CHAPTER I

OFF FOR BOARDING SCHOOL

“Secret societies! Whew! I’m glad they don’t have them at our school.”

The speaker, a boy of sixteen, perched himself upon the porch railing, and swung his legs contentedly, as if he had uttered the last word on the subject.

The two girls to whom the remark was addressed listened eagerly. Ruth Henry, the small, dark-haired one, who was obviously no relation of the boy, leaned forward. Challenging him with her eyes, she asked quickly:

“What makes you say that, Jack? Have you any grounds?”

The other girl, whose fair hair and straight nose resembled the boy strongly enough to identify her as his sister, looked impatient.

“He doesn’t know a thing about them,” she said.

“Now, listen, Marj,” remonstrated Jack in the tone one might use to a child, although his sister was only two years his junior, “haven’t you ever heard dad tell about the awful things some of those secret societies did when he was at college? They had a house without a single window, and with only one door--made of iron--and nobody ever knew what went on inside. But dad said one poor freshman, who was to be initiated, got rebellious and wouldn’t do the stunts; and they blindfolded him and threw him into the creek. It was cold, and he got pneumonia and died!”

“Oh, Jack, you’re exaggerating!” exclaimed Marjorie scornfully. “You read about that in a book--you must have forgotten. Anyway, girls’ societies wouldn’t do anything like that.”

But Ruth’s dark eyes were sparkling at the idea of adventure and danger. If the truth were told, it was because of these very secret societies, or sororities, as the girls called them, that she had persuaded her mother to let her register among the freshmen at Miss Allen’s Boarding School for the coming fall. And Marjorie Wilkinson, a more timid girl, desired to go simply that she might be with Ruth. Both families had at last consented, but too late to give the girls a chance to secure a room together. The idea of a strange room-mate filled Marjorie with dismay; but to Ruth it meant new opportunities for friendship--and a new chance to make one of the secret societies.

A week after the foregoing conversation, the girls were on their way to the school. They had been satisfied to sit quietly during most of the journey, contenting themselves with looking out of the window, and dreaming of future popularity and happiness. It was only after they were seated in the school hack that Marjorie was seized with a sudden pang of homesickness.

“If we only could have roomed together!” she sighed, clasping Ruth’s hand, and looking away from the gathering darkness. “Promise me, Ruth,” she said ardently, “whoever your room-mate is, you won’t like her better than me!”

“Jealous!” teased Ruth. “How do I know who I’m going to like?” Then, seriously, “Marj, _do_ you suppose we’ll be asked to join a sorority?”

“Maybe you will, but I never would,” answered Marjorie. “I can’t make friends quickly enough.”

At this moment the hack stopped in front of the school door. Miss Allen’s Boarding School originally started in a beautiful old house which had been in her family for generations. She began with about fifteen pupils, and only one teacher besides herself. Each year she was forced to add a little more to the buildings, until now her school accommodated almost a hundred girls. The lovely big trees, wide porches, and large grounds made the spot an ideal one for a boarding school. At one end of the estate there was a small pond where the girls went skating in winter, and there were also wonderful little groves which could be used for picnics whenever the Principal’s permission could be obtained. The swimming pool, the gymnasium, and the hockey field supplied ample facilities for the athletic girl to indulge her desire for more strenuous sport.

As Ruth and Marjorie approached, and saw the bright lights through the windows, and heard the happy girls’ laughter, they felt, indeed, that they had reached the place of their dreams. Marjorie’s feeling of homesickness vanished as Miss Landis, the English teacher, came to greet them.

“How do you do, girls?” she said cordially. “I’m Miss Landis. Will you tell me your names?”

“I am Ruth Henry, and this is Marjorie Wilkinson,” replied Ruth. “We’re so glad to be here,” she added, “after our long ride.”

“I will take you to your rooms,” said Miss Landis, leading the way.

Marjorie was charmed by Miss Landis’s manner, which seemed so cordial and pleasant that she decided if everyone at school were like her, it surely would be a delightful place. But Ruth’s thoughts had taken an entirely different direction.

“Who are our room-mates?” she asked, as they ascended the stairs.

“Let me think,” said Miss Landis. “It’s hard to remember with so many girls, but I helped Miss Allen with the lists.” She stopped as they reached the second floor. “Oh, yes,” she continued, “you room with Ethel Todd--a sophomore. She’s a splendid girl--very popular. You’re lucky! And your room-mate,” she turned to Marjorie--“hasn’t come yet. She’s a freshman, named Lily Andrews.”

They walked down the corridor and stopped at the room which was to be Ruth’s. In answer to Miss Landis’s knock, a pretty girl about sixteen years old opened the door, disclosing an attractive interior with three large windows. Miss Landis introduced the girls.

Ethel apologized for the appearance of the room.

“You see I am just hanging the pictures and putting up the curtains,” she said. Turning to Ruth, she added, “It will be lovely to have you to help me!”

Ruth’s eyes danced; already she was fascinated by Ethel.

“Now I’ll show you to your room,” said Miss Landis to Marjorie. “I’m sorry there will be no room-mate there to welcome you, but then you can do that for her when she comes.”

As they went up another flight of stairs, Marjorie asked:

“Does she--does Ruth’s room-mate--belong to any of the sororities?”

“Yes, she belongs to _the_ sorority,” replied Miss Landis. “There’s only one, but we teachers wish there weren’t any; for it takes the girls’ minds from their lessons and their athletics, and besides, it causes a good deal of unhappiness.”

“Unhappiness!” repeated Marjorie in astonishment. “Why, I should think it would be all fun.”

“It is--for those who belong. But you see only sixteen girls--four out of each class--are chosen; and most of the other girls in the school are miserable because they aren’t asked to join. We’d like to abolish it; but some of the prominent Alumnæ who are members of the Board belong, and as long as the girls want it, they won’t hear of doing away with it.”

Miss Landis stopped before a door at the back of the building. “Here is your room,” she said.

As the teacher threw open the door, Marjorie experienced a chill of disappointment. In contrast to Ruth’s attractive room, hers was dark and small, with only one window, and the slanting roof extended down over part of the wall. And it was very bare--only the bed seemed ready for use.

“I’m sorry you’ll be alone,” said Miss Landis, “but I’ll come and take you over to Ruth’s room to go down to supper with her. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

It was all Marjorie could do to keep from crying. Mechanically she began to take off her hat and coat.

“I feel just like poor little Paul Dombey who was sent to that dreary school of Doctor Blimber’s--in Dickens,” thought Marjorie. “Only, I guess everything will be all right when I see Ruth again, and meet my room-mate.”

The bell for supper had already rung; in a few minutes Miss Landis returned, and they started off together for Ruth’s room. There was no answer to Miss Landis’s knock at the door.

“She must have gone down with her room-mate,” said Miss Landis. “Never mind; you can come with me. I’ll find you a place.”

The dining-room was brilliantly lighted. Seven long tables were placed in various parts of the room. The girls, most of them in light summer dresses, were crowding in and sitting down anywhere, as the regular seats were not yet assigned. Marjorie noticed that one teacher sat at each table.

“Where would you like to sit?” asked Miss Landis.

Just then Marjorie spied Ruth sitting beside Ethel Todd, at the farthest table under the window.

“I want to sit over there, near the window, with Ruth!”

“I am sorry,” said Miss Landis, “but I wouldn’t advise you to sit there without an invitation. All those girls belong to ΦΑΒ,--(Phi Alpha Beta)--the sorority--except the freshmen who have been invited there by them; and you wouldn’t want to sit there without an invitation.”

At that moment Marjorie felt all the bitterness of the outcast. “Ruth will make the sorority, and I won’t,” she thought. But she gave her attention to Miss Landis, who introduced her to some other freshmen.

When supper was over, Marjorie asked some of her new friends to her room. They did visit her for a few minutes; but they were all tired, and left early. Marjorie went to bed without even bothering to unpack, or to make any attempt to see Ruth.

“Never run after the sorority girls,” Miss Landis had advised, and Marjorie intended to profit by the advice.