Rosemary

J >> Josephine Lawrence >> Rosemary

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Sarah darted over to the space behind the atlas table where George
had thrown the paper weight. She lifted the glass cube and picked up
the little mashed object under it.

"He's killed it!" she sobbed. "He went and killed my little snake!"

Miss Ames lost her patience which is not to be wondered at,
considering the trying half hour she had endured.

"Sarah Willis you march down to the principal's office," she said
severely. "And throw that disgusting object in the trash can on your
way down. Don't you ever bring another snake, alive or dead, into
this room as long as I am the teacher. I want you to tell Mr. Oliver
exactly what has occurred here this morning and be sure you explain
to him that you fought George simply because he killed that wretched
reptile."

Sarah's heart beat uncomfortably fast as she walked down the broad
stone steps to the first floor where the principal's office was.
Her class room was on the third floor. On the second floor she
stopped and wrapped the dead snake in her handkerchief--for a
wonder she had one--and when she reached the first floor she
studied the pictures hung in the corridor with minutest care.
For once in her short life Sarah was anxious to have time to
stand still. Usually exasperatingly indifferent to rebuke or
reproval, Miss Ames had hit upon the one punishment that Sarah
could be fairly said to dread--an interview with the principal.

She approached the glass door marked "office" slowly. The door was
closed. All the stories she had ever heard of the boys who had been
"sent to the office," flashed through her mind. Few girls were ever
thus punished and it was a fourth grade tradition that a girl bad
enough to need an interview with the principal was always expelled.
Sarah wondered what her brother would say if she came home and said
she was expelled. Rosemary would feel the disgrace keenly--no one in
the Willis family had even been expelled from school, Sarah was
quite sure.

Did you knock, or did you go right in? Was the principal always
there? Perhaps he might be away for the day--Sarah devoutly hoped he
would be. She shut her eyes tightly, took a firmer grip on the
handkerchief containing the dead snake, and knocked on the glass
panel.

"Come in," called a pleasant voice, a woman's voice.

Sarah opened the door and stepped in. She saw a large, sunny room
with a desk in the center, and a smaller desk over by the window
where a young woman was typing busily.

"Mr. Oliver isn't in, is he?" said Sarah speaking at a gallop. A
swift glance had shown her that the young woman was the only person
in the room.

"Just go right into the next office, and you'll find him," said Mr.
Oliver's secretary, smiling.

CHAPTER XVI

MR. OLIVER AND SARAH

The door into the next office stood open. Sarah walked in, that is,
she stepped just inside the doorway and stood there as though glued
to the floor. The thin, gray-haired man who was stooping over the
flat-topped desk, looking at a card file, glanced up at her and
smiled. This was the principal, Mr. Oliver.

"Good morning," he said. "Did you wish to see me?"

"No-o," stammered Sarah, "I didn't. But Miss Ames sent me."

Mr. Oliver sat down and pointed to a chair drawn up beside the desk.

"Suppose you come and sit down and tell me all about it," he
suggested.

His secretary in the next room stepped over and closed the
connecting door noiselessly as Sarah seated herself on the edge of
the chair and stared unhappily at the floor.

"If you're in Miss Ames' room, you are a fourth grader," said Mr.
Oliver pleasantly. "What is your name?"

"Sarah," the small girl whispered, "Sarah Willis."

"Oh, yes--then you're a sister of Doctor Willis," said the
principal. "And I know Rosemary, too. Isn't there another sister--a
little light-haired girl in one of the grades?"

"That's Shirley," answered Sarah, forgetting her errand for an
instant and looking Mr. Oliver in the face for the first time.
"She's in the first grade."

"Well, Sarah, what have you to tell me?" said the principal quietly.
"Why did Miss Ames send you to me?"

"I don't know where to begin," complained Sarah forlornly.

"Don't be afraid--there is nothing to be afraid of," said Mr.
Oliver. "Just tell me everything that has happened and I promise to
listen to you and believe you."

Sarah, as Doctor Hugh had discovered, was morally not very brave.
She was afraid of people and though the Willis will was as strong in
her as in any of the others, she would not come out openly and
demand her way. Rather Sarah would do as she pleased and shirk the
consequences wherever possible. The doctor had had several little
talks with her on this subject of fear and he was gradually teaching
her to acknowledge her mistakes and wrong doings and patiently
explaining at every opportunity the rules of fair play.

"It is both cowardly and contemptible to let someone else be blamed
for what you have done," he said once to her. "I understand that you
are not really a coward, Sarah--you have to fight an extra enemy
called Fear. So when you do wrong and see a chance to escape blame
and punishment and refuse to wriggle out, you are really braver than
the girl who isn't afraid to say she did it. And every time you
conquer Fear, Sarah, you've made the next conquest easier. You'll
find that is so."

So this morning, in the principal's office, Sarah remembered what
Doctor Hugh had said. She wanted dreadfully to retreat into one of
her obstinate, sulky silences, and refuse to answer questions. She
was afraid--afraid of a severe scolding and the disgrace of a public
expulsion. Her knees were wobbling, but she slipped to her feet and
stood facing Mr. Oliver bravely.

"If you're going to expel me," she said clearly, "tell Hilda French
I wanted her to have my pencil box."

And then the tears came.

She cried and cried and as she wept she told the story and though
drawings of leaves and paint boxes and middy blouse pockets and
snakes and paper weights seemed to be hopelessly mixed in her
sobbing conversation, Mr. Oliver, in some miraculous fashion, pieced
together the disconnected bits and declared that he understood
perfectly. He loaned Sarah his extra clean handkerchief on which to
dry her eyes, her own handkerchief being obviously employed, for she
had laid the pathetic remains of the dead snake on his desk, and
when she was more quiet he told her kindly that there was no
question of expulsion.

"I don't know where you ever got such an idea," he said, smiling a
little, and he looked so friendly and not at all angry, that Sarah
even managed a faint, watery smile in response. "Boys and girls are
never expelled from school except for very serious reasons. You've
made a little mistake, that's all and I'll show you where you were
wrong in just a minute. Sometimes we want our own way so much, we
can't see how we can be wrong."

Sarah blushed a little, but nodded honestly.

"Well, you see, as soon as you found out that Miss Ames didn't like
snakes in her class room, you should have stopped right there," said
Mr. Oliver decidedly. "You disobeyed Miss Ames and all this trouble
came from that. If she said her class room was no place for snakes
and mice--you brought mice one day, didn't you?--that should have
settled the question for you."

"But how will the children ever learn about snakes?" asked Sarah
earnestly.

"They'll learn, if they are interested," answered Mr. Oliver. "You
can't force anyone to adopt your likes and dislikes, you know,
Sarah. Rosemary may like to sew and you may say you 'hate' to touch
a needle, but do you make yourself into an ardent needlewoman,
simply because Rosemary enjoys sewing? Don't you see? I'm afraid
you'll have to give Miss Ames and me your promise that you will not
bring any more snakes, alive or dead, or any other animal to
school."

Sarah promised slowly, her eyes on the dead snake.

"He was such a lovely specimen," she mourned. "I s'pose maybe he was
valuable."

"I tell you what to do, Sarah," said Mr. Oliver quickly. "You don't
know Mr. Martin, do you? He teaches biology in the high school and
I must take you up to his room some day and let you see the
'specimens' he has. He has a menagerie that fills one side of a
large room. Whenever you find something you can't resist, you bring
it here to me in the office and I'll turn it over to Mr. Martin. In
that way your class room won't be upset and Mr. Martin will likely
gain some valuable additions to his collection. Don't you think that
is a good plan?"

Sarah said she thought it was, and then, as the noon bell rang
throughout the building, Mr. Oliver shook hands with her and told
her that if she ever needed advice or help to come directly to him.
He promised, too, to speak to Miss Ames and tell her that no more
snakes or other lively "specimens" would be brought into her room by
Sarah. He opened the door for her and she was free.

She sped along the corridors, her snake in her hand again, but it
was a far happier Sarah than the little girl who had walked slowly
through them an hour and a half ago. Up to the lunch room dashed
this Sarah, and startled Rosemary who was opening the lunch box at
their corner table by her demand, "I have to bury a snake--will you
come help me?"

Of course she had to tell what had happened that morning, and
Rosemary and Shirley agreed that Mr. Oliver was "just as nice as
nice could be."

"Though I do hope, Sarah, this will teach you to let snakes alone,"
said Rosemary in the elder-sister tone she rarely used. "You
frightened Aunt Trudy into fits and now you've upset a whole class.
No, don't show me that ugly little snake--I'm sorry he is dead
because you are, but I don't want to see him; I couldn't eat a bit
of lunch. Come on, and eat your sandwiches and then we will go down
and bury him somewhere on the play-ground."

That night at dinner Rosemary had an announcement to make. Her eyes
shining like stars and her face glowing, she declared that she had
been appointed to plan and serve the dinner to be given by the
grammar school teachers for the Institute visitors.

"Institute is the second week in November," bubbled Rosemary, "and
there will be about ten visiting teachers from the towns within
twenty-five miles. Miss Parsons says I'm the best cook in the class
though Bessie Kent is older than I am and Fannie Mears had cooking
last year."

"But can you cook a dinner?" asked Doctor Hugh. "Seems to me that's
a pretty large order for a class of young girls and with visitors
expected, too."

"Oh, we know just what to do," said Rosemary confidently. "I have to
make out the menu and submit it to Miss Parsons by Friday of this
week. And then I have to choose the girls I want to help me cook,
and those to set and wait on the tables--this year we're going to
have small tables instead of one large one. And we girls are to do
every bit of the work ourselves!"

Aunt Trudy and Winnie beamed on Rosemary, sure that she would do
well whatever she undertook, while Sarah demanded to know who the
waitresses were to be.

"Well, Nina Edmonds for one," said Rosemary and the doctor frowned
involuntarily. Although Nina seldom came to the house and he knew
that Rosemary saw little of her outside of school, he could not help
but see that her influence continued to be remarkably strong.

"Nina's an awful chump," declared Sarah who cordially disliked her
and was in turn, disliked by Nina.

"She is not!" flared Rosemary. "And, Aunt Trudy she has the
loveliest blue velvet dress. She says she can wear it under her
apron and then, after dinner when we take our aprons off, she will
look all right. Couldn't I wear my new brown velvet that night?"

"Why I don't know," replied Aunt Trudy uncertainly. "I don't think
it would be very suitable, dear. What do you think, Hugh?"

"Don't know anything about clothes," he said shortly.

"You only want to wear it because Nina Edmonds is going to wear a
velvet dress," commented Sarah shrewdly.

"It will be awfully hot," said Shirley with unexpected wisdom.

"Well, I'm going to wear it, if Aunt Trudy doesn't say not to,"
announced Rosemary, her chin in the air. "Though I'd give anything
if I had some high heeled pumps to make me look taller. Honestly,
Hugh, I'm about the only girl in our class who doesn't wear 'em."

He smiled at her pleasantly, but there was no yielding in his voice.

"When you're sixteen, if you still want them, I'll have nothing to
say," he said. "Mother has said you are not to wear them until then,
you know, and if I had my way no woman, sixteen or sixty, should
teeter about in silly anguish. I can't help it if the girls are
skipping five years, Rosemary; as I've often reminded you, the
calendar says you are still a little girl."

Rosemary pouted a little, but she did not dare argue, the subject of
high heeled shoes having been long one of her secret sorrows. She
knew from experience that her brother would never consent to the
purchase of a pair and though she mentioned them from time to time,
it was without hope of converting him to her opinion.

She was in her room that night, collecting her cooking notes and
recipes, in preparation for making out the important menu, when
Winnie peeped in. The brown velvet dress lay on Rosemary's bed where
she had spread it, the better to admire its charms. It was a new
frock and so far she had worn it only twice. Simply made, with a
square neck and a touch of ivory colored lace in the form of a
vestee and at the bottom of the sleeves, it was the most becoming
dress Rosemary had ever had. She knew it, too.

"There's just one thing I want to say to you, Rosemary," announced
Winnie earnestly, "and that's this: you have got to make up your
mind which is the more important--this dinner or your dress. Because
cooking a good dinner takes all the brains a cook has--I ought to
know. You can't be thinking about whether you're going to get a
spot on your frock or whether the last hook is caught or left open.
And if you're too warm, as you will be in a velvet dress in that hot
kitchen and you all excited anyway, or if your feet hurt you, you're
not going to be able to give your attention to what you are cooking.
And I may not know much about teachers, but I imagine they're like
anybody else--when they're hungry, a brown velvet dress won't make
up to them for soggy potatoes and underdone meat. Miss Parsons is
banking on you--likely as not she's told the teachers you're the
best cook in the class, and if you serve up a poor dinner, do you
suppose looking at your velvet dress is going to make her glad she
trusted you? Of course you can suit yourself, and I'm not trying to
influence you, because you're old enough to--"

Rosemary rushed at her and hugged her warmly.

"You're a dear, darling Winnie!" she cried affectionately. "I'll
stop thinking about what I'm going to wear this minute, and go to
work on what I'm going to cook. Miss Parsons hates fussy clothes,
anyway, and I'll wear my white linen under my apron and be
comfortable. Hugh thinks I'm silly to wear the velvet, I know he
does."

"The velvet will keep," said Winnie tersely, "and I'll do up your
white linen for you so that it will look like new."

But, left alone, Rosemary could not resist trying on the brown
frock. She pinned her hair high, pushing it into a tower-effect with
the aid of combs, and added a long string of red beads that almost
touched the floor.

"I look so nice this way," she told the reflection in the glass,
naively. "Why isn't it ever sensible to wear your best clothes when
you expect to be busy?"

And that is a question older folk than Rosemary have asked, but,
unlike her, they have learned the answer.

CHAPTER XVII

THE INSTITUTE DINNER

Rosemary early encountered the usual difficulties that beset the
leader of any enterprise. The girls she selected to act as cooks
wept because they were not appointed waitresses and those tolled off
to serve at the tables were affronted because they had not been
elected to cook.

"You're the general, Rosemary," said Miss Parsons, when rumors of
dissatisfaction reached her. "Give your orders and see that they are
obeyed. You are in absolute charge of this dinner and no one is to
be allowed to dictate to you."

The Willis will and the Willis chin were good possessions to have in
this crisis and gradually Rosemary managed to achieve something
approaching harmony among her staff. Only Fannie Mears resolutely
refused to be won over.

"I'm just as good a cook as you are," she said to Rosemary one
afternoon, "and anyway, if I'm not, cooking isn't the most important
thing in school." (Fannie, you see, wasn't exactly logical.) "I'll
serve as a waitress," she went on "because I have a good deal of
class feeling and I don't want the other grades to say we made a
failure of our dinner. But I want you to know that I don't like it
one single bit and I think you are anything but fair."

Despite such small troubles, Rosemary enjoyed her responsibility and
as she was free from nervousness and had faith in her skill and
ability, the prospective dinner, under her planning, took shape
nicely and gave every evidence of being a success. Nina Edmonds was
in charge of the tables and waitresses and as she really knew how to
lay the service correctly and had clever ideas for decorating,
Rosemary was sure the dining room would present an attractive
appearance.

She went home early the day the dinner was to be given, to dress,
and found everything carefully arranged on her bed by Winnie who had
devoted half a day to the laundering of the white frock and cleaning
the white shoes. There was no school Institute Day, but Rosemary, of
course, had been busy all day, preparing for the dinner to follow
the close of the meetings.

"You look like my girl," said Doctor Hugh, kissing her when she came
down to the hall and found him waiting. "I thought I'd run you over
to the school--you don't want to get tired out before the evening
has begun, you know. And what time do you think the fireworks will
be over? Do you have to stay after dinner is safely eaten?"

"No, Miss Parsons has three women who are coming in to clear up for
us," answered Rosemary. "Usually we have to wash our own dishes,
that is, after every cooking lesson; but Miss Parsons said as soon
as the dining room was cleared, we might go, unless we want to
attend the reception in the gym. Jack said he might come and if he
does he'll bring me home."

"There'll be no if about it," announced the doctor decidedly. "I'll
drop in around half-past nine and bring you home in the car. If I'm
a bit later, you wait for me in the gym and then I'll know where to
find you."

Aunt Trudy and Winnie and Shirley and Sarah crowded to the door to
watch Rosemary off, in the dear way of loving families who would
send those they love off on always successful expeditions, and as
the doctor helped her into the roadster, Jack Welles came up, still
in football togs, for he had been practising.

"To-night's the big night, isn't it?" he asked, smiling. "You're
going to stay for the reception, aren't you, Rosemary? And we can
walk home together."

"Hugh's coming for me in the car," said Rosemary. "I wasn't sure you
were going, Jack."

"Well I told you I was," retorted Jack. "I thought, living next door
to you, I could save Hugh an extra trip."

"You come home with us, and we'll save you a walk," suggested the
doctor, touching the starter, and Jack shouted after them that he
would.

"What made you say that?" demanded Rosemary, flushing with vexation.

"Why not?" countered her brother. "Jack's a good friend, Rosemary,
isn't he?"

"Of course he is," said Rosemary warmly, "But, oh, well, you
wouldn't understand, because you're not a girl. He did say he was
going to the reception, but I would much rather ride home with you;
and now he'll know I know he said he was going, and if you hadn't
asked him he might think I wasn't sure he had said so."

"You may know what you are talking about, but I don't," declared her
bewildered brother. "However, as you wisely observe, I am not a girl
and perhaps that accounts for my dullness. Here we are at the
school, and whatever you do, Rosemary, don't fail to give them
enough. Anything but a sliver of chicken and a cube of potato for a
hungry man, remember."

Rosemary laughed, and ran up the path to the lighted door. The
corridors were deserted, though the sound of music came from the
auditorium, where the teachers were meeting. Upstairs the kitchen
and the lunch room, which was to serve as dining room, were ablaze
with light and girls in white caps and aprons were rushing about,
giggling excitedly and getting in each other's way.

"Oh, Rosemary!" Nina Edmonds pounced upon her at once. "Come and see
if the tables don't look pretty. Did you wear your brown velvet?"
she added in a lower tone.

Rosemary shook her head.

"White linen," she stated briefly. "I can't bother about clothes
to-night, Nina. I want to put the soup on to re-heat right away."

Nina insisted that she must see the tables first and they did look
pretty, with a vase of yellow "button" chrysanthemums in the center
of each and yellow ribbons running from the bouquet to the place
cards.

"Rosemary," Miss Parsons beckoned to her, "I just tasted the soup
and it is delicious, but I think a grain more of salt will improve
it. Just a dash, dear, and if you're afraid of getting too much in,
don't touch it. Everything going all right?"

"All right," nodded Rosemary, forbearing to mention that Fannie
Mears refused to speak to her and was evidently cherishing a
smoldering resentment that might burst into flame at an awkward
moment. Two of the girls were limping about in high heeled shoes and
these must be shielded from the critical eye and caustic tongue of
the cooking teacher, lest they become temperamental and refuse to
"wait" at all. Assuredly Rosemary had her hands full.

She went into the kitchen, tasted the soup and salted it carefully.
It was rich and smooth and Rosemary felt that when the time came to
ladle it into the cups she would have every right to be proud of her
ability, for she alone had made the soup, the other girls fearing
the mysterious "curdling" that sometimes spoiled their product.

Just before serving time, Miss Parsons called her for a whispered
consultation as to the seating of a special guest and when Rosemary
returned to the kitchen, she found the trays of soup cups ready on
the table. While she and two other girls filled them, the teachers
were coming into the dining room and finding their places by means
of the prettily lettered cards. By the time all were seated, seven
young waitresses were filing into the room, bearing in their hands
the trays of steaming soup.

They made a pretty picture and the guests smiled graciously as the
cups of thick cream soup, each with four delicately browned croutons
swimming on the top, were placed before them. The girls returned to
the kitchen as soon as all were served, for Miss Parsons had
instructed Rosemary to have them help her with the dishes for the
next course instead of waiting around the room for the guests to
finish.

Rosemary had decided to have a simple, hearty dinner, since the
weather was cold and many of the teachers would have a long ride to
reach their homes that night. So individual chicken pies, baked
potatoes and a corn pudding were to follow the soup, the young cook
having wisely determined to omit any extra frills that would add to
the difficulties of serving.

"Nobody's touched the soup!" reported Nina Edmonds, who was the
first to return with her tray, when the buzzer under Miss Parson's
chair sounded the signal in the kitchen that it was time to remove
the first course.

"Nobody touched it!" echoed Rosemary in alarm. "Let me see!"

She hurried around the table to inspect Nina's tray. Sure enough,
six little cups, still filled with soup, were there.

"Say, something's the matter with the soup," said Bessie Kent in a
shrill whisper as she came in with her tray. "They didn't eat
it--see, all the cups are full."

"Did Miss Parsons say anything?" asked Rosemary, staring at the
trays which now surrounded her. "How does she look?"

"Kind of queer," answered Fannie Mears, breaking her silence. "She
must feel funny, with all those folks sitting and looking at their
soup and not eating it."

"You hush up!" said Bessie Kent rudely. "There's the buzzer. Come
on, girls, we'd better hustle."

In a daze Rosemary saw to it that the trays were filled again, but
she took no pride in the beautifully browned pies, the fragrant corn
pudding or the glistening potatoes wrapped in snowy napkins. Her
dinner, she was sure, was ruined. She wanted to run home and cry
where no one would see her, but instead she saw to it that each girl
had what she needed on her tray. Then, when her two assistants were
arranging the forks and plates for the salads, Rosemary slipped over
to the table where she had put the soup kettle and tasted the
contents.

Salt! The soup was so thick with salt that she choked. Rich and
thick and smooth, what did it matter the texture or flavor, since
only one overpowering taste was present--that of salt.

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