For the Sake of the School | Page 6

can tell you; I'm tired to
death. Any tea about? I could drink the sea. My gracious, I've had a
time of it coming here!"
At the first word Miss Bowes had glided from the room, and the voice
died away as the door of her private study closed. Sounds suggestive of
the carrying upstairs of luggage followed, and a hinnying laugh echoed
once down the stairs. The girls looked at one another; there was a
shadow in Ulyth's eyes. She did not share in the general smile that
passed round the table, and she finished her tea in dead silence.
"Going to sample your new property?" whispered Mary Acton as the
girls pushed back their chairs.
"What's the formula for swearing an undying friendship?" giggled
Addie Knighton.
"Was it Rose of Sharon you called her?" twinkled Christine Crosswood.
"Or Lily of the Valley?"
Ulyth did not reply. She walked upstairs very slowly. The nasal twang
of that high-pitched voice in the hall had wiped the bloom off her
anticipation. The small double dormitory in which she slept was No. 3,
Room 5. The door was half-open, so she entered without knocking.
Both beds, the chairs, and most of the floor was strewn with an
assortment of miscellaneous articles. On the dressing-table was a tray
with the remains of tea. Over a large cabin trunk bent a girl of fourteen.
She straightened herself as she heard footsteps.
Alas! alas! for Ulyth's illusions. The enchanting vision of the prairie
flower faded, and Rona Mitchell stood before her in solid fact. Solid
was the word for it--no fascinating cinema heroine this, but an ordinary,
well-grown, decidedly plump damsel with brown elf locks, a ruddy

sunburnt complexion, and a freckled nose.
Where, oh, where, were the delicate features, the fairy-like figure, and
the long rich clustering curls of Rose of the Wilderness? Ulyth stood
for a moment gazing as one dazed; then, with an effort, she
remembered her manners and introduced herself.
"Proud to meet you at last," replied the new-comer heartily. "You and
I've had a friendship switched on for us ready-made, so to speak. I liked
your letters awfully. Glad they've put us in together."
"Did--did you have a nice journey?" stammered Ulyth.
It was a most conventional enquiry, but the only thing she could think
of to say.
"Beastly! It was rough or hot all the time, and we didn't get much fun
on board. Wasn't it a sell? Too disappointing for words! Mrs. Perkins,
the lady who had charge of me coming over, was just a Tartar. Nothing
I did seemed to suit her somehow. I bet she was glad to see the last of
me. Then I was sea-sick, and when we got into the hot zone--my, how
bad I was! My face was just skinned with sunburn, and the salt air
made it worse. I'd not go to sea again for pleasure, I can tell you. I say,
I'll be glad to get my things fixed up here."
"This is your bed and your side of the room," returned Ulyth hastily,
collecting some of the articles which had been flung anywhere, and
hanging them in Rona's wardrobe; "Miss Moseley makes us be very
tidy. She'll be coming round this evening to inspect."
Rona whistled.
"Guess she'll drop on me pretty often then! No one's ever called
neatness my strong point. Are those photos on the mantelpiece your
home folks? I'm going to look at them. What a lot of things you've got:
books, and albums, and goodness knows what! I'll enjoy turning them
over when I've time."

At half-past eight that night a few members of the Lower Fifth, putting
away books in their classroom, stopped to compare notes.
"Well, what do you think of your adorable one, Ulyth?" asked
Stephanie Radford, a little spitefully. "You're welcome to her company
so far as I'm concerned."
"Rose of the Wilderness, indeed!" mocked Merle Denham.
"Your prairie rose is nothing but a dandelion!" remarked Christine
Crosswood.
"I never heard anyone with such an awful laugh," said Lizzie Lonsdale.
"Don't!" implored Ulyth tragically. "I've had the shock of my life.
She's--oh, she's too terrible for words! Her voice makes me cringe. And
she pawed all my things. She snatched up my photos, and turned over
my books with sticky fingers; she even opened my drawers and peeped
inside."
"What cheek!"
"Oh, she hasn't the slightest idea of how to behave herself! She asked
me a whole string of the most impertinent questions: what I'd paid for
my clothes, and how long they'd have to last me. She's unbearable. Yes,
absolutely impossible. Ugh! and I've got to sleep in the same room with
her to-night."
"Poor martyr, it's hard luck," sympathized Lizzie. "Why did you write
and ask the Rainbow to put you