Dorothy Dainty at Glenmore | Page 8

the parcel she's carrying!"
"Whatever it is, she must have wanted it, to go out such day as this,"
said Nancy, "and look! Miss Fenler is out on the porch,--why, she's
actually feeling of it to see what's in the parcel. Really, I don't see why
it's all right for her to do that."
"It does seem queer," agreed Dorothy, "but you know it is the rule that
the girls must not bring large parcels into this house, unless they're
willing to show what is in them.
"There! The paper has burst open, and,--Well, did you see that?"
Miss Fenler was actually thrusting a long bony finger into the opening
with the hope of learning if anything that had been forbidden, was
being smuggled into the house inside the folds of gayly flowered goods
that Patricia had declared was a tea-gown. After a moment, Miss Fenler
nodded as if dismissing the matter, and Patricia, her chin very high,
passed into the hall. Miss Fenler turned to look after her, as if not sure
if she had done wisely in permitting Patricia to enter with so large a
bundle, without first compelling her to open it, and spread its contents
for inspection.

Patricia's eyes had flashed when questioned about her parcel, but once
inside the hall, her anger increased, and she mounted the stairs,
tramping along the upper hall so noisily that several pupils looked out
to learn who had arrived. Farther down the hall a door opened, and
Betty Chase's laughing face looked out. She, too, had seen Patricia and
Miss Fenler on the porch and, while she did not like Patricia, she
detested the woman who seemed to enjoy spying, so her sympathy was,
of course, with the pupil.
"Had a scrap with the 'Fender'? I'd half a mind to say 'cow-catcher,'"
she said.
"Well, what if I did?" Patricia said, rudely, and walked on toward her
room.
Betty looked after her.
"Well, of all things!" she whispered, then said, "The next time you need
sympathy, try to buy some at the grocer's. Don't look to me!"
Patricia had done a rude, and foolish thing. Betty Chase was a favorite,
and Patricia had longed to be one of her friends, but thus far Betty had
been surrounded by her classmates, who hovered about her so
persistently that the pupils from Merrivale had not yet become
acquainted with her. Betty had hailed Patricia pleasantly, and she really
might have paused for a little chat, but she was one of those unpleasant
persons who, when some one person has annoyed her, is vexed with the
whole world. She took little heed as to where she was going, and
stamped along, muttering some of the many wrathful thoughts that
filled her mind.
Reaching a door that stood ajar, she pushed it open, and rushed in
exclaiming:
"The horrid old thing tried to pick open my parcel, but I wouldn't let
her. I guess Miss Sharp-eyes won't try again to--Why, where are you,
Arabella?"

A tall, thin girl with a pale face and colorless hair emerged from the
closet where she had been hanging some garments.
"Do you rush into people's rooms, and call them names?" she asked in a
peculiar drawl.
Patricia for once, was too surprised to speak.
"My name is not Arabella, nor Miss Sharp-eyes," concluded the girl.
"I--I beg your pardon. I thought this was my own room," gasped
Patricia, and rushing from the room, opened the next door on which her
own name and Arabella's appeared. She flew in, banging the door
behind her.
Arabella sprang to her feet, dropped her glasses, picked them up, and
setting them upon her nose, stared through them at Patricia.
"Don't you speak a single word!" commanded Patricia, "for I'm 'bout as
mad as I can be now, and if I get any madder--"
She stopped in sheer amazement, for Arabella had put on her hat, and
was now getting into her coat.
"Where are you going?" demanded Patricia, but Arabella put her left
hand over her lips, while with her right she slipped another button into
its buttonhole, and sidled toward the door.
Patricia sprang forward, locked the door, took Arabella by the shoulder,
and pushed her toward a chair. Surprised, and calmed by Arabella's
silence, and her attempt to leave the room, Patricia now spoke in an
injured tone.
"I'd never believe you'd start to go out, when I'd just come in so vexed,
and with loads of things to tell you. For goodness' sake, can't you
answer?"
"You told me not to say a word," said Arabella, "and you looked so
cross that I just didn't dare to, and I was going out so I'd be sure not to."

Patricia was flattered to learn that Arabella had actually been afraid of
her.