Mail time!
Until Saturday morning Ruth and Helen
had not realized how vital that hour was when the
mail-bag came out from the Lumberton post office and
the mail was distributed by one of the teachers into
a series of pigeonholes in a tiny “office”
built into the corridor at the dining-room door.
The mail arrived during the breakfast hour.
One could get her letters when she came out of the
dining-room, and on this Saturday both Ruth and Helen
had letters.
Miss Cramp, her old teacher, had written
to Ruth very kindly. There was a letter, too,
from Aunt Alvirah, addressed in her old-fashioned
hand, and its contents shaky both as to spelling and
grammar, but full of love for the girl who was so
greatly missed at the Red Mill. Uncle Jabez
had even declared the first night that it seemed as
though there had been a death in the house, with Ruth
gone.
Helen had several letters, but the
one that delighted her most was from her twin brother.
“Although,” she declared,
in her usual sweet-tempered manner, “Tom’s
written it to both of us. Listen here, Ruthie!”
The new cadet at Seven Oaks began
his letter: “Dead Sweetbriars,” including Ruth
as well as Helen in his friendly and brotherly effusion.
He had been hazed with a vengeance on the first night
of his arrival at the Academy; he had been chummed
on a fellow who had already been half a year at the
school and whose sister was a Senior at Briarwood;
he had learned that lots of the older students at
Seven Oaks were acquainted with the Seniors at Briarwood,
and that there were certain times when the two schools
intermingled socially.
“Dear old Tom!” exclaimed
Helen. “Nice of him to call us ‘Sweetbriars’;
isn’t it? I guess there’s a good
many thorns on this ‘sweetbriar’;
’eh, Ruthie?” and she hugged and kissed
her chum with sudden fierceness.
“And Tom says he can get permission
to come over and see me some Saturday afternoon if
Mrs. Tellingham will allow it. I’ll have
to get her to write to Major Paradell, who commands
at Seven Oaks. My! it sounds just as though
poor old Tom was in the army; doesn’t it?”
cried Helen.
“It will be nice to have him
over,” said Ruth, agreeing. “But
I suppose we’ll have to meet him in the office?
Or can we walk out with our ’brother’?”
and she laughed.
“We’ll go to Triton Lake;
Tom will take us,” said Helen, decidedly.
“I guess Mrs. Tellingham will
have something to say about that, my dear.”
Helen seemed to have forgotten the
little difficulty that had troubled her chum and herself
the night before, and Ruth said nothing further about
the Infants forming a society of their own. At
least, she said nothing about it to Helen. But
Sarah Fish and Phyllis Short, and some of the other
Infants, seemed determined to keep the idea alive,
and they all considered Ruth Fielding a prime mover
in the conspiracy. It was noised abroad that
neither the F. C.’s nor the Upedes were getting
many new names enrolled for membership.
Saturday morning the remainder of
the expected new girls arrived at Briarwood, and with
then came the last of the older scholars, too.
There was an assembly called for two o’clock
which Mrs. Tellingham addressed. She welcomed
the new-comers, greeted the returning pupils, and
briefly sketched the plans for the school year then
beginning. She was a quick, briskly-speaking
woman, who impressed the most rattle-pated girl before
her that she meant to be obeyed and that no wild prank
would go unpunished.
“Proper amusement will be supplied
in due time, young ladies. For the present we
shall all have enough to do getting settled into our
places. I have heard something regarding picnics
and outings for the near future. Postpone all
such junketing until we are pulling well together.
And beware of demerits. Remember that ten of
them, for whatever cause, will send a girl home from
Briarwood immediately.”
This about the picnics hit the Upedes.
Ruth and Helen knew that they were planning just
such amusements. Helen took this interference
on Mrs. Tellingham’s part quite to heart.
“Isn’t it mean of her?”
she asked of Ruth. “If it had been the
Fussy Curls who wanted to go to Triton Lake, it would
have been another matter. And besides I
was going to write to Tom and see if he couldn’t
meet us there.”
“Why, Helen; without asking
Mrs. Tellingham?” cried Ruth.
“I suppose Tom and some of his
chums could happen to go to Triton Lake the
same day we went; couldn’t they?” Helen
asked, laughing. “Dear me, Ruthie!
Don’t you begin to act the Miss Prim please!
We’ll have no fun at all if you do.”
“But we don’t want to
make the bad beginning of getting Mrs. Tellingham
and the teachers down on us right at the start,”
said Ruth, in a worried manner.
“I don’t know but that
you are a Miss Prim!” ejaculated Helen.
Ruth thought, probably, from her tone
of voice, that Helen had heard some of her friends
among the Upedes already apply that term to her, Ruth.
But she said nothing only shook her head.
However, the girl from the Red Mill did her best
to dodge any subject in the future that she thought
might cause Helen to compare her unfavorably with the
girls next door.
For Ruth loved her chum dearly and
loved her unselfishly, too. Helen and Tom had
been so kind to her in the past all through
those miserable first weeks of her life at the Red
Mill that Ruth felt she could never be
really angry with Helen. It only made her sorrowful
to think that perhaps Helen, in this new and wider
school life, might drift away from her.
The regular program of the working
days of the school included prayers in the chapel
before the girls separated for their various classes.
These were held at nine o’clock. But on
Sunday Ruth found that breakfast was an hour later
than usual and that at ten o’clock several wagonettes,
besides Old Dolliver’s Ark, were in waiting to
take those girls who wished to ride to the churches
of the several denominations located in Lumberton.
A teacher, or a matron, went in each vehicle, and
if any of the girls preferred to walk in pleasant weather
there was always a teacher to walk with them for
the distance was only a mile.
Dinner was at half-past one, and at
three there was a Sabbath School, conducted by Mrs.
Tellingham herself, assisted by most of the teachers,
in the large assembly hall. At night there was
a service of music and a lecture in the chapel, too.
The teacher of music played the organ, and there
was a small string orchestra made up of the girls themselves,
and a chorus to lead the singing.
This service Ruth found delightful,
for she had always loved music and never before had
she had the opportunity of studying it under any teacher.
Her voice was sweet and strong, however; and she had
a true ear. At the end of the service Miss Maconahay,
the organist, came and spoke to her and advised her
that, providing she would give some time to it, there
was a chance for her to become a member of the chorus
and, if she showed improvement, she might even join
the Glee Club.
On Monday school began in earnest.
Ruth and Helen were side by side in every class.
What study one took up, the other voted for.
The fact that they had to work hard especially
at first kept Ruth and Helen together,
and during the first week neither had much time for
any society at all. Between supper and bedtime
each evening they faithfully worked at their lessons
for the ensuing day and every hour of daylight brought
its separate duty. There seemed to be little
opportunity for idle hands to find mischief at Briarwood
Hall.
Mrs. Tellingham, however, did not
propose that the girls should be so closely confined
by their studies that their physical health would be
neglected. Those girls who stood well in their
classes found at least two hours each day for outdoor
play or gym work. The tennis courts at Briarwood
were in splendid shape. Helen already was a fair
player; but Ruth had never held a racket in her hand
until she was introduced to the game by her chum during
this first week at school.
The girl from the Red Mill was quick
and active. She learned the rules of play and
proved that her eye was good and that she had judgment
before they had played an hour. She knew how
to leap and run, too, having been country bred and
used to an active life.
“Oh, dear me!” gasped
Helen, out of breath. “You are tireless,
Ruth. Why, you’ll be an athlete here.”
“This is great fun, Helen,”
declared her chum, “I believe I can learn to
play this game.”
“Learn to play!” gasped
Helen. “Why, all you want is practice to
beat Tom himself, I believe. You’ll be
a crack player, Ruthie,” prophesied her friend.
It was while they were loitering on
the tennis courts after the game that Sarah Fish and
Phyllis Short, with a number of the other Infants,
joined them. Sarah came out bluntly with:
“When are we going to form our
club, Ruth Fielding? I think we should do it
at once. I’ve told both the Forwards and
the Upedes that I am not in the market. I guess
they’ll let me alone now.”
“I think they will,” said
Helen, sharply. “At least, the Upedes don’t
want you, Miss.”
“You seem to knew exactly what
they do want,” said Sarah, good-naturedly.
“Have you joined them?”
“I intend to,” declared Helen.
“Oh, Helen!” ejaculated Ruth.
“Yes, I am,” said Miss
Cameron. “And I am not going to join any
baby society,” and so walked off in evident
ill-humor.
Therefore the new club was not formed
in the Number 2 Duet Room in the West Dormitory.
The Infants considered Ruth the prime mover in the
club, however, and that evening she was put in the
chair to preside at the informal session held in the
quartette in the East Dormitory occupied by Sarah
Fish and three other Infants. She was made, too,
a member of the Committee on Organization which was
elected to draw up a Constitution and By-Laws, and
was likewise one of three to wait on Mrs. Tellingham
and gain permission to use one of the small assembly
rooms for meetings.
And then came up the subject of a
name for the society. It was not intended that
the club should be only for new scholars; for the new
scholars would in time be old scholars. And the
company of girls who had gathered in Sarah’s
room had no great or important motive in their minds
regarding the association. Its object was social
and for self-improvement simply.
“And so let’s find a name
that doesn’t sound bigger than we are,”
said Sarah. “The Forward Club sounds very
solid and is quite literary, I understand. What
those Upedes stand for except raising particular Sam
Hill, as my grandmother would say, I don’t know.
What do you say, Ruth Fielding? It’s
your idea, and you ought to christen it.”
“I don’t know that I ought,”
Ruth returned. “I don’t believe in
one person doing too much in any society.”
“Give us a name. It won’t
hurt you if we vote it down,” urged Sarah.
Now Ruth had been thinking of a certain
name for the new society for some days. It had
been suggested by Tom Cameron’s letter to Helen.
She was almost afraid to offer it, but she did.
“Sweetbriars,” she said, blushing deeply.
“Dandy!” exclaimed Phyllis Short.
“Goody-good!” cried somebody
else. “We’re at Briarwood Hall, and
why not Sweetbriars?”
“Good name for initials, too,”
declared the practical Sarah Fish. “Make
two words of it Sweet and Briars.
The ’S. B.’s ’ not
bad that, eh? What say?”
It was unanimous. And so the
Sweetbriars were christened.