Marjorie Dean, High School Senior

Mignon watched her resentfully, longing to say something particularly cutting, but not daring to do so. When it came to an argument, Jerry Macy was capable of more than holding her own. As the seniors were now beginning to arrive in numbers, she had no wish to be publicly worsted. She could not resist saying satirically, however, as Marjorie Dean passed her: “Did you see that servant girl of Miss Archer’s in our section this morning?”

“Servant girl?” chorused two or three bystanders, crowding closer to their informant. “What do you mean? Whom do you mean?”

Marjorie’s sweet face clouded at the intentional cruelty of Mignon’s speech. How could she exhibit such heartlessness toward one whom she hardly knew? “Are you referring to Veronica Browning?” she asked in a clear, decided voice. “I am ever so glad she is going to be in our class. I think she’s a dear.”

“Veronica Browning,” repeated Mignon, laughing. “I wonder how she came by such a high-sounding name. Most servants are satisfied with a common, ordinary one, like Jane or Maggie. It seems to me – ”

A little flutter of dismay, which suddenly swept the group of seniors, checked Mignon’s caustic remarks. A gray-eyed girl had walked into the locker room just in time to get the full effect of them. Under heavy masses of golden brown hair her pale face looked out with a sweetly appealing air which made her extremely attractive. In her serviceable gown of plain brown linen, made in simple fashion, she was in wren-like contrast to the more gaily-dressed girls who stood about the locker room.

“How are you, Miss Browning?” greeted Marjorie genially. “I am glad you are going to be a senior. You gave me quite a surprise. Girls, this is Veronica Browning.” Marjorie named in turn those of her schoolmates who stood nearest to herself and Veronica. Among them were Jerry, Constance Stevens and Harriet Delaney. The trio greeted her in a far more friendly fashion than was shown by the others.

The newcomer bowed to them pleasantly, her calm face betraying no sign of the unkind speeches she must undoubtedly have overheard. Not troubling herself to greet Veronica, Mignon seized her hat, slammed the door of her locker shut and switched out, followed by several girls who were impatient to learn more of the stranger’s history.

“Won’t you walk down the street with us, Miss Browning?” asked Jerry. “The rest of our crowd will be here in a minute. Here they come now,” she added as Muriel Harding, Irma Linton and Susan Atwell appeared to the accompaniment of the latter’s jolly giggle.

“Thank you. I should like to walk with you,” smiled the girl in gentle, well-bred fashion. “I hardly expected to meet any of my classmates so soon. I am lucky, I think.”

“It’s our duty as good seniors to make you feel at home,” asserted Marjorie, proceeding to present the last three arrivals. “Now that you know a few of us, suppose we move on. If Miss Merton happens to come this way she will hear us talking and feel it her duty to scatter us.”

Those who have read “Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman,” “Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore,” and “Marjorie Dean, High School Junior,” need no special introduction to her and her friends. They already know the many events, happy and unhappy, that transpired during Marjorie’s three years at Sanford High School. Transplanted from her home in B – at the very beginning of her freshman year, to the thriving little city of Sanford, Marjorie took up her school life there with a determination to find and hold fast to all that was finest and highest in it. Despite many trials and misunderstandings which fell to her lot, her resolve to be true to herself never faltered, and each year at high school brought fresh pledges of loyalty from those who had learned to know and love her.

Now, in the first week of her senior year, she was again exerting her kindly influence in behalf of the stranger within her gates.

As the bevy of girls moved through the corridor to the main entrance of the school, she slipped her arm through that of the new girl and said cheerily, “I am sure you will like Sanford High, Miss Browning. I felt quite lost when first I came here. Now I’d be more lost if I had to leave it. Where did you live before you came here?”

“In California,” answered Veronica. “I was born there. You know, I suppose, that I came East with – with – Miss – Archer.” She hesitated slightly on the last words. “I should like to tell you something,” she continued frankly. “I heard what that black-eyed girl was saying about me as I came into the locker room. Of course I wish to be friends with you and these nice girls you go with – but – well, perhaps you ought not to pay too much attention to – one – in my position.”

Marjorie gave Veronica’s arm a gentle little squeeze. “Now I am sure you don’t know us very well. We choose our friends for what they are, not because of social position or any such foolishness. You really mustn’t mind Mignon. She has been – well – brought up rather differently from the rest of us. We – ” Marjorie stopped in confusion. “There are some things I can’t explain,” she went on slowly. “It seems rather queer in me to ask you to like Mignon, but if you will try to think of her as kindly as you can, it will help her a great deal. I’m afraid that’s not very clear,” she concluded in embarrassment.

“I think I understand,” nodded Veronica. A shade of the peculiar smile that Marjorie had noted on first sight of her at Miss Archer’s flickered briefly about her mobile lips. “After all, I am here for study. Under the circumstances I can’t really expect to take much part in the social side of high school. I have had so many – ” She suddenly ceased speaking, with a little catch of breath.

“Oh, you must come to my home to see me and come to my parties, too,” put in Marjorie quickly. “I wish you to meet my mother and father. I call them General and Captain. I am a Lieutenant. So is Connie Stevens. We all belong to a little army of our own. It’s a game a friend of mine and I used to play when we were little girls and we’ve never outgrown it.”

“How pretty!” The fair, sensitive face of the other girl broke into radiant, smiling beauty.

Marjorie thought her more fascinating than ever when she smiled. “I must tell you a secret,” she confided impulsively. “I liked you the minute I saw you at Miss Archer’s. I am sure we shall be good friends.”

“Here is my hand to seal the bargain,” laughed Veronica. “You have come to mean a great deal to me already. I never thought that – ”

“It’s not fair in you, Marjorie Dean, to monopolize our brand-new senior,” called Jerry Macy. They had now left the school building and were swinging down the street in pairs, Marjorie and Veronica bringing up the rear.

“Come on.” Seizing her companion by the arm, Marjorie propelled her forward until they bumped gently into Jerry and Irma, who were just ahead of them. “Here we are,” she announced mischievously.

“Such boisterous conduct.” Jerry drew down her plump face in imitation of Miss Merton. “I’m not complaining on my own account, but I have to protect Irma from your onslaughts.”

“That’s the same as saying I need a guardian, Jeremiah,” teased Irma. “You know it’s really the other way around.”

“They are such jolly girls,” commented Veronica. “When I was – ” She stopped. Abruptly changing the subject she began to remark on the beauty of the huge maples that stood sentinel-like on both sides of the street.

Marjorie agreed rather absently that they were indeed magnificent trees. Inwardly she wondered if Veronica had the habit of so abruptly chopping off her speeches. For all her apparent frankness there was a curious baffling side to her that Marjorie was at a loss to understand. It reminded her of the puzzling way in which Constance Stevens had behaved when first they met. She reflected that perhaps this girl felt the weight of poverty even as Constance had once felt its pressure. On the other hand, Veronica appeared outwardly to accept it with the utmost serenity.

Perhaps the other girl may have glimpsed something of what was going on behind Marjorie’s tranquil face. Casting a sidelong glance at her pretty companion, her strange smile lived again, to die in a fleeting instant. “I must leave you here,” she said, as they reached a cross street that led to the avenue on which the Archer homestead was situated. “Better think over what I told you. Remember I am Miss Archer’s ‘servant girl.’” She laughed musically as though she rather enjoyed thus reminding Marjorie of her humble status.

“You are my friend,” responded Marjorie gravely. “Please remember that. Good-bye. We’ll see each other again this afternoon.”

Nodding a smiling farewell to Marjorie and the others, Veronica Browning left them and hurried on toward home.

“Do you suppose she has to help with the luncheon?” asked Jerry, her round eyes fastened on Veronica’s rapidly retreating back.

“She’d hardly have time to do much work at noon,” declared Irma. “I don’t imagine she would be asked to do that. It’s splendid in Miss Archer to take a young girl like that to work for her and allow her to go to school.”

“Just who is she, Marjorie?” quizzed Jerry. “How did you and Mignon happen to get acquainted with her before school opened? Where did Mignon get all her information? She ought to be ashamed of herself for saying what she said before the girls. It’s lucky that we were there to help out.”

Quite willing to satisfy Jerry’s curiosity regarding the whys and wherefores of the new senior, Marjorie related the incidents pertaining to her call on the principal, ending with “The very first moment I saw her, I liked her. Of course I feel very kindly toward the different maids in you girls’ homes. But I feel differently toward Veronica. I suppose it is because she’s so sweet and pretty and about the same age as the rest of us. I’m glad she’s going to be a pupil at Sanford High. I know I needn’t ask you girls to be nice to her. I can see that all of you like her already.”

A chorus of hearty affirmatives went up from the six girls who had halted in the middle of the sidewalk to gather about Marjorie.

“She’s a nice girl.” Jerry placed the stamp of her emphatic approval upon the senior who had just left them. “But she is going to have troubles of her own with Mignon. You mustn’t forget that a number of girls besides ourselves were in the locker room and heard Mignon sneering about Veronica. I’m going to begin calling her Veronica. You know what that means. If I come to like her a good deal, I’ve already thought of a nice little pet name for her.”

Jerry’s cheerful grin went the rounds of her friends’ faces. It was a well-known fact among them that the stout girl never addressed a schoolmate as “Miss” unless she entertained a lively dislike for her.

“Everyone of us will stand by Veronica. That means she will have seven staunch supporters at least,” broke in Constance Stevens, her blue eyes purposeful. “That is really all we need care about. Besides, I don’t believe many of the seniors will snub her. If they do, they’ll be very sly about it. The fact that she lives at Miss Archer’s will make a good impression on most of the girls. If a few girls in Sanford High are hateful to her because she is working her way through school, I don’t imagine she will care very much.”

“I think you are right, Connie,” nodded Marjorie. “Veronica told me that she didn’t expect to see much of the social side of high school life. I suppose she feels that she ought to make the most of the chance to study and go to school.”

“How did she happen to come here, I wonder?” mused Jerry. “You said, Marjorie, that she said she’d lived in the state of California. I suppose she must have stayed with Miss Archer’s relatives and worked her way through the first three years of high school while she lived with them.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Marjorie. As she answered Jerry it suddenly flashed across her that during their talk Veronica had, after all, revealed very little about herself. Her attitude had been toward concealment rather than revelation.

“She’ll probably tell us more about herself when we get better acquainted with her,” suggested gentle Irma.

“If she doesn’t, then Jerry will have to take the trail and find out,” teased Muriel Harding.

“I can – ” Jerry stopped speaking as her glance met Marjorie’s. In the latter’s brown eyes lurked a mute protest against Muriel’s proposal. No one read it there except shrewd Jerry. The abrupt halt in her speech signified her respect for it.

“You can do what?” asked Harriet Delaney, laughing.

“I can mind my own business,” evaded Jerry with a broad smile at Muriel which robbed her brusque comment of any implied rebuke. “Let Veronica Browning give out her own information. If I’m going to trail anyone, I choose to shadow Mignon and see that she doesn’t make things hard for this new girl.”

“Let us all solemnly agree to stand by her,” proposed Marjorie impulsively. “By that I don’t mean that we are to forget our promise to Mignon’s father. We must try somehow to help them both.”

After her chums had left her at her own gate, she wondered rather soberly as she went slowly up the walk to the house, how the difficult measure she had so strongly advocated could be carried out.

CHAPTER III – MISSING: A LETTER

When Marjorie returned to school that afternoon, her eyes widened in startled surprise as they became riveted on a square white envelope on her desk addressed to herself. For an instant her heart sank. Then she laughed softly, under her breath, as she recalled that although the script was unmistakably that of the Observer, she now had no need to dread it. The Observer had been laid to rest on a certain snowy afternoon of last winter. This note was from Lucy Warner, her friend.

Opening it, a quick light of pleasure dawned in her face as she read: