted their teeth angrily. The displacement of their flag disturbed them sorely. The cup was theirs already, they were sure of that, but the celebration with which they meant to mark their victory was spoiled. Anger may be a spur in a long jump or in putting the shot, but it does not conduce to good team-work. One of the Middlers lifted his clubs too swiftly, another too slowly, and they did not begin in good form. And then there was the click of club against club, an evidence of carelessness of which not even the sub-Juniors would be guilty. A giggle spread along the line of the Juniors. The audience heard and the Middlers themselves heard, and their faces grew hot and their hands unsteady. There was a bang, a crash, and an Indian club flew in a wide curve, and sailed through the glass door which opened into the director's office. It was an unpardonable crime. "Attention!" cried the director. "Clubs at rest, right face, march." For the first time in the history of the school a Middle class had failed, and the Juniors had won the cup. Sarah had slipped to the rear of the group of her classmates. She was desperately tired, and her hands burned like fire. If she could only go to bed! But no one was expected to leave until the end. It seemed to her that minutes lengthened into hours and still the entertainment dragged on. All round her she heard excited inquiry. What Junior had crept out on the beam? Was it Edward Ellis? "You didn't see a Junior go up this side, did you, Sarah?" asked Mabel Thorn; and Sarah answered with a truthful and weary "No." She had sat down on the edge of a springboard, she did not hear even the loud cheering which followed the handing of the cup to the Junior president. There was a rush for the stairs, and she was carried on unresisting. Then she slipped aside and opened the door leading to the lower floor. From there a narrow passageway ran between the swimming-pool and the girls' dressing-room and thence led out of doors. The main exit was jammed with arguing, cheering students; she could not go out that way. As she passed the door of the girls' dressing-room, she heard the same excited questions shouted back and forth. Ethel and Gertrude were laughing and talking as they struggled out of their long cheese-cloth dresses. Suddenly one of them called to her:— "Who are you, out there? Suppose you come in and untangle me!" Sarah knew well enough that if they had known it was she they would not have called her. Nevertheless, she went in and asked what she could do. "Oh," said Gertrude, "is it you, Miss Wenner? Please unpin this down the back." "Yes, ma'am," answered Sarah. She could scarcely open her hand; it felt as though there were not a fragment of skin left on the palm, but she struggled bravely with the stubborn pins. It seemed to her a long time until she was able to extract the first one. "There is one out already," she said faintly. Ethel turned to look at her and then came a little closer. "What's the matter? Look at me, child!" The word slipped out involuntarily, and she corrected herself at once. "Miss Wenner, what is the matter? Let me see your hand." And Ethel seized it and pointed to the white dress. There was a slow-spreading, scarlet stain on it. "No," cried Sarah. "Leave me go. It is nothing. I—I just skinned myself a little. I—" Ethel firmly opened her fingers. Then Gertrude looked at her other hand. It too was bleeding. Sarah tried to pull her hands away. " Ach , it is nothing. Leave me be!" "It looks to me—" began Ethel slowly. "As though you had been sliding down the pole in the gym," finished Gertrude. "I skinned my hand there once before I learned how," said Ethel. "But the gym hasn't been open for practice to-day, and this has just been done. How did you do it?" Sarah had lost all power to struggle. " Ach , it is nothing!" Gertrude gasped. "Did you climb up that pole and put our flag on the beam?" "Answer her, please," commanded Ethel. "Yes, ma'am." "Why?" "Because—because— Ach , leave me go!" The great low-ceiled locker-room was growing dim. Sarah tried to jerk away. This time it was not embarrassment but terror which gave her strength. "You haven't any business to talk to me like this. I did it because I didn't want to see you drill under that other flag. I hate that other flag. And I hate—" Sarah took a deep breath. Her heart felt like a hard lump in her breast. There was a red flaming light before her eyes,—"I hate you !" CHAPTER VIII THE RESULT OF PROFESSOR MINTURN'S EXPERIMENT It was a long time before either Ethel or Gertrude answered. They had not been more surprised at sight of the Junior banner above their heads. They were both accustomed to being liked, not hated. "What makes you say that?" asked Ethel. Her cheeks were hot. Sarah's climbing to the roof of the gymnasium was not in accord with the character which she bore in the school. Certainly that was not the way to please teachers, or to win their favor for herself. Sarah's voice shook. She did not feel the pain in her hands. The lights had gone out, and they seemed to be alone in the locker-room. "Because I meant it." Then good English flew to the winds. "You are all the time cross over me. You are too high up. I am dumb and I can't always talk right, and I come from Spring Grove post-office, but I don't do you anything. I never did you anything. I—" There was the spurt of a match, and Gertrude lit the gas. Then she laid her hands on Sarah's shoulders and turned her to the light. Her voice trembled also. "Look here. You've been frank, and I shall, too. Did you ever report your room-mates for making a noise?" "No." The answer was explosive. "Do you tell Miss Ellingwood everything that you can find out?" Sarah laughed hysterically. "I don't find out anything to tell her. How should I?" "Did you never tell her about your room-mates?" "I never say nothing from them at all to nobody. I leave them alone. But they won't leave me alone. They made me throw water on Miss Ellingwood, they made me—" She looked about so wildly that the girls were frightened. Gertrude put a steadying arm round her. "You were right. We have been mean." Sarah looked at her piteously. " Ach , I—I shouldn't have talked so. I—" Ethel looked gravely into Gertrude's eyes. "Yes, you should," she said to Sarah. "Now, come over to our room and I'll tie up your hands for you. You mustn't tell anybody that it was you that slid down the pole." "No, ma'am. I wish I could go in my bed. If I don't go in my bed, I won't know my lessons for to-morrow." "You shall go to bed." But Miss Ellingwood's room was crowded with guests, and there was the sound of many voices in Sarah's. "It is no place I can sleep," she cried. The pain in her hands had come back, and made her feel faint. It seemed to her that she should die if she could not sleep. "Yes, there is," said Ethel and Gertrude together. And so with peaceful heart and bandaged hands, Sarah slept in Ethel's bed, while Ethel and Gertrude whispered together across the room. "It was in the air," said Ethel. "Everybody distrusted her." Gertrude sat up in bed. "I think we've been hateful, hateful ," she said. "Listen!" "Some people always talk in their sleep," answered Ethel. "I guess she's tired, poor child. I'm not sleepy, are you?" "No," said Gertrude, "I'm ashamed. Are you?" Following the gymnasium entertainment came a few days of examinations, then a day of hurried packing, before the scattering of five hundred boys and girls to their homes for a week. Sarah was to go home; she had been thinking for a long time of the snowdrops which would be in bloom on the south side of the house, and the daffodils which must be poking up through the earth. But now at the last moment, she did not seem to care. If they would only let her go to bed and sleep and sleep! She feared that some day she might drop over asleep where she stood, and frighten Miss Ellingwood and Ethel and Gertrude. How absurd it would be to fall asleep in the middle of the day! Mabel Thorn and Ellen Ritter often took naps after dinner, but Sarah had not slept in the daytime since she was a baby. If she had been a little older or a little less forgiving, she might have been slower to accept the friendship of Ethel and Gertrude, offered at once in many penitent and friendly ways. But almost immediately the hardness went out of her heart and the tremor from her voice when she saw them or spoke to them. Finally she felt the same soft, happy thrill of relief that she had felt when Aunt 'Liza appeared with her gift of cake and schnitz . "Nobody is cross over me, and I am not cross over anybody," she said to herself. And in a day or two she did tumble over as she had feared. Ethel and Gertrude were waiting for her on the steps. She was going with them to the shop to order viands for a feast to be held in their room that evening. Miss Ellingwood had gone walking, and Sarah grew heated and impatient over the fastening of her sailor suit, and the tying of her red scarf. She did not wait for the elevator, but ran downstairs, jumping over the last step of each flight, and then going more sedately out past the office door. She remembered afterwards that she had felt a little dizzy, and that she had once put out her hand to steady herself. She saw Professor Minturn coming toward her on his way to the faculty meeting in the office, and she tried to straighten up and bow to him. Instead, she pitched forward at his feet. In one step, Professor Minturn was beside her. He expected to see her scramble up, red-faced and embarrassed. "Oh, I hope you haven't hurt yourself!" he began to say. But Sarah did not move. "Miss Wenner!" he said, in a tone which brought Dr. Ellis and the Secretary and Eugene hurrying from the office. By that time, he had lifted her from the floor. "She seems to have fainted," he said. Dr. Ellis swept a pile of catalogues from the office-sofa. "Lay her down there, Minturn. Eugene, get some water." The color was coming back faintly to Sarah's cheeks when Miss Ellingwood walked in. Then it vanished once more, and she lay limp and deadly white. "Telephone for Dr. Brownlee," commanded Dr. Ellis. "Ah, there, she's opening her eyes. Look here, Sarah!" Sarah smiled faintly. SHE SEEMS TO HAVE FAINTED "I feel so—so—queer," she whispered. "I would like to go in my bed." "You shall," Dr. Ellis assured her. "Eugene, do you think you can carry her upstairs?" Professor Minturn held out his arms. He was frowning; he felt suddenly a great anxiety and uneasiness. But he was sure that he had asked the child whether she was well; he could not have been so careless as to give her extra work without ascertaining that. She had always looked strong. He could not believe that this pale child could be that same rosy-cheeked little girl who had worked with such spirit. "Let me take her upstairs," he said nervously. By the time he returned, Dr. Brownlee was coming in at the front door. "You'll come down and tell us at once how she is and what is the matter, doctor?" he said. "She's a favorite pupil of mine." Then he went in and took his seat by the window in the faculty room, among his colleagues who were waiting for him, and the meeting was called to order. Dr. Brownlee tapped at the door before the business was fairly begun. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I thought I could get back before your meeting was in session." "Come in," invited Dr. Ellis. "How is your patient? What is the trouble?" Dr. Brownlee's answer was prompt and to the point. "Overstudy." "Impossible!" answered Dr. Ellis just as promptly. "She is a sub-Junior, and the sub-Junior branches are not hard, and she is a bright girl and was well prepared." Dr. Brownlee did not like to be contradicted. "She's been talking incoherently about extra history and extra geography and extra something else. I don't remember what the other is. She doesn't look like a girl who should have any extras of any kind. At least not now. I don't know what she looked like when she came here." "She looked like a strong, healthy country girl. She was slender, but she looked well. She has had regular exercise in the gymnasium, and she hasn't had any extra work to do, I am positive." Professor Minturn rose suddenly. "I have always had a theory that the sub-Junior and the Junior History could be advantageously combined. I thought Miss Wenner was a good subject upon whom to try it. I see now that I was wrong." And he sat down and stared out the window. The teacher of Geography got more slowly to his feet. "I meant to report to you, Dr. Ellis, but I forgot it, that Miss Wenner had been taking the Junior Geography. She was considerably ahead of the sub-Junior class, and so I allowed her to begin the Physical Geography, and perhaps she has been going a—a little faster than the—the rest of the class. She was so enthusiastic, it was a pleasure to teach her. I—I have never had a pupil like her." Dr. Ellis smiled queerly. "Are there any more confessions to be made?" Young Mr. Sattarlee rose from his place at the back of the room. He did not look at Dr. Ellis, or at any of his colleagues, but stared straight over their heads. There was no one in the room who did not know of his devotion to Miss Ellingwood, and Sarah's constant association with her. "She has been reading a little Latin at sight for me," he said. "She did it very well." "She seems to have done very well for all of you," said Dr. Ellis grimly. "I wish that I could feel that we had done as well by her." Dr. Brownlee stood motionless at the door. He was polite enough not to say, "I told you so," though restraining himself must have cost considerable effort. "Put her to bed at once over in the Infirmary where it's quiet," he commanded. "I'll see the nurse. And keep her there for two weeks. Then, if she goes slowly for the rest of the year, doing only her own regular work, and that as easily as possible, she'll get through without any injury to herself. Don't let her go home for the vacation. She isn't fit for the journey or the excitement of seeing people. I'll be down to-morrow morning again. Good-by." At first Sarah lay very still and stared at the infirmary ceiling. She did not remember being carried thither, and it seemed to her that she spent days in trying to realize where she was. She remembered afterwards that she was constantly disturbed by a person in a white dress who insisted that she must eat and drink when she did not wish to eat and drink. "It is very good," the person in white would say coaxingly, and Sarah would rejoin politely but a little wearily,— "Is it so? Then won't you please eat it? I don't want to eat." But all her protestations made no difference; the hot broth or cold milk was poured down her throat. Once a tall man spent several hours by her bed, and fed her and held her hand and was very strong and comforting. After he had gone she said to the nurse, as though she had made a great discovery, "Why, that was William!" and the nurse laughed and said, "Yes." Slowly she began to distinguish other faces, those of three repentant professors, who brought her flowers and sent her fruit and squab, and Miss Ellingwood, equally repentant and even more attentive, who made Sarah proud by whispering to her that she was going to marry Mr. Sattarlee, and that no one but Sarah was to know it until school was over. Presently Ethel and Gertrude came, one at a time, and one day, after she was sitting up, Edward Ellis, with his mother and an armful of flowers. "I never knew that being sick was like this!" she said to her nurse. "It isn't for everybody," answered the nurse, smiling. At the end of two weeks she was allowed to get up, and even to study a little. Every one was anxious to help her. Eugene sprang to take her up in the elevator, even though it was not elevator hours, and Mabel and Ellen said awkwardly that if she would come back and sleep in her own room they would be very quiet. Fortunately, they made the offer before Miss Ellingwood, who said at once that she could not spare Sarah. It was amazing how the sentiment of the school had changed during her illness. Dr. Ellis stopped her and spoke to her whenever he met her in the hall, and one day he asked her to come into his office. "Sarah," he said, "I had a talk with your brother about you, and what he told me made me very proud to have you here, and more sorry than ever that between us we should have let you get sick. Now every Monday morning I want you to come in and report to me how you feel. No, we'd better make it Friday evening. One is most apt to be tired on Friday evening. And Sarah,"—he smiled at the sudden flush of frightened color,—"you won't climb any more gymnasium beams, will you?" Sarah clasped her hands. " Ach , no! I—I was up before I thought. That is the trouble with me. I do things before I think always. I—I promise." She went out of the office with her old swift step. She felt almost entirely well physically. Mentally, she seemed a stranger to herself. Her illness, her watching Miss Ellingwood's happiness, her association with the older girls, made her feel grown up. She was homesick for the twins and Albert and the farm and her old, childish self. The solicitude of the professors was amusing to see. "You have been over the year's work," Professor Minturn reminded her. "Now you will have to do only a little reviewing, just a little each day, Sarah." It was strange how to faculty and girls alike she had become Sarah instead of Miss Wenner. "You needn't come to class regularly. You can spend that time in study, and I will give you a shorter recitation by yourself." " Ach , no, I thank you!" cried Sarah. It was only under special stress of surprise or gratitude that she said ach now. "I will come to class, thank you." The Geography teacher said that he would go over all the Political Geography with her, and Mr. Sattarlee did not say a word to Miss Ellingwood in the evenings until he had heard Sarah's Latin lesson for the next day. It must have been a good deal of a sacrifice, for they had many things to say to each other. And day by day the spring passed. The maples on the campus budded and burst into full leaf, the oaks and hickories followed more slowly. The air was full of the song of birds and the scent of flowers, and slowly the ruddy color came back to Sarah's cheeks to stay. But she was strangely nervous. Each hour that brought home and summer nearer brought also the dreaded ordeal of State Board examinations a little closer. One might study faithfully through the year, and pass the faculty examinations brilliantly, and one's efforts count for nothing unless the state also put its seal upon the results. And Sarah became each day more certain that she should not pass. "It's exactly like a funeral," wailed Ethel Davis. "They come on Wednesday night, seven of them, county superintendents and Normal School principals, and the next morning they begin to examine us, and in the afternoon they examine us again, and then they give us ice-cream for supper when nobody has any appetite for ice-cream, and in the evening sometimes there are left-over examinations, and then we spend the whole night worrying for fear we haven't passed, and they spend the whole of the next day correcting papers,—I'm always glad when it's sweltering hot!—and then they insult us by giving us more ice-cream for supper, and then we go into the chapel to hear whether we have passed." "I won't pass," said Sarah in despair. "I can't pass." Ethel laughed. "Nonsense! Of course you'll pass, child. Why, you have only Spelling and Political Geography and Arithmetic and Physiology to pass. And you always know your Spelling, and you're ahead in Geography. You are a little gosling. Now suppose you had six branches, Latin and History and Physical Geography and Grammar and Drawing and Civil Government. What would you do then, young lady?" "I should die," said Sarah solemnly. "But you'll have them next year." "No," answered Sarah. "I do not believe I will be here next year. The twins must soon have their chance. I cannot take two years to one class. And if they did let me come back, I would be taking Arithmetic and Spelling and Geography and Physiology over again, and you and Gertrude would be two classes ahead of me. That is the way it would be." Ethel looked at her sharply. "You come out for a walk," she said cheerfully; and she took Sarah's books almost by force. She and Gertrude had had a talk with Dr. Ellis, and no dragons could have insisted more firmly than they upon the carrying out of both the letter and the spirit of Dr. Brownlee's directions. CHAPTER IX THE STATE BOARD There was a tradition that the day of the State Board examinations was always fair. This year it was not to be belied. Sarah, who had been awake since before daylight, watched the sun rise, clear and bright, as she dressed. Miss Ellingwood slept peacefully in her room next door, and the morning sweeping and dusting in the halls had not yet begun when Sarah sat down on the window-seat with a pile of books before her. There were a dozen things at which she wished to take a final look. Even her confidence in the Wenner ability to spell had vanished under the strain of the last months, and she meant to glance rapidly through at least half the book. The thought of Arithmetic plunged her into despair; there was no use in trying to review that. But she could take a final look at the Geography and the Physiology. Then, strange to say, she did nothing but sit still and look out over the dewy campus until it was time to go to breakfast. "How do you feel?" asked Miss Ellingwood. "Scared," answered Sarah, trying to smile. The members of the Board breakfasted at the Secretary's table, which was next to Miss Ellingwood's. Sarah, who could not keep her eyes away from them, felt that there was a terrible menace in the way they laughed and joked with one another. Only exceedingly hard-hearted persons could laugh that way just before they assisted in such an inquisition as their examinations were said to be. There was one tall, brown-bearded man at the head of the table, who looked about smilingly at the whole dining-room; he doubtless imposed the most difficult questions of all He made Sarah tremble. If only the day were over and she knew finally and certainly that she had not passed! They would be glad to see her at home, whether she succeeded or failed; and she could hide her stupid head at the farm, and the twins could have her chance. She tried not to think of how wretched she would be if she could never come back. She would never see Ethel and Gertrude again, she would never be able to think of the school with pleasure. She remembered often that Laura had said that coming back to school was like coming back home. And Laura did not have as many ties as Sarah had and would have. Both William and Laura had graduated there, and eventually the twins and Albert would come too. Was she to disgrace them all? Suddenly her sad meditations were interrupted by Miss Ellingwood. "You must eat, Sarah. Finish your coffee at least. See, they don't look so awesome, do they?" The brown-bearded Chairman heard, and turned to Miss Ellingwood and laughed, and then went on to speak in a round, friendly voice. He had a strangely familiar accent. He spoke a little as Sarah's father had spoken, and as Henry Ebert and Uncle Daniel and the other Pennsylvania Germans spoke. Sarah thought that he might have come from Spring Grove itself, and was not far wrong, for he had learned his Pennsylvania-German accent in another little town when he was a boy, and would never lose it. He had evidently, also, the Pennsylvania-German fondness for a joke. "Is she afraid we'll eat her up, Miss Ellingwood?" he asked; at which a good deal of Sarah's fright evaporated. The chapel exercises were more solemn than usual. It was a little like a service before going into battle. At the door, Sarah found Dr. Brownlee waiting to talk to her. He felt her pulse, and laughed at her frightened "Did you ever have to take such examinations?" and told her that if she didn't pass, he'd give her still more bitter medicine. Sarah almost skipped as she ran along the board-walk to the recitation building. The seats, which were assigned in the largest class-rooms, were not given according to classes. Sarah was in the back of the great Drawing-room, a Junior boy beside her, a Senior in front of her. Clutched in her hot hand was her fountain-pen, a blotter, three newly sharpened pencils, and two erasers. If Sarah failed, it was not to be for lack of tools. Even Edward Ellis, who sat next her, was subdued, and gave her only a faint smile as she arranged them on her desk. In the front of the great room, Dr. Ellis talked to the Board of Examiners. This was the main examination room; from here all the papers were given out, and thither they were brought when collected. Sarah watched the men absently, half of her mind trying to bound China, when suddenly they all turned and looked in her direction, and the man with the brown beard smiled. Sarah was terror-stricken. Was the principal telling them that she would not pass? Perhaps he would come to her and say that it was hardly worth while for her to try. Sarah did not blame her teachers for her breaking down; in her opinion it was her own natural "dumbness." But the examiner who distributed the papers had already left one on her desk, and she seized it, and gazed at the printed questions. At first they looked entirely unfamiliar. The two battles of Saratoga? Was it part of Geography or Physiology? It was certainly neither Spelling nor Arithmetic. She frowned and the questions seemed to vanish, and a blank page to stare her in the face. Then, suddenly, she remembered. The battles of Saratoga took place on September 19 and October 7, 1777. But it was a History question, and in History one was not examined until the end of one's Junior year. History was one of Ethel's and Gertrude's subjects. But Sarah was not there to reason, but to obey. She remembered her extra lessons, took courage, and read another question: "Mention four causes of the Civil War." That was easy! And there were only five questions in all. Presently, when she had answered three, she ventured to lift her head. Another paper had been laid on her desk. A new examiner had just passed, his head turned toward the other side of the room, as he answered a question from one of the Seniors. This was a double paper: there were four questions in each of two branches, Arithmetic and Physiology. To Sarah's great joy, these seemed even less difficult. She finished the first paper and attacked the second. Before she had quite finished, the first examiner came to collect, and with a long sigh she passed in all the papers. She saw Mabel Thorn and Ellen Ritter get up and go out, and with them other sub-Juniors, but she did not stir. She would wait until she was told to go. If perseverance would help her through, that should not be lacking. The distributor of papers looked at her a little sharply as he went by. "Physical Geography?" he asked. "Yes, sir," answered Sarah indistinctly. She was beginning to be confused. She could not remember whether she was to be examined in Physical Geography or not, but at least she would try. There were questions in Latin on the same paper, and a half page of translation. The translation was easy. She remembered having read the little story with Mr. Sattarlee. But she could not understand why they should give her a Latin paper. When one was given extra studies by mistake, did one have to take examinations in them? She was afraid to ask questions. Mabel Thorn had asked whether she must answer all the questions in order to pass, and the examiner had not answered her very pleasantly. Evidently they did not like to be questioned. Sarah was too excited to distinguish between necessary and unnecessary questions. Bewildered, she set to work once more. The day was as hot as a June day can be. Not a breath of air stirred the shades at the windows, which did not seem to keep out a bit of the hot sunshine. The examiners had large palm-leaf fans, which they waved tantalizingly back and forth. Occasionally a student stopped writing long enough to fan himself with his examination-paper or to mop his brow. Not so Sarah. Her hand seemed to stick to the paper, the perspiration ran down her cheeks, but she did not stop. Once "Bobs" Ellis furnished a slight diversion. He wandered in in search of Edward, and having found him walked lazily to the front of the room, and sat down, panting, to stare at the examiners. For a few minutes he contemplated them gravely, then he opened his mouth in a tremendous yawn and stalked out. Every one but Sarah laughed and felt better. At noon Miss Ellingwood tried to coax Sarah to eat. "Were they hard, Sarah?" "I—I guess so." "You must lie down for a while after dinner," said Miss Ellingwood solicitously. "And you mustn't say a word or think about examinations." "Yes, ma'am," answered Sarah obediently. She had meant to ask Miss Ellingwood to help her to fathom the mystery of the morning's examinations, but if Miss Ellingwood did not wish to talk about examinations, she would not insist. But she did not lie down. She hunted up her spelling-book and glanced once more at "phthisis" and "relieve" and "receive," and all the words which bothered her. It was the middle of the afternoon before she realized that she had written the answers to seven sets of questions. Several of the grammar questions had baffled her completely, and when an examiner had laid on her desk a sheet of drawing-paper, and had intimated that she was to draw the fern which was placed near her on a table, she had lifted her hand to protest. But no one seemed to see her hand, and she lowered it again and set desperately to work. Edward Ellis, next to her, was also drawing the fern, and he looked at her wonderingly. Then he remembered that she had been taking some Junior courses. It was that which had made her ill. Perhaps they were going to let her try the Junior examinations. And at any rate the Board knew what it was about. Edward stood in great awe of that august body, and did not dare to offer any objections to its proceedings. Sarah was told also to draw the steps leading to the platform, and she proceeded to obey. She had had only elementary drawing. She saw with alarm that the boys near her were working with careful measurements and ruling. She knew nothing about ruling, or about holding up one's pencil and squinting past it, or the rules of perspective by which they worked so carefully. She only drew the steps as she had drawn things for the twins, as they looked to her. "Political Geography and Arithmetic and Physiology and Spelling I was to be examined in," she said to herself. "I have been examined in Arithmetic and Physiology and History and Latin and Physical Geography and Grammar and Drawing, but not yet in Spelling or Political Geography. Most of these things do not come till next year. Ach , I do not know what it means!" The examiner had collected the papers once more, and laid a new one on her desk. Sarah glanced at it, then finally she raised her voice in protest. "I don't take Civil Government," she said. "I never took it. I don't know anything about it. If I knew anything about it, I—" "What class are you?" asked the examiner shortly. "The sub-Junior." "Then you don't belong here." He spoke impatiently. He remembered that the papers which she had handed in in the morning were the most voluminous in the class. Lengthy papers do not please gentlemen who have hundreds to examine. "You belong over in the other room, where the sub-Juniors are being examined in Spelling. You'll have to hurry. People that are late are sometimes refused admission." Sarah gathered pencils and erasers and fountain-pen, and flew across the hall. The examiner there received her even less cheerfully. "You are very late," he said sharply. "Spell 'picnicking.'" He was somewhat mollified by her prompt answer. Ten sub-Juniors had misspelled the word. Sarah breathed a long sigh and found a seat. Her mind was suddenly clear; she felt that she could not fail even if he gave her all the hard words in the book. Here her foot was on its native heath. William would be able to forgive her for knowing nothing about Latin, but no Wenner would ever be able to forgive her for being a poor speller. Long after the examiner had marked them, he continued to amuse himself by giving them all the "catchy," treacherous words he could think of. He coupled words on purpose to snare them, "four" and "forty," "precede" and "proceed," "defendant" and "precedent." He gave them all the short, trying words, like "fiery," which half the class spelled "f-i-r-e-y," and all the long words, which one does not expect to meet with outside the spelling-book, like "eleemosynary" and "monocotyledon" and "asseveration." When he finished, both he and the students were out of breath. Of all the class only Sarah had not missed a word.

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