



Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
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[Illustration: Singing and cheering wildly they carried her to the
other end of the gym.]




POLLY'S FIRST YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL

BY

DOROTHY WHITEHILL

ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES L. WRENN

PUBLISHERS

BARSE & CO.

NEW YORK, N. Y., NEWARK, N. J.




Copyright, 1916 By Barse & Co.

Polly's First Year at Boarding School

Printed in the United States of America




CONTENTS

    CHAPTER I--THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
    CHAPTER II--THE PAPER CHASE
    CHAPTER III--THE WELCOME DANCE TO THE NEW GIRLS
    CHAPTER IV--THE CHOOSING OF THE TEAMS
    CHAPTER V--THE THANKSGIVING PARTY
    CHAPTER VI--A RAINY DAY
    CHAPTER VII--BETTY'S DUCKING
    CHAPTER VIII--CUTTING THE LECTURE
    CHAPTER IX--THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS
    CHAPTER X--THE VALENTINE PARTY
    CHAPTER XI--PRACTICING FOR THE INDOOR MEET
    CHAPTER XII--POLLY'S HEROISM
    CHAPTER XIII--BETTY'S IDEA
    CHAPTER XIV--THE FRESHMEN ENTERTAIN
    CHAPTER XV--VISITORS
    CHAPTER XVI--GHOSTS
    CHAPTER XVII--POLLY INTERVENES
    CHAPTER XVIII--WANTED: A MASCOT
    CHAPTER XIX--FIELD DAY
    CHAPTER XX--THE MUSICAL
    CHAPTER XXI--COMMENCEMENT DAY




CHAPTER I--THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL


Seddon Hall, situated on top of one of the many hills that lined either
side of the Hudson River, was a scene of hubbub and confusion. It was
the 27th of September and the opening day of school. The girls who had
already arrived were walking arm in arm about the grounds, in the broad
assembly hall, and in the corridors, talking, laughing and discussing
the summer vacation, plans for the winter, the new girls, and a variety
of subjects with fine impartiality.

In the Senior reception room Mrs. Baird, principal of the school, and a
number of the faculty were receiving and assuring the mothers and
guardians of the girls.

Outside the carriages from the 5:04 train were winding up the steep hill
from the station. The girls were waving and calling hellos as they
passed one another, and on the broad piazza there was a quantity of suit
cases, and a good deal of kissing.

Polly Pendleton, seated beside her uncle in one of the last carriages,
was just the least little bit frightened. She had never seen quite so
many girls nor heard quite so much laughing and talking in all her
rather uneventful life.

Polly's real name was Marianna, but her heavy dark hair framed a face so
bright and full of fun, and her big brown eyes had so much impishness in
their depth, that to have called her by anything so long and dignified
seemed absurd, and so she had been Polly all her life.

Until two months before this story opens she had lived her thirteen
years in an old fashioned New England town with her aunt, Hannah
Pendleton, her father's eldest sister, and quite as severe as her name.
It had been a very unexciting existence--school every morning with the
village minister, and a patchwork "stint" every afternoon under the
direction of Aunt Hannah.

Polly was beginning to think every day was going to be just like every
other, when suddenly Aunt Hannah died and she came to New York to live
with Uncle Roddy. It had been a great change to leave the old house and
the village, but under Uncle Roddy's jolly companionship she soon ceased
to miss any part of her old life.

After what seemed an age, the carriage finally reached the top of the
hill, and Polly, holding tight to her uncle's arm, was shown into the
reception-room. She was finding it harder every minute to keep down the
unaccountable lump that had risen in her throat, when Mrs. Baird,
catching sight of them, held out a welcoming hand.

"How do you do, Mr. Pendleton?" she asked. "And is this Marianna? My
dear," she added, putting her hand on Polly's shoulder, "I hope you are
going to be very happy and contented with us."

It was perhaps the fiftieth time Mrs. Baird had made that same remark
that day, but Polly, looking into her kindly blue eyes, felt, as had
every other new girl at Seddon Hall, the complete understanding and
sympathy of the older woman, and felt, too, without knowing why, that
Mrs. Baird had had her first day at boarding-school.

Louise Preston, one of the Seniors, a slender girl of seventeen, with
heaps of taffy- hair, big blue eyes, and the sweetest and
jolliest smile, caught her principal's beckoning nod, and coming
forward, was presented. Mrs. Baird suggested that she take Polly and
show her to her room.

As the two girls mounted the broad staircase, Louise linked her arm in
Polly's in a big sisterly fashion, and began the conversation.

"This floor that we're coming to," she explained, "is Study Hall floor;
all those doors are classrooms. This is the Bridge of Sighs," she
continued, stopping before a covered passage which led from one building
to another.

"Why the Bridge of Sighs?" inquired Polly.

They were crossing it as she asked. When they reached the other side,
Louise solemnly pointed to a door on the left.

"That," she explained, "is Miss Hale's room. Miss Hale is the Latin
teacher, and when you know her, you'll understand why this is the Bridge
of Sighs."

"Goodness! let's hurry past if she's as dreadful as all that," laughed
Polly. "What's this long corridor?"

"This is the Hall of Fame or, in other words, the abode of the Senior
class," Louise told her. "Junior and Sophomore corridors are in the
other wing, and Freshman Lane, where you'll be, is just above this on
the next floor. You see the classes are named as they are in college."

"Then who are the little girls I saw downstairs?"

"Those were the younger children; we don't see much of them until
they're Intermediates--that's the class just before the Freshmen," Louise
explained.

"Now we'll find your room."

When they reached the floor above, they were met with a shout of joy as
the girls, who were dashing in and out of one another's rooms, caught
sight of Louise.

"Hello, Louise, how are you? Awfully glad you're back," called some one.
"Why didn't you answer my letter?"

"Don't you realize this is _Miss_ Preston, that we're a dignified Senior
this year, and we mustn't be called Louise?" corrected another laughing
voice.

Then, as they caught sight of Polly, they stopped short. It was Louise
who broke the embarrassed silence by asking:

"Does any one know where Marianna Pendleton's room is?"

At the unfamiliar sound of her real name, Polly looked so puzzled that
she added:

"Your name is Marianna, isn't it?"

"Yes," assented Polly, "but I'll never get used to it. No one has ever
called me anything but Polly."

"Then Polly you shall be; it suits you, and Marianna doesn't."

"How do you do? I'm Betty Thompson. Louise doesn't seem to have the
manners to introduce me."

It was golden-haired, snub-nosed, freckled, little Betty, one of the
most popular of the younger girls, who was speaking. Her timely
impudence made every one laugh, and the ice was broken.

"I stand corrected," murmured Louise, in what was meant to be an abject
voice. "I'll begin introducing you at once. This is Roberta Andrews;
she's in your class. This is Constance Wentworth; we're very proud of
Connie; she plays the piano wonderfully."

"But she talks in her sleep," interrupted Betty.

Everybody laughed at this. It was an old joke that Constance, when in
the Intermediate class the year before, had frightened one of the poor
new teachers almost to death by reciting Lady Macbeth's sleep walking
scene, at twelve o'clock one night.

Polly liked her at once. There was something very beautiful about her
firm mouth, straight nose, high cheek bones, and big, dreamy brown eyes.

"This is Angela Hollywood," Louise continued. "Don't take any stock in
her name, it's deceiving."

Angela, who looked like an old-fashioned painting with her eyes as blue
as the sky, her pink and white cheeks, and her soft ringlets of
golden-brown hair, scowled threateningly.

"Your being a Senior," she drawled, "is all that saves you from my
wrath." Then, turning to Polly, she continued: "Don't let her give you a
wrong impression; you see, she's jealous. I really am quite angelic--"

"Do tell me when that is," demanded a voice from the other end of the
corridor. The girls turned to look and there, standing with suit case
and tennis racket in hand, dressed in a blue Peter Thompson sailor suit,
her tawny- hair tied half way down her back with a black ribbon,
her dark eyes dancing with fun, stood Lois Farwell.

Polly, standing to one side as the girls crowded around the newcomer,
realized that in some way she was different from the other girls. The
welcome she was receiving showed her to be a general favorite and much
thought of. When in a few minutes she was shaking hands with her, she
understood. Lois was evidently born to be liked.

The girls rattled on, asking a million questions at once. Louise left
for the society of her own class, and Polly went to her room to unpack
her case.

In a few minutes there was a knock at her door; one of the maids had
come to tell her she was wanted in the reception-room to say good-by to
her uncle. As she started down the corridor she met Lois.

"Where are you going?" questioned the latter. "Anything I can do for
you?"

Polly tried hard to keep back the lump in her throat as she answered:

"I am going to the reception-room; my uncle is leaving."

"Better take me with you," Lois advised. "You'd never find your way
alone."

When Polly reached the reception-room she found Uncle Roddy decidedly
unhappy. He was feeling a responsibility for, perhaps, the first time in
his bachelor life, and he didn't like it.

She said good-by to him, promised to write, and received his hug and
kiss with a choked sensation. Something snapped as the carriage
disappeared down the hill. She realized she was all alone. She would
have given anything to have been able to run after the carriage and beg
him to take her home with him.

The lump in her throat was asserting itself in tears as Lois came back
to find her.

"Come on up to Assembly Hall and meet some of the girls," she suggested,
putting her arm around her shoulder and pretending not to notice the
tears. At this touch of comradeship the lump in Polly's throat, as if by
magic, disappeared.

The rest of the day was a blur to Polly, as it was to all the new girls.
As she lay wide awake in bed until late that night, she tried to form a
clear idea of what had happened.

"I'm quite sure I'm going to like Angela and Connie," she said to
herself. "And I adore Betty; she's such fun. But Lois is the nicest of
all. It was awfully sweet of her to ask me to sit beside her for Mrs.
Baird's welcome talk, and she's promised to take me over the grounds
tomorrow.

"No one talked about anything I didn't understand, either, except
basket-ball, and Betty's promised to teach me how to play that the first
chance she gets."

Then she continued sleepily:

"Every one home used to say I was different from most girls, and Aunt
Hannah said I was a tomboy. But I'm just like all the rest--just an
ordinary girl."

And with a sigh of contentment she snuggled down in her pillows and
dropped off to sleep to dream of the happy year to come.




CHAPTER II

THE PAPER CHASE


It was two o'clock in the afternoon and the end of the first school day.
There had been no lessons to speak of. The new girls had been piloted to
the various classrooms, introduced to the teachers, received their books
and the general plan for the year had been laid out.

At the close of the last period Lois Farwell and Betty Thompson met in
the Study Hall corridor, and locking arms, sauntered off in the
direction of Freshman Lane.

"My, but it's good to be back again," began Betty, playing a tattoo with
her pencil on the steam pipes, that ran along under the windows on one
side of the corridor; "bully to be back," she repeated.

"Bet, do stop that fiendish noise," begged Lois. "You're as bad as ever.
Yes, it is good to be back; what shall we do to celebrate?"

"Let's talk about the new girls," suggested Betty; "how do you like them
so far?"

"I haven't talked to many of them, the ones in our corridor seem to be
all right. I think I'm going to like Polly Pendleton a lot."

"Oh! she's a duck," Betty agreed. "I like her already. The others are
nice, too, but there's something different about Polly, she's--"

"Yes, I know what you mean," Lois answered slowly. "She's more Seddon
Hallish than the rest; she sort of fits," she continued, wrinkling up
her forehead in an attempt to explain a state of being not exactly
describable in words.

At this point, they stopped to survey the bulletin board, and as they
stood reading the notices posted, they were joined by Louise Preston and
Florence Guile, both in Peter Thompsons, the accepted dress of the
school, but with their hair fixed on top of their heads, as befitted the
two most important members of the senior class.

"We want you two," greeted Louise; "been looking for you everywhere;
we're trying to get up a paper chase for this afternoon, some of the new
girls are 'weepy,' and Mrs. Baird thinks their thoughts had better be
diverted from home."

Betty assumed an attitude of deep dejection.

"I'd sort of hoped to spend the afternoon studying," she sighed,
regretfully, "but of course I'll be a martyr for such a worthy cause."

"Thanks, dear, we do appreciate your sacrifice," laughed Florence, "and
you, Lo, we can count on you I suppose, as it is a favor to Louise?"

Lois blushed and looked self-conscious. She had been rather
extravagantly fond of Louise the year before, and it embarrassed her to
be reminded of it.

"Yes, I'll come," she replied with a great show of indifference. "That
is, if I can be one of the hounds."

"Of course you may, that's one of the privileges of an old girl," Louise
assured her. "But we must hurry; will you two go up and get the Freshmen
together! We start at three from the gym."

"What about the paper?" Betty inquired. "I'll get it for you if you like
and find a laundry bag with a hole in it."

"Do, and we'll love you forever," promised Florence, adding over her
shoulder as the two girls dashed off down the corridor:

"Be sure there's plenty of it, we want a long chase."

Three minutes later, breathless from their race upstairs, Betty and Lois
reached Freshman Lane.

"Everybody ready for a paper chase at three o'clock," Lois called out;
"no excuses need be offered for none will be accepted."

"Angela and Connie, you lazy ones, that means you, too, come along,"
Betty commanded, bursting into Connie's room and discovering her curled
up comfortably on the bed, while Angela, sitting Turk fashion on the
window seat, was devouring crackers and peanut butter sandwiches.

Pausing now with one half way to her mouth, she drawled:

"Oh, Betty, you're so energetic, I don't want to go, I'm much too
tired."

She received no sympathy, however; instead, she was dragged ruthlessly
to her feet and admonished:

"Too lazy you mean, and too full of peanut butter; no, Angela, it is my
painful duty to save you from growing hideously fat." And Betty, as
though the subject was settled, turned her attention to Connie. But
Connie offered no opposition.

"I'll come with pleasure," she assured her. "Anything would be better
than watching Ange stuff."

Lois had proceeded to some of the other rooms and found their occupants
only too eager for something to do.

"I can't find Polly Pendleton," she called as Betty joined her, still
holding tightly to the reluctant Angela. "Have you seen her?"

Some one called out that she had not returned to her room after school,
so Lois went down to the Study Hall, in search of her.

She met her half way up the stairs.

"Were you looking for me?" she asked. "Louise Preston told me that there
was to be a paper chase and that you'd tell me what to do."

"Oh good, then you know," answered Lois. "Come on back to the corridor,"
she suggested; and slipping her arm around Polly's shoulder, asked:

"You're not homesick, are you!"

Polly smiled curiously, and half closed her eyes.

"Not now," she answered truthfully.

A few minutes before three about thirty girls in sweaters and caps were
waiting on the steps of the gym.

Louise Preston and Florence Guile, eagerly assisted by Lois and Betty,
and helpfully, though a little less eagerly by Connie and Angela, were
dividing the party into hares and hounds.

"All old girls to the right of the steps, all new girls to the left,"
ordered Florence. "New girls are hares, old girls, hounds."

"But doesn't some one go with us?" questioned Flora Ill