FRESHMAN***


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MARJORIE DEAN
HIGH SCHOOL SERIES

By PAULINE LESTER

Cloth Bound, Cover Designs in Colors

MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SOPHOMORE.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

[Illustration: Poising herself on the bank, she cut the water in a
clean, sharp dive. Page 234. Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman]

      *      *      *      *      *      *

MARJORIE DEAN
HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN

by

PAULINE LESTER

Author of
"Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore"
"Marjorie Dean, High School Junior"
"Marjorie Dean, High School Senior"







A. L. Burt Company Publishers New York

Copyright, 1917 by A. L. Burt Company




MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN

CHAPTER I

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS


"What am I going to do without you, Marjorie?" Mary Raymond's blue eyes
looked suspiciously misty as she solemnly regarded her chum.

"What am I going to do without _you_, you mean," corrected Marjorie
Dean, with a wistful smile. "Please, please don't let's talk of it. I
simply can't bear it."

"One, two--only two more weeks now," sighed Mary. "You'll surely write
to me, Marjorie?"

"Of course, silly girl," returned Marjorie, patting her friend's arm
affectionately. "I'll write at least once a week."

Marjorie Dean's merry face looked unusually sober as she walked down the
corridor beside Mary and into the locker room of the Franklin High
School. The two friends put on their wraps almost in silence. The
majority of the girl students of the big city high school had passed out
some little time before. Marjorie had lingered for a last talk with Miss
Fielding, who taught English and was the idol of the school, while Mary
had hung about outside the classroom to wait for her chum. It seemed to
Mary that the greatest sorrow of her sixteen years had come. Marjorie,
her sworn ally and confidante, was going away for good and all.

When, six years before, a brown-eyed little girl of nine, with long
golden-brown curls, had moved into the house next door to the Raymonds,
Mary had lost no time in making her acquaintance. They had begun with
shy little nods and smiles, which soon developed into doorstep
confidences. Within two weeks Mary, whose eyes were very blue, and whose
short yellow curls reminded one of the golden petals of a daffodil, had
become Marjorie's adorer and slave. She it was who had escorted Marjorie
to the Lincoln Grammar School and seen her triumphantly through her
first week there. She had thrilled with unselfish pride to see how
quickly the other little girls of the school had succumbed to Marjorie's
charm. She had felt a most delightful sense of pardonable vanity when,
as the year progressed, Marjorie had preferred her above all the others.
She had clung to Mary, even though Alice Lawton, who rode to school
every day in a shining limousine, had tried her utmost to be best
friends with the brown-eyed little girl whose pretty face and lovable
personality had soon made her the pet of the school.

Year after year Mary and Marjorie had lived side by side and kept their
childish faith. But now, here they were, just beginning their freshman
year in Franklin High School, to which they had so long looked forward,
and about to be separated; for Marjorie's father had been made manager
of the northern branch of his employer's business and Marjorie was going
to live in the little city of Sanford. Instead of being a freshman in
dear old Franklin, she was to enter the freshman class in Sanford High
School, where she didn't know a solitary girl, and where she was sure
she would be too unhappy for words.

During the first days which had followed the dismaying news that
Marjorie Dean was going to leave Franklin High School and go hundreds of
miles away, the two friends had talked of little else. There was so much
to be said, yet now that their parting was but two weeks off they felt
the weight of the coming separation bearing heavily upon them. Both
young faces wore expressions of deepest gloom as they walked slowly down
the steps of the school building and traversed the short space of stone
walk that led to the street.

It was Marjorie who broke the silence.

"No other girl can ever be as dear to me as you are. You know that,
don't you, Mary?"

Mary nodded mutely. Her blue eyes had filled with a sudden rush of hot
tears.

"But it won't do any good," continued Marjorie, slowly, "for us to mourn
over being separated. We know how we feel about each other, and that's
going to be a whole lot of comfort to us after--I'm gone." Her girlish
treble faltered slightly. Then she threw her arm across Mary's shoulder
and said with forced steadiness of tone: "I'm not going to be a silly
and cry. This is one of those 'vicissitudes' of life that Professor
Taylor was talking about in chapel yesterday. We must be very brave.
We'll write lots of letters and visit each other during vacation, and
perhaps, some day I'll come back here to live."

"Of course you will. You must come back," nodded Mary, her face
brightening at the prospect of a future reunion, even though remote.

"Can't you come with me to dinner?" coaxed Marjorie, as they paused at
the corner where they were accustomed to wait for their respective
street cars. "You know, you are one of mother's exceptions. I never have
to give notice before bringing you home."

"Not to-night. I'm going out this evening," returned Mary, vaguely. "I
must hurry home."

"Where are you going?" asked Marjorie, curiously. "You never said a
word about it this morning."

"Oh, didn't I? Well, I'm going out with----Here comes your car,
Marjorie. You'd better hurry home, too."

"Why?" Marjorie's brown eyes looked their reproach. "Do you want to get
rid of me, Mary? I've oceans of time before dinner. You know we never
have it until half-past six. Never mind, I'll take this car. Good-bye."

With