CHAPTER XXI
SUNSHINE AGAIN
A sense of suppressed excitement greeted Dorothy as she entered the classroom. Edna and Molly managed to greet her personally with a pleasant little nod, and even Miss Higley raised her eyes to say good morning.
Certainly Dorothy felt heroic – and she had good reason. Having suffered so long from a mysterious insult, she now had fortified herself against its stigma.
At the same time she was conscious of an awful weight hanging over her head – like the gloom of those who suffer without hope.
"She just looks like a sweet nun," whispered Ned to Amy.
"Doesn't she," agreed Amy. "I wish we could make her smile."
But Dorothy buried herself in her studies, with a determination born of perfect self-control.
The morning wore into mid-day, then the recreation hour brought relaxation from all mental effort. A number of the girls who had been at first conspicuous figures in the Rebs made a particular effort to speak to Dorothy. She met their advances pleasantly, but with some hesitancy – they might only mean to make an opportunity for further trouble, Dorothy thought.
"See here!" called Edna, running along the walk after Dorothy. "Have you taken the black veil? Not that such a vocation is to be made light of," seeing a frown come over Dorothy's face, "but you know we cannot spare you just yet. You may be the dear little nun of Glenwood, but you will have to keep up with the Glens and the Nicks. We are planning a reunion, you know."
"Yes, and we are going to give a play on our own account," said Molly, coming up at that moment. "Mrs. Pangborn has granted permission and we are about to select the operetta – it will be a musical affair this time."
"That ought to be lovely," responded Dorothy. "There are so many fine players among the girls."
"Yes, and you can sing," declared Molly. "We are counting on you for our prima donna."
"Oh, and we might have Viola accompany her on the violin! Wouldn't that be divine!" enthused a girl from Portland.
A hush followed this suggestion. It was the awkward kind that actually sounds louder than a yell of surprise.
"What is it?" asked Rose-Mary, joining the group and giving Dorothy a hug "on the half shell," which in the parlance of schoolgirls means a spontaneous fling of the arms around the one on the defensive.
"Cologne will be sure to suggest something from English Lit." predicted Molly. "She being a star in that line herself thinks the stuff equally pie for all of us. We might try French – I said 'try,' Ned Ebony; you need not strangle yourself with that gasp!"
"Came near it," admitted the one with her mouth open. "Fancy us doing French!"
"Then suppose we go back to the woods – try Red Riding Hood?"
"Fine and dandy!" exclaimed Nita Brant. "I'll be the wolf."
"Because he was the only party who got in on the eating," remarked Edna. "Let me be the squire – and don't all speak at once for the grandmother's fate."
"Think it over girls; think it over!" advised Nita. "Back to the woods might not suit some of our rural friends. For my part I prefer – ahem! Something tragic!"
"Beat Red Riding Hood for tragedy then," challenged one of the group. "Of all the atrocities – "
"And desperate deals – "
"To say nothing of the grandmother's night cap going in the mix up – "
And so they laughed it all off, and marveled that the mere mention of the old story should awaken such comment.
Dorothy seemed to enjoy the innocent sallies. It was pleasant to be with the jolly crowd again, and to feel something akin to the old happiness.
"What happened to Fiddle?" asked Amy Brook. "I thought she would come back to class when her pout wore off."
"Pout?" repeated Dorothy. "I met her in the hall and she seemed to be in great distress."
"Shouldn't wonder," remarked Nita. "Any one who crosses swords with Miss Higley is bound to come to grief sooner or later. If I had been Fiddle I should have apologized at once – easiest way out of it with Higley."
Dorothy was confused. She had no idea of the scene that had taken place in the schoolroom that morning between Miss Higley and Viola. But as it was impossible for her to keep up with the run of school events lately, she ventured no more questions.
"When's Chrissy coming back?" asked Edna. "I'm almost dead without her. Haven't had a single scrap since she went. And I've got the greatest lot corked up ready to explode from spontaneous combustion."
"I hope she'll be back before the end of this term," answered Dorothy. "I heard to-day her mother is entirely recovered."
"Good for the mother! Also more power to her. I think I'll crawl up the skylight and do perfectly reckless stunts on the roof when Chrissy returns just to celebrate," and suiting her words with the jubilant mood the girl waltzed away down the path, making queer "jabs" at the inoffensive air that was doing its best to make life bright and pleasant for the girls at Glenwood.
CHAPTER XXII
MISS CRANE AND VIOLA
Viola Green was thoroughly upset. She had quarreled with Miss Higley. She had more than quarreled with Dorothy. Mrs. Pangborn had told her plainly that if her story concerning Dorothy was found to be untrue she would have to leave Glenwood, for that story had touched on the fair name of a pupil of the school, to say nothing more. Having defamed the honored name of Dale made the matter of still greater importance.
What should she do? To leave Glenwood seemed to be the only answer to that oft-repeated question. But to get into Beaumonde required a clean record from the former academy, and would Mrs. Pangborn furnish such a record under the circumstances?
It was evening, and the other girls were probably enjoying themselves, visiting about and settling wherever there was the best prospect of fudge – the only confection students were allowed to make in their rooms.
But Viola would not go out, she was in no humor for visiting. While reclining on her small white bed, thinking the situation over until her head ached from very monotony, a note was slipped under her door. She saw it instantly but did not at once attempt to pick it up – the sender might be waiting outside and notice her readiness to become acquainted with the contents.
Hearing the light step make its way down the hall Viola took and opened the note.
"Humph!" she sniffed, "from Adele Thomas." Then she glanced over the note. It read:
MY DEAR VIOLA:
We are all so worried about you. Do please come out of your room or let some of us in. We wish very much to talk to you, but if you persist in keeping us at bay won't you please make up your mind to apologize at once to Miss Higley? There are so many counts against us this month that the latest is positively dangerous in its present form. Do Viola, dear, answer, and tell us you feel better and that you will comply with the request of the committee. Lovingly yours,
LOWLY.
"Apologize!" echoed the girl. "As if my mother's daughter could ever stoop to that weak American method of crawling out of things!" and her dark eyes flashed while her olive face became as intense as if the girl were a desperate woman.
"Don't they know that the blood of the de Carlos flows in my veins?" she asked herself. "No, that's so, they do not know it – nor shall they. Let them think me Italian, French or whatever they choose – but let them not trifle with Spain. Ah, Spain! and how I have longed to see that beautiful country with mother – darling mother!"
This thought of affection never failed to soften the temper of the wily Viola. True she had seen fit always to hide her mother's nationality from the schoolgirls. Often they had questioned her about her foreign face and manners, but like many who do not admire the frankness of Americans, it had pleased her to remain simply "foreign."
A supercilious smile crept over Viola's face. She held Adele's note in her hand and read it again.
"Worried about me!" she repeated, "as if they care for anything but excitement and nonsense. And they are aching for me to give the next spasm of excitement! Well, they may get that, sooner than they expect."
A step stopped at her door. Then a light tap sounded on the panel. Casting aside the note, Viola opened the portal and was confronted by Miss Crane. Without waiting for an invitation the pleasant little woman stepped inside.
"Good evening, Viola," she began. "Mrs. Pangborn sent me to have a talk with you."
"Yes?" replied Viola, in her most non-committal tone.
"She has been much worried of late, so many things have been going on that did not add to her peace of mind."
"That's a pity," said Viola, and this time her tone admitted of any number of interpretations. But Miss Crane expected all this and was fully prepared for it.
"Especially that matter about Dorothy Dale," went on the teacher. "She is determined that the whole thing shall be cleared up at once."
"It ought to be," said Viola coolly, without appearing to take the least interest in the conversation.
"In the first place," argued Miss Crane, "Mrs. Pangborn wished me to say to you that a full explanation on your part would in the end save you much – trouble."
"State's evidence!" almost sneered Viola.
"Not at all," contradicted her visitor. "Simply a matter of common justice."
"I believe that's what they call it," persisted the girl, tossing her head about to show a weariness of the "whole miserable thing."
"You insist that you saw Dorothy Dale and Octavia Travers alight from a police patrol wagon?" asked Miss Crane severely.
"I do!" answered Viola, as solemnly as if taking an oath.
"And that you were told they had been arrested for some theft? Garden stuff, I believe?"
"I heard Nat White, Dorothy Dale's own cousin, say so," again declared Viola.
"And you had reason to believe he was in earnest?"
"Every reason to believe and know so."
Miss Crane stopped. She had expected Viola to break down on this cross-examination, but evidently her story was not to be shaken.
"Is that all?" asked the girl with a show of hauteur.
"No," said Miss Crane. "I would like you to tell me the whole story."
"And if I refuse?"
"You surely would not risk dismissal?"
"No risk at all, my dear Miss Crane, I court it," and all the Spanish fire of Viola's nature flashed and flamed with her words.
"Viola! Do you know what you are saying?"
"Perfectly. Have you finished with the 'third degree?'"
"Refrain from slang, if you please. I never countenance such expressions."
Viola only smiled. Evidently Miss Crane had reached "the end of her rope."
"And you will make no explanation of why you told such a story to the girls of Glenwood?" and the calm voice of the teacher rang out clearly now. "No other reason to give for depriving one of the sweetest and best of these girls of her happy place among her companions? And that same girl refuses to tell her own story, because of a promise! She must bear all the shame, all the suspicion, all the wrong silently, when everybody knows she is shielding someone. Viola Green, to whom did Dorothy Dale make that promise?"
"How should I know?" replied the other with curled lip.
"Who, then, is Dorothy Dale shielding?"
"Shielding? Why, probably her dear friend, Tavia Travers. I don't know, of course. I am merely trying to help you out!"
That shot blazed home – it staggered Miss Crane. She had never thought of Octavia! And she was so close a friend of Dorothy's – besides being over reckless! It might be that Dorothy was shielding Tavia and that she would not and could not break a promise made to the absent member of Glenwood school.
Miss Crane was silent. She sat there gazing at Viola. Her pink and white cheeks assumed a red tinge.
Viola was victorious again. She had only made a suggestion and that suggestion had done all the rest.
"I will talk to Mrs. Pangborn," said Miss Crane finally, and she arose and quietly left the room.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE REAL STORY
That night before twelve o'clock a telegram was delivered at Glenwood school. It was for Viola Green and called her to the bedside of her mother. It simply read: "Come at once. Mother very ill."
So the girl who had been tempting fate, who had refused to right a wrong, who had turned a deaf ear to the pleadings of friends and the commands of superiors, was now summoned to the bedside of the one person in all the world she really loved – her mother!
Viola grasped the message from the hands of Mrs. Pangborn herself, who thought to deliver it with as little alarm as possible. But it was not possible to deceive Viola. Instantly she burst into tears and moans with such violence that the principal was obliged to plead with the girl to regard the feelings of those whose rooms adjoined hers. But this did not affect Viola. She declared her darling little mother would be dead before she could reach her, and even blamed the school that marked the distance between the frantic daughter and the dying parent.
How bitterly she moaned and sobbed! What abandon and absolute lack of self-control she displayed, Mrs. Pangborn could not help observing. This was the character Viola had fostered, and this was the character that turned upon her in her grief and refused to offer her sympathy or hope.
"You should try to control yourself, Viola," said Mrs. Pangborn gently. "You will make yourself ill, and be unfit for travel."
But all arguments were without avail. The girl wept herself into hysterics, and then finally, overcome with sheer exhaustion, fell into a troubled sleep.
On the first train the next morning Viola left Glenwood. It was Dorothy who helped her dress and pack, and Dorothy who tried to console her.
At one moment it did seem that Dorothy had finally reached the heart of the strange girl, for Viola threw her arms about the one who had made such sacrifices for an unrelenting pride, and begged she would pray that the sick mother might be spared.
"If she is only left to me a little longer," pleaded Viola, "I will try to be satisfied, and try to do what is right. Oh, I know I have done wrong," she wailed. "I know you have suffered for me, but, Dorothy, dear, you did it for my mother, and I will always bless you for it. If I had time to-day I would try – try to clear you before the girls."
"Then I will make the explanation," said Dorothy, relieved to feel that at last she might speak for herself.
"Oh, please don't," spoke up Viola again, not quite sure that she was willing to be humiliated in spite of the words she had just spoken. "Try to forgive me, and then what does it matter about the others?"
So Viola Green passed out of Glenwood, and left Dorothy Dale praying that the sick woman might be spared.
"I could not do anything against her," Dorothy reflected. "Poor girl, she has enough to bear! It must be righted some day – oh, yes, some day it must all come right. Another Power looks after that."
A long letter from home, from Major Dale, was brought to Dorothy on the early mail. This cheered her up and reflected its smiles of happiness on all the school day.
The major told how well the boys were; how they longed to see Dorothy, and how little Roger had saved all his kindergarten cards and pictures for her. Besides these a wonderful house made of toothpicks and stuck together with green peas was in imminent danger of collapse if Dorothy did not hurry up and come home. Then Aunt Winnie had planned a surprise for all her children who were away at school, the letter also stated, and on the list, for the good time promised, were Dorothy, Tavia, Nat, Ned, Joe (and of course little Roger), besides a guest that each of these mentioned would be allowed to invite home for the holiday. Easter was only a few weeks off.
The day passed quickly indeed. Spring sunshine had come, everything had that waiting look it takes on just before the buds come, and Dorothy was almost happy. If only everybody could know that she and Tavia had not done wrong and had not been in disgrace!
The classes were dismissed and Dorothy was up in her room reading her father's letter for the third time.
There was a rush through the hall! Then the girls' voices in laughter stopped exactly at her door!
The next minute Tavia bolted into the room.
"Not a soul to meet me!" she began cycloning around and winding up with crushing Dorothy. "Oh, you old honey-girl!" and Tavia kissed her friend rapturously. "I have been dead and buried without you. Run away, little girls (to those peeping in at the door). Run away – we're busy."
Dorothy was so surprised she just gazed at Tavia, but a world of love and welcome went out in the look. "If we had known you were coming," she faltered.
"Known it! Couldn't you feel my presence near! Well, James brought me up. But say, Dorothy! I ran across – whom do you think?"
"Couldn't guess!"
"Viola Green! And say, she looked like her own ghost. Her train had a long wait at noon and she saw me. And the way she bolted out of her car and made her way to my window, just to say, 'Tell Dorothy to go ahead and tell her story! It will be all right!' Now I'd like to know if Viola Green had really gone daffy?"
"Why, no, Tavia. It is all about – Oh, it is such a long story."
"The very thing for mine – a serial. There's Cologne and Ned and Dick! Come on in, everybody! I want you all to see this hat before I take it off. The milliner declared I would never get it on right again."
In rushed the "troop," all so glad to see Tavia back, and all aching for a glimpse of the new spring hat.
"Tell me about the story, Cologne," said Tavia. "You can go on admiring me just the same. What's Dorothy's serial that Viola has the copyright on?"
"That is precisely what we want you to find out," answered Rose-Mary. "We have been trying to do it for a whole month."
"And I'll wager it won't take me ten minutes!"
"But do take your things off," pleaded Dorothy.
"Not yet. I can't give up this hat so unceremoniously. Isn't it a beauty? But for the story. Go ahead, Cologne."
"Why, I couldn't tell where to begin," begged off Rose-Mary.
"Begin at the place where Dorothy Dale went to pieces, and lost all her pretty pink cheeks," suggested Tavia, noting how much Dorothy had changed during her absence.
"I'll tell you," said Rose-Mary. "We'll all run away and let you have a minute to yourselves. Perhaps the serial will leak out."
"What is it, Dorothy?" asked Tavia seriously when they were alone.
"Why, all about that police ride," sighed Dorothy. "I really never could find out just what story was told – they kept me in ignorance of it all, except that it was dreadful. Oh, Tavia! Only lately the girls notice me. They all gave me up, all but Ned, Dick and Cologne!"
"Gave you up! And about that story! Why didn't you tell them?"
"Oh, I had promised Viola, and she was afraid she would be dismissed – "
"Promised Viola!" and Tavia stared blankly at Dorothy. "You poor little darling! And no one here to take your part!" and she held Dorothy to her heart a moment. "Who knows the story as she told it – I always knew she would tell it!"
"Perhaps some of the Pilgrims may know. They split and formed the Rebs."
"Without me? I'll bet they died an early death! I'm the only thoroughbred Reb in America!" and she brandished her hatpin wildly above her head. "But you just stay here a minute. My ten minutes alloted for clearing up the mystery is escaping," and at this Tavia flew out of the room.
It seemed she could not have gone down the corridor when she ran into Dorothy's room again.
"Well, of all the frosts!" she exclaimed. "I almost passed away when that stuttering girl from Maine tried to tell me. But I haven't seen Mrs. Pangborn yet. I'll just run into the office and show her my hat," and she was gone again.
"How good it was to have Tavia back," thought Dorothy. It seemed as if everything had been made right already. But Tavia would surely do something surprising. What would she say to Mrs. Pangborn?
But while Dorothy was thinking it over, a very lively little chat was taking place in the principal's office. At the first word about the "Story," Tavia blurted out the entire tale in such a way that even Mrs. Pangborn was obliged to admit she "knew how to string words together."
"My dear!" said that lady, when Tavia stopped, "I think this matter has gone so far it will be best to make a public explanation."
"Let me make it?" asked the girl eagerly.
"If you wish," agreed Mrs. Pangborn.
"Where? When?" asked Tavia impatiently.
"Now, if you like," consulting her watch. "We had called a meeting of the Glenwoods for five, it wants a quarter of that now. Suppose you speak to them in the hall?"
"Gloriotious!" exclaimed Tavia, forgetting to whom she was making the self-coined remark.
The girls were already filing into the hall. Dorothy went with Rose-Mary, Tavia preferring to go in last and so show everyone the spring hat. It certainly was pretty, no one could deny that, and, as she stepped to the platform, at the signal from Mrs. Pangborn, she looked as Dorothy had seen her look before – like an actress!
Her golden brown hair formed a halo about her face and the flowers (what she called the spring hat) made a beautiful wreath buried in the soft shining tresses.
A buzz of excitement greeted her appearance on the platform. Then she began:
"My dear teachers (they were all present), friends and acquaintances!"
"Three cheers for the acquaintances," broke in one girl, and this was the signal for a hearty cheer.
When order prevailed again, Tavia continued:
"I understand you have heard a queer story about the girls from Dalton" (there was silence now), "and with the kind permission of our dear principal, I will try to tell you all of that story. I have been informed that you were told that Dorothy Dale and myself had been arrested in a country place, taken to a lock-up and then bailed out!" (Dorothy looked more surprised than any one present; this was the part of the story she had never heard). "Well," went on Tavia, "that is so absurd that I cannot imagine the complications that could possibly have won such a story a hearing. But perhaps when I am here a few hours, I will be allowed to laugh over the details. However, I will tell you all exactly what did happen," and Tavia cleared her throat like a veteran speaker.
"One lovely day last August, Dorothy Dale and her two cousins, Ned and Nat White from North Birchland, took me for an automobile ride. We had a number of adventures during the day and towards night something happened to the machine, and the boys were obliged to leave us while they went to have something repaired. While they were away a man, who afterward turned out to be a lunatic, came along, and as we ran from the car, he got into it."
"Oh! mercy!" exclaimed Nita Brant, and similar exclamations went about the room.
"When the boys got back," went on Tavia, "and we felt they never would come in sight, we had waited so long, and were so frightened, they could not induce the man to leave the machine. He was crazy and wanted a ride. Finally one of the boys, Ned, was obliged to get into the car with him and he rode off, never stopping until he landed the lunatic in Danvers jail!"
Cheers again interrupted the speaker, and she paused a moment – long enough to look at Dorothy, then she went on:
"But we were all alone out there, it was getting dark, and how were we to get back to town, nine miles off? That was the point where the police patrol wagon came into our lives. The wagon was out looking for the escaped prisoner, at least the officers in it were, and upon questioning us, and hearing how we had lost the auto, they asked us to ride home in their patrol!"
"Three cheers for the officers!" broke out Edna, and the shouts that followed caused Miss Higley to put up her hands to protect her ears.
"Well, we did ride home in the patrol," cried Tavia, anxious now to finish, "and when Nat stood by the wagon trying to jolly those curious ones about him, a young man, in the company of – of one who has just left us, asked Nat, 'Speeding?' and Nat answered, 'No, just melons.' Now that is the entire story of our famous ride, and I thank you for your kind attention, etc., etc.," and bowing profusely Tavia managed to get down from the platform.
Then Mrs. Pangborn stood up.
"My dear pupils," she said, "I cannot tell you how glad I am to have this matter settled. It has given great sorrow to see our dear friend Dorothy suffer so. And you do not yet know the real story of her heroism. When I asked her about this report she begged me not to question her, because she had promised a girl not to tell the story if I would allow her to remain silent. That girl urged as her excuse her own possible dismissal from school should Dorothy make known the facts, not the story that has been told me, and told you, but those facts which you have just now heard for the first time. And to save the feelings of a selfish and I must say it – dishonest girl, – Dorothy Dale has willingly suffered your scorn and my possible displeasure. But I never doubted her for one moment. And now we must forgive the other."
At this every head was bowed for a moment. When Mrs. Pangborn sat down, the girls surrounded Dorothy.
Miss Higley ran to the piano and struck up the "Glenwood Reel."
"Get your partners!" shouted Molly, while there was a wild scramble for "another pair of hands," everyone trying to get Dorothy, who had already been taken possession of by Miss Crane.
Tavia actually took her hat off when Edna caught her. Then the merry dance began, and such dancing! The old hall rang with mirth broken now and then with wild cheers when Dorothy would "go down the middle," or "swing all hands around."
There seemed to be no restrictions, no restraint – everyone was enjoying herself to her heart's content.
And the meeting all ended in the uproarious and unanimous election of Dorothy Dale, as president of the Glenwoods of Glenwood School!
"What a happy ending of all our troubles," said Dorothy to Tavia that night.
"If they are all ended," responded Tavia. "Perhaps everything is not yet smoothed out." And what Tavia suspected proved true, as we shall learn in the next volume, to be called "Dorothy Dale's Great Secret." Tavia was responsible for the secret, but Dorothy kept it faithfully.
A few days later Mrs. Pangborn received a telegram that Mrs. Green was better and out of danger, – at least for the present.
"Do you imagine Viola will come back to Glenwood?" said Tavia.
"If she does, I will – I will try to do – my best by her," answered Dorothy slowly.
"You dear, forgiving Dorothy Dale!" cried her chum, and kissed her.