Grace Harlowes Second Year at Overton College | Page 6

to offer me deadly insult. That is about as much as I can
remember," finished the stout girl.
"Really, Elfreda, while you were describing yourself I could fairly see
you," smiled Arline.
"Now it's your turn," reminded Elfreda. "I imagine you were a cunning
little girl."
Arline flushed at the implied compliment. "Father used to call me
'Daffydowndilly,'" she began. "My hair was much lighter than it is now,
but it has always been curly. I am afraid I used to be very vain, for I

loved to stand and smile at myself in the mirror simply because I liked
my yellow curls and was fascinated with my own smile. No one told
me I was vain, for Mother died when I was a baby, and even my
governess laughed to see me worship my own reflection. When I was
twelve years old, Father engaged a governess who was different from
the others. She was a widow and had to support herself. She was highly
educated and one of the sweetest women I have ever known. When she
took charge of me I was a vain, stupid little tyrant, but she soon made
me over. She remained with me until I entered a prep school, then an
uncle whom she had never seen died and left her some money. She's
coming to Overton to see me some day. Overton is her Alma Mater,
too."
"You are next, Grace," nodded Ruth.
"There isn't much to tell about me," began Grace. "I was the tomboy of
Oakdale. I loved to climb trees and play baseball and marbles. I was
thin as a lath and like live wire. My face was rather thin, too, and I
remember I cried a whole afternoon because a little girl at school called
me 'saucer-eyes.' There wasn't a suspicion of curl in my hair, and I
wore it in two braids. I never thought much about myself, because I
was always too busy. I was forever falling in with suspicious looking
characters and bringing them home to be fed. Mother used to throw up
her hands in despair at the acquaintances I made. Then, too, I had a
propensity for bestowing my personal possessions on those who, in my
opinion, needed them. Mother and I were not always of the same
opinion. I wore my everyday coat to church for a whole winter as a
punishment for having given away my best one without consulting her.
With me it was a case of act first and think afterward. I don't believe I
was particularly mischievous, but I had a habit of diving into things
that kept Mother in a state of constant apprehension. Father used to
laugh at my pranks and tell Mother not to worry about me. He used to
declare that no matter into what I plunged I would land right side up
with care. I was never at the head of my classes in school, but I was
never at the foot of them. I was what one might call a happy medium.
My little-girl life was a very happy one, and full to the brim with all
sorts of pleasant happenings."

"I never heard you say so much about yourself before, Grace,"
observed Elfreda.
"I'm usually too much interested in other people's affairs to think of my
own," laughed Grace. "I have never heard Anne say much about her
childhood, either. She must have had all sorts of interesting
experiences."
"Mine was more exciting than pleasant," returned Anne. "Practically
speaking, I was brought up in the theatre and knew a great deal more
about things theatrical than I did about dolls and childish games. I was
a solemn looking little thing and wore my hair bobbed and tied up with
a ribbon. I never cried about the things that most children cry over, but
I would stand in the wings and weep by the hour over the pathetic parts
of the different plays we put on. Father was a character man in a stock
company. We lived in New York City and I used to frequently go to the
theatre with him. My father wished me to become a professional, but
my mother was opposed to it. When I was sixteen I played in a
company for a short time. Then mother and sister and I went to
Oakdale to live, and the nicest part of my life began. There I met Grace
and Miriam and two other girls who are among my dearest friends.
Nothing very exciting has ever happened to me, and even though I have
appeared before the public I haven't as much to tell as the rest of you
have."
"But countless things must have happened to you in the theatre,"
persisted Arline, looking curiously at Anne.
"Not so many as