Grace Harlowes Plebe Year at High School | Page 2

of the basement of the fine old building
that was the pride of Oakdale. It was large and imposing, built of
smooth, gray stone, with four huge columns supporting the front
portico. A hundred yards away stood the companion building, the Boys'
High School, exactly like the first in every respect except that a wing
had been added for a gymnasium which the girls had the privilege of
using on certain days. A wide campus surrounded the two buildings,
shaded by elm and oak trees. Certainly no other town in the state could
boast of twin high schools as fine as these; and especially did the
situation appeal to the people of Oakdale, for the ten level acres
surrounding the two buildings gave ample space for the various athletic
fields, and the doings of the high schools formed the very life of the
place.
But we must return to our three girls who were hurrying down the

shady street, followed in a more leisurely and dignified fashion by
Miriam and her friends. The shabby figure of the little stranger had just
turned the corner as the girls left the High School grounds.
"Come on," cried Grace breathlessly, leading the way. Having once
made up her mind, she always pursued her point with a fine obstinacy
regardless of opinion.
When they had come to the cross street they saw their quarry again,
now making her way slowly toward the street next the river. This was
the shabbiest street in Oakdale, though no one knew exactly why, since
the river bank might have been the chosen site for all the handsomest
buildings; but towns are as incorrigible as people, sometimes, and insist
on growing one way when they should grow another, without the
slightest regard for future appearances.
And so, when little Miss Pierson stopped in front of one of the smallest
and meanest cottages on River Street, the girls knew she must, indeed,
be very poor. The house, small and forlorn, presented a sad
countenance streaked with tear stains from a leaky gutter. An uneven
pavement led to the front door, which bore a painted sign: "Plain
Sewing."
They paused irresolutely at the gate, and were taking counsel together
when Miriam Nesbit passed with her friends. She pointed at the door
and laughed.
"Really, that girl's conduct is contemptible!" exclaimed Grace, giving
the wooden gate a vigorous push. "I simply won't tolerate her rudeness.
She is an unmitigated snob!" Grace knocked on the door rather sharply
to emphasize her feelings. It was opened almost immediately by Miss
Pierson herself, still in her hat and coat; and in her surprise and
embarrassment she almost shut the door in their faces. But Jessica's
gentle smile reassured her, and Grace, who was a born leader, took her
hand kindly and plunged at once into the subject.
"You left school so quickly this afternoon, Miss Pierson, that I didn't
have a chance to see you. I have something very particular I want to ask

you to-day."
"Won't you come in?" said the other, opening the door into the parlor,
which had an air of refinement about it in spite of its utter poorness.
"Anne!" called a querulous voice down the passage.
"Yes, mother, I'm coming," answered the girl, hurrying out of the room
with a frightened look in her eyes. In a few moments she was back
again.
"Please excuse me for leaving you," she said. "My mother is an invalid
and needs my sister or me with her constantly."
"Her name is Anne, then," thought Grace. "I shall call her so at once
and break the ice."
"Anne," she said aloud, "I think you know my friends, don't
you--Jessica Bright and Nora O'Malley? And I am Grace Harlowe."
"Oh, yes," replied Anne, brightening at the friendly advances of the
others. "I remember your names from the roll call."
"Of course," replied Grace. "But I think we should all be more to each
other than roll-call acquaintances, we freshmen. I am very ambitious
for our class. I want it to be the best that ever graduated from Oakdale
High School, and for that reason, I think all the girls in it should try to
be friends and work together to advance the cause. I'm going to start the
ball rolling by giving a tea to our class next Saturday afternoon. Will
you come and receive with Jessica and Nora and me?"
Anne clasped her hands delightedly for a moment. Then her eyes filled
with tears and her lips trembled so that the girls were afraid she might
be going to cry. Tender-hearted Jessica turned her face away for fear of
showing too much sympathy.
"I'm sorry," said Anne at last, rather unsteadily, "but I am afraid I can't
accept your delightful invitation. I----"

"I beg your pardon," said