Grace Harlowes Plebe Year at High School | Page 6

at the group
of girls who surrounded her, as she examined them through her
lorgnette, "most of you I have known since you were little tots, and
your fathers and mothers before you; but I don't know which of you
excels in her studies. Is it you, Grace, my dear?"

Grace shook her head vigorously.
"No, indeed, Mrs. Gray," she replied. "I could never be accused of
overstudy. I suppose I'm too fond of basketball."
"It won't hurt you, my dear," said the old lady, tapping the girl
indulgently with her lorgnette; "the open air is much better than that of
the schoolroom, and so long as you keep up an average, I daresay you
won't disappoint your mother. But none of you have told me yet who
leads the freshman class in her studies."
"Miriam Nesbit," said several voices in unison.
"Ah!" said Mrs. Gray, looking intently at Miriam. "So you are the gold
medal girl, Miriam? Dear me, what a young lady you are growing to be!
But you must not study too hard. Don't overdo it."
Mrs. Gray had gone through this same conversation every year since
any of the girls could remember, and never failed to caution the head
girl not to overstudy.
"There's no fear of that, Mrs. Gray," replied Miriam boastfully. "My
lessons give me very little trouble."
"Mrs. Gray," broke in Nora O'Malley mischievously, "Miriam Nesbit
has a close second in the class. The first girl who has ever been known
to come up to her."
Miriam flushed, half-angry and half-pleased at the adroit compliment.
"And who may that be, my dear?" queried Mrs. Gray, searching about
the room with her nearsighted blue eyes.
"It's Anne Pierson" replied Nora.
"Pierson, Pierson?" repeated the little old lady. "Why have I not met
her? I do not seem to remember the name in Oakdale. But where is this
wonderful young woman who is outstripping our brilliant Miriam? I
feel a great curiosity to see her."

"Anne Pierson, Anne Pierson!" called several voices, while Grace
began to search through the rooms and hall.
At the first mention of her name Anne had darted from her seat behind
the lemonade bowl, and rushed to the nearest shelter, which was the
conservatory.
Grace found her, at last, in the conservatory crouched behind a palm.
"Come here, you foolish child!" exclaimed Grace. "You are wanted at
once. Why did you run and hide? Mrs. Gray--the great Mrs.
Gray--wishes to meet you. Think of that!"
Anne clasped the girl's strong hand with her two small ones.
"Oh, Grace," she whispered, "won't you excuse me? I--I----"
"You what? Silly, come right along!"
Grace fairly dragged the trembling little figure into the drawing room,
where a silence had fallen over the group of young girls who watched
the scene.
"Tut, tut, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray gently. "You mustn't be
afraid of me. I'm the most harmless old woman in the world."
Then she tried to get a glimpse of Anne's downcast, crimson face.
"I wanted particularly to meet you, child," went on Mrs. Gray, "because
I hear you are a formidable rival of the best pupil in the freshman class.
That is a great boast for your friends to make for you, my dear. Miriam
Nesbit is a famously smart girl, I'm told. But I wanted to meet you, too,
because you bear the name I love best in the world."
Here the old lady's voice became very soft, and the girls suddenly
remembered that the young daughter had been called Anne. Was there
not a memorial window, in the chapel of the High School, of an angel
carrying a lily and underneath an inscription familiar to them all: "In
Memory of Anne Gray, died in her freshman year, aged sixteen"?

The girls moved off quietly, conversing in low voices, leaving Anne
alone with her new friend.
"You are a very little girl to be so clever," said Mrs. Gray, patting one
of Anne's small wrists as she looked into the dark eyes. "Where do you
live, dear?"
"On River Street," replied Anne undergoing the scrutiny calmly, now
she found herself alone.
"River Street?" repeated Mrs. Gray, trying to recall whom she had ever
known living in that strange quarter of the town. "Have you been long
in Oakdale?" she went on.
"A few years, ma'am," replied Anne.
"And what is your father's business, my child?" continued the old lady
remorselessly.
Anne blushed and hung her head, and for a moment there was no reply
to the question. Presently she drew a sharp breath as if it hurt her to
make the confession.
"My father does not live here," was what she said. "My mother is an
invalid. My sister supports us with sewing. As soon as I finish in the
High School, I