Irish -- England -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
Elma returned to the land of dreams, and Carrie cut and snipped, and
basted and pinned, until it was time for her to go downstairs to
breakfast. Elma got up at her usual hour, ate her breakfast with
scarcely a remark, and started for school. When she got there the
different members of the Tug-of-war Society were hanging about the
doors. The school was not yet opened and the girls who belonged to the
society nodded to one another and whispered and smiled. Among the party
waiting at the door were Alice Denvers, Kitty Malone, and Bessie
Challoner. Gwin Harley had not yet arrived. It was never Gwin's stately
way to be either too early or too late for school; she generally
appeared on the scene, driving up in her pretty little phaeton, just as
the clock struck nine. The other girls always made way for this dainty
little turnout, and Gwin would spring carelessly to the ground, give a
direction to the smart tiger who sat behind, and who immediately took
the reins, and then, turning with a gay nod to her companions, would
enter the school with them.
Gwin was certainly the pride of the school. The girls who were not her
absolute friends looked at her with awe, wonder, and admiration. The
girls who were her friends bragged of the fact to their companions. It
was a pleasure even to look at Gwin, for, although she never overdressed
herself, she was always so wonderfully dainty--her neat little shoes,
her lovely stockings, the fine quality of her cambric handkerchiefs, the
delicate scent which clung to them, the glossy braids of her ever
exquisitely arranged hair, and the very set of that perfectly plain
sailor hat with its band of white ribbon, were all the acme of
perfection. Oh, they all betokened wealth and taste, taste and wealth.
No wonder the girls worshiped Gwin. She never boasted of her wealth,
she never brought it prominently forward; but for all that it pervaded
her from the top of her head to the point of her pretty bronze shoes.
Kitty now gave Gwin an earnest and longing look. There was a peculiar
expression about Kitty's face: a sort of new, thoughtful look, as though
something was worrying her and causing her to cudgel her brains to quite
a remarkable extent. Kitty Malone had never yet been affected with
shyness, nor was she shy now. Just as Gwin's carriage appeared and the
other girls made way for it as was their wont, and Elma approached quite
close to Alice, meaning to make some remark to her, what she never
afterward remembered, Kitty ran straight up to Gwin and clasped her by
the hand.
"I want to say something to you very badly," she began.
"How do you do, Kitty?" answered Gwin in her pleasant high-bred voice.
"You want to say something to me? But the bell has just rung; we must go
into school."
"I mean after school," continued Kitty. "Can I walk with you during
recess?"
"Oh, but please, Gwin," cried Elma at that point, "you promised to walk
with me to-day; don't you remember?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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