A Dear Little Girl at School

So Nettie had her two secrets and in time both gifts were given.

Her meeting was an interesting one. The girls always liked the old attic and it was seldom that a meeting there did not turn out to be one which was thoroughly enjoyed. The refreshments received even more praise than Edna had predicted, for not a crumb of gingerbread, not a single maple-sugar cream, nor a drop of raspberry shrub was left, and the honorary member went home in an exalted frame of mind.

On the very evening of this meeting, while Edna was looking over her favorite page of her father’s paper, she heard him say to his wife. “Humph. That was a bad failure of Green and Adams to-day. Adams was a pretty high-flyer, and a good many of the men on the ’Change have been prophesying this crash.”

“What Adams is that?” asked Mrs. Conway.

“Oliver Adams. He lives on the square, you know, in that large white house with the lions in front.”

Edna pricked up her ears. “Is it Clara Adams’s father?” she asked.

“Does she live on the square?” asked her mother.

“Yes, in a big white house with lions in front just like father said.”

“Then, of course, it is the same.”

“What has happened to him, mother?”

“He has lost a great deal of money, dear?”

“Oh, poor Clara.”

“I’m afraid she will be poor Clara sure enough,” returned her father. “He can’t keep up that way of living very long. His wife is as extravagant as he is, and I doubt if there is much left out of the estate.”

Edna wondered if Clara would have to live in a tiny, little house like Nettie’s and if she would be very unhappy. Would she leave school, and – There were so many wonderings that she asked her mother a great many questions, and went off on Monday morning feeling quite ready to give Clara all the sympathy she needed.

But Clara was not at school on Monday, but on the next day she appeared. The news of her father’s failure was common talk so that every girl in school had heard of it, and wondered if it would have any effect on Clara. For a time it did not, but in a short time it was whispered about that the Adamses had removed to another street and into a much smaller house. Clara no longer came to school in the automobile, and those girls who had clung to her on account of the powers of riches now openly deserted, declared that she had left their neighborhood and in consequence could no longer belong to their club. Then in a little while it was announced that the club had disbanded, and the remaining members came in a body and begged that they might be taken into the G. R.’s. There was much discussion. Some were for, some were against it, but finally the rule of the club was acted upon and the five new members took their places, leaving Clara in lonely grandeur. She treated this desertion with such open scorn and was so very unpleasant to those who had formerly been her friends, that they turned their backs upon her utterly, declaring that they would rather pay a fine every day in the week than be nice to Clara Adams.

“Hateful thing!” Edna heard Nellie Haskell say one day quite loud enough for Clara to hear. “She’s kept us out of a lot of fun and we were geese to keep in with her so long. I’m sorry I ever had anything to do with her. I think she is the most disagreeable girl that ever was.”

Edna looked over at Clara who was sitting very still by herself on a bench in one corner of the playground. She looked after the three girls who had just passed and were now walking down the path with their arms around one another. So had she seen them with Clara not so very long before. She thought she would go over and say something to her old enemy, but what to say – She had no good excuse. Then she remembered an exceedingly pretty paper-doll which had been sent her by her Cousin Louis Morrison. His aunt had painted it and it was much handsomer than one ordinarily saw. Edna had it in the book she carried. She drew in her breath quickly, then started over to Clara’s corner.

“Don’t you want to see my paper-doll?” she asked. “It is such a beauty.” And without waiting for an answer she opened her book and held out the doll for Clara to see. It was given rather a grudging glance, but it was really too pretty not to be admired and Clara replied with a show of indifference, “It is quite pretty, isn’t it?”

Edna sat down by her. “I will show you some of her dresses,” she went on. Clara loved paper-dolls, and she could not but be a little interested. Anything which was painted or drawn was of more interest to her than most things. She had shown her talent in that way by the fatal caricature.

“Somebody told me you could make mighty pretty paper-dolls,” Edna went on, bound to make herself agreeable.

“I do make them sometimes,” replied Clara a little more graciously, “but I could never make any as pretty as this. I can copy things pretty well, but I can’t make them up myself.”

For a moment Edna struggled with herself. The doll was a new and very precious possession, but – She hesitated only a moment and then she said: “Would you like to copy this? I will lend it to you if you would like to.”

There was a time when Clara might have spurned even this kind offer, setting it down as “trying to get in” with her, but her pride and vanity had received a blow when the Neighborhood Club was broken up and she cast forth, and she took the offer in the spirit in which it was meant. “Oh, would you do that?” she said. “I should love to copy it and I will take awfully good care of the doll.”

“You can take it now,” said Edna laying the doll on the other’s lap. There should be no chance for her to change her mind. Clara slipped the doll into one of her books and just then the bell rang, so they went in together.

After school Dorothy clutched her chum. “Edna Conway,” she cried, “did I see you talking to Clara Adams?”

“Um-huh,” returned Edna.

“Well, you are the greatest one. I should think after all she has done that you would want to keep as far away from her as possible.”

“Well,” said Edna. “I said I was going to be nice to her if ever I had the chance and I had the chance.”

“If you are going with her, I can tell you that all the girls will turn their backs on you.”

“I didn’t say I was going with her all the time, but I don’t see why I can’t speak to her if I want to.”

“Oh, I suppose you can speak, but I shouldn’t do much more than that.”

Edna made no reply. She had her own ideas of what she meant to do.

“Where is your paper-doll?” asked Dorothy, “I want to show it to Agnes.”

“I haven’t it with me,” returned Edna a little confusedly.

“You had it when we went down to recess. Is it in your desk? Go on and get it, that is a dear. Agnes wants to see it.”

“It isn’t in my desk. I haven’t it,” returned Edna bluntly.

“You don’t mean to say you have given it away? Edna Conway, you can’t have given it to Clara Adams!” Dorothy’s voice expressed horror and dismay.

“No, I haven’t given it to her; I only lent it to her,” replied Edna.

“Well, of all things!” Dorothy was stricken dumb for a moment. Then she put her arms around her friend and hugged her. “You are an angel,” she said. “I couldn’t have done such a thing to save me, and I don’t believe there is another girl in the school who could. I’m going to tell Agnes.”

“Oh, please don’t,” begged Edna.

But Dorothy was off and presently Agnes came over to where the two had been standing. “What did you lend Clara your doll for, Edna?” she asked.

“Because I didn’t want to pay a fine,” replied she.

Agnes laughed. “That is one way out of it. I suppose the next thing we know you will be proposing that we ask Clara Adams into our club. Half the girls will leave if you do, I can promise you that.”

This was something very like a threat, and it had the effect Agnes meant it should, though it did not prevent Edna from making plans of her own concerning Clara. She smiled at her as she took her seat in class the next morning, and for the very first time in all her life she received from Clara a smile in return.

CHAPTER XI

A NEW MEMBER

During this time Miss Newman had not won more than respect from her girls. She was an excellent teacher and kept good order, but she had too severe a manner to call forth affection. Nevertheless she did appreciate any little kindness done her, and was not unwilling to repay when the opportunity came. Dorothy and Edna had always stood up for her, and had brought her the small gifts which children like to take their teachers, a particularly large and rosy apple, a bunch of flowers, a more important present at Christmas and a growing plant at Easter. They did not know much about her home life, for she was not the affable person Miss Ashurst had been. Uncle Justus had told Edna that she lived with an invalid sister in quite a different quarter of the city, and that she had a long way to come to school.

One spring afternoon as Celia and Edna were starting forth, a sudden shower overtook them. They were going home every day now as they had done in the early fall, and were hurrying for their train when they saw Miss Newman just ahead of them without an umbrella. “There’s Miss Newman,” said Edna to her sister, “and she has no umbrella; I’m going to give her mine and come under yours, Celia,” then before Celia could say a word she ran on ahead. “Please take my umbrella, Miss Newman,” she said. “I can go under Celia’s.”

“But you may need it before Monday,” said Miss Newman.

“Oh, no, I won’t, for I am going straight home. We are to have a club meeting at the Evanses this afternoon, or I should not be in such a hurry.”