The Little Colonel's Chum: Mary Ware by Annie Fellows Johnston

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The Little Colonel's
Chum: Mary Ware

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON

Author of "The Little Colonel Series," "Big Brother," "Ole Mammy's
Torment," "Joel: A Boy of Galilee," "Asa Holmes," etc.

Illustrated by ETHELDRED B. BARRY

[Illustration]

L.C. PAGE & COMPANY

BOSTON PUBLISHERS

_Copyright, 1908_
BY L.C. PAGE AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)

* * * * *

_Entered at Stationers' Hall, London_

* * * * *

_All rights reserved_

Made in U.S.A.

Twenty-third Impression, July, 1944
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC., CLINTON, MASS.

To
M.G.J.

[Illustration: "HER KEEN GRAY EYES SWEPT HIM ONE QUICK LOOK."
(_See page 4_)]

Preface

=Dear Boys and Girls Who Are Old Friends of the Little Colonel:=

When I finished the eighth volume of the Little Colonel Stories, The
Maid of Honour, I thought I had reached the end of the series, but such
a flood of letters came pouring in demanding to know what happened next,
that I could not ignore such a plea, and in consequence The Little
Colonel's Knight came riding by.

But even with Lloyd married and "living happily ever after" her friends
were not satisfied. "You skipped" they complained by the hundreds. "You
never told what happened between the time of her engagement and the
wedding, and you never told what happened to Betty and Joyce and Mary
and Phil and all the rest of them. Even if you haven't time for another
book, couldn't you just please write _me_ a little letter and satisfy my
curiosity about each character."

Of course I couldn't begin granting all those requests, and finally I
was persuaded it would be easier to answer your questions with a new
book. So here is Mary Ware, taking up the thread of the story at the
first of the skipped places. The time is September, the same September
that Betty went away to Warwick Hall to teach and Lloyd began to prepare
for her debut in Louisville.

Now this volume covers only one short year, so of course it can not tell
you all you want to know. But if you are disappointed because it does
not take you to the final milestone, remember that had we gone that far
it would have been the end of all our journeying together. And we have
it from our _Tusitala_ himself, that best beloved of travellers, for
whom in a far island of the sea was dug "a Road to last for ever," that
"_to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive_." A.F.J.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE
I. MARY ENTERS WARWICK 1
II. "THE KING'S CALL" 18
III. ROOM-MATES 37
IV. "AYE, THERE'S THE RUB!" 56
V. A FAD AND A CHRISTMAS FUND 81
VI. JACK'S WATCH-FOB 103
VII. IN JOYCE'S STUDIO 125
VIII. CHRISTMAS DAY AT EUGENIA'S 141
IX. THE BRIDE-CAKE SHILLING COMES TO LIGHT 163
X. HER SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY 190
XI. TROUBLE FOR EVERYBODY 205
XII. THE GOOD-BYE GATE 222
XIII. THE JESTER'S SWORD 237
XIV. BACK AT LONE-ROCK 262
XV. KEEPING TRYST 286

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

"HER KEEN GRAY EYES SWEPT HIM ONE QUICK LOOK"
(_See page_ 4) _Frontispiece_

"LAY BACK UNDER ITS SHELTERING CANOPY WITH A
SUPPRESSED GIGGLE" 52

"INSTEAD, IT SEEMED AS IF A SMALL CYCLONE SWEPT
THROUGH THE ROOM" 79

"THE GIRLISH FIGURE ENVELOPED IN A LONG LOOSE
WORKING APRON" 125

"SHE WAS A FASCINATING LITTLE CREATURE, ALL SMILES
AND DIMPLES" 153

"ALL SHE SAW WAS THE TELLER'S WINDOW, WITH A
SHREWD-EYED MAN BEHIND ITS BARS" 172

"OUT ON THE PORCH SHE HEARD FROM NORMAN HOW
IT HAD HAPPENED" 263

"WHEN SHE DROVE A NAIL IT HELD THINGS TOGETHER" 280

THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHUM: MARY WARE

CHAPTER I

MARY ENTERS WARWICK HALL

The bus running between Warwick Hall Station and Warwick Hall school
drew up at the door of the great castle-like building with as grand a
flourish as if it carried the entire Senior class, and deposited one
lone passenger upon the steps. As it was several days before the opening
of the Fall term, no pupils were expected so soon, and but few of the
teachers had returned. There was no one to see the imposing arrival of
the little Freshman except the butler, who had been drawn to the front
window by the sound of wheels. It devolved on him to answer the knocker
this afternoon. In the general confusion of house-cleaning the man who
attended the door had been sent up stairs to hang curtains.

That the newcomer was a prospective pupil, Hawkins saw at a glance. He
had not been in Madam Chartley's service all these years without
learning a few things. That she was over-awed by the magnificence of her
surroundings he readily guessed, for she made no movement towards the
knocker, only stood and looked timidly up at the massive portal and then
across the lawn, where a line of haughty peacocks stood drawn up in
gorgeous dress parade on the highest terrace.

"She's feeling like a cat in a strange garret," said the butler to
himself with a grin. It was a matter of personal pride with him when
strangers seemed duly impressed by the grandeur of this aristocratic old
manor-house, now used as a boarding-school. It was a personal affront
when they were not. Needless to say his dignity had suffered much at the
hands of American school-girls, and although this one seemed impressed
by her surroundings almost to the point of panic, he eyed her
suspiciously.

"'Eaven knows they lose their shyness soon henough!" he said under his
breath. "She can just cool 'er 'eels on the doorstep till she gets
courage to knock. 'Twull do 'er good."

But she waited so long that he began to grow uneasy. After that first
glance she had turned her back on the door as if she repented coming,
and, satchel in hand, stood hesitating on the top step ready for flight.
At least that is the way Hawkins interpreted her attitude. He could not
see her face.

It was a plain little face, sunburned as a gypsy's, with a generous
sprinkling of freckles on her inquisitive nose. But it was a lovable
face, happy and eager, with a sweet mouth and alert gray eyes that
seemed to see to the bottom of everything. Sometimes its expression made
it almost beautiful. This was one of the times.

She was not gazing regretfully after the departed 'bus as Hawkins
surmised, but with a pleasure so keen that it fairly made her catch her
breath, she was looking at the strange landscape and recognizing places
here and there, made familiar by kodak pictures, and the enthusiastic
descriptions of old pupils. There was the long flight of marble steps
leading down the stately terraces to the river--the beautiful
willow-fringed Potomac. There was the pergola overhung with Abbotsford
ivy, and the wonderful old garden with the sun-dial, and the
rhododendrons from Killarney. She had heard so much about this place
that it had grown to be a sort of enchanted land of dreams to her, and
now the thought that she was actually here in the midst of it made her
draw in her breath with a delicious little shiver.

Hawkins, from his peep-hole through one of the mullioned sidelights of
the great entrance, to which he had now advanced, saw the shiver, and
misinterpreting it, suddenly opened the door. It gave her such a start,
so absorbed had she been in her surroundings, that she almost toppled
down the steps. But the next instant it was Hawkins who was having the
start. Unabashed by his pompous manner, her keen gray eyes swept him one
quick look from his sphinx-like face to his massive shoe-buckles, as if
she had been given some strange botanical specimen to label and
classify. Without an instant's hesitation she exclaimed in the tone of
one making a delightful discovery, "Why, it's _Hawkins_!"

It was positively uncanny to the man that this stranger on whom he had
never laid eyes before should call him by name. He wondered if she were
one of these new-fangled mind-readers he had been hearing so much about.
It was also upsetting to find that he had been mistaken about her delay
in knocking. There was anything but timidity in the grand air with
which she gave him her card, saying, "Announce me to Madam Chartley,
Hawkins."

She was a plump little body, ill adapted to stately airs and graces, but
she had been rehearsing this entrance mentally for days, and she swept
into the reception room as if she were the daughter of a duke.

"There!" she said to herself as the portieres dropped behind her. "I
hope he was properly impressed." Then catching sight of her reflection
in a long mirror opposite, she wilted into an attitude of abject
despair. A loop of milliner's wire, from which the ribbon had slipped,
stood up stiff and straight in the bow on her hat. She proceeded to put
it back in place with anxious pats and touches, exclaiming in an
anguished whisper,

"Oh, _why_ is it, that whenever I feel particularly imposing and Queen
Annish inside, I always look so dishevelled and Mary Annish outside!
Here's my hat cocked over one eye and my hair straggling out in wisps
like a crazy thing. I wonder what Hawkins thought."

Hawkins, on his way up stairs was spelling out the name on the card he
carried. "Miss Mary Ware, Phoenix, Arizona."

"Humph!" was his mental exclamation. "From one of the jumping hoff
places." Then his mind reverted to the several detective tales that made
up his knowledge of the far West. "'Ope she doesn't carry a gun 'idden
hon 'er person."

Now that the first ordeal was over and she was safely inside the doors
of Warwick Hall, the new pupil braced herself for the next one, the
meeting with Madam Chartley. She wouldn't have been quite so nervous
over it if she had been sure of a welcome, but the catalogue stated
distinctly that no pupils could be received before the fifteenth of
September, and this was only the twelfth. She had the best of reasons
for coming ahead of time, and was sure that Madam Chartley would make an
exception in her case when once the matter was properly explained. The
friends in whose care she had travelled from Phoenix had expected to
spend several days in Washington, sight-seeing, and she was to have been
their guest until the opening of school. But a telegram met them calling
them immediately to Boston. She couldn't stay alone at a strange hotel,
she knew no one in the entire city, and there was no course open to her
but to come on to school.

It was easy enough for her to see why she might not be welcome. There
was a vigorous washing of windows going on over the whole establishment,
a sound of carpenters in the background and a smell of fresh paint and
furniture polish to the fore. Everything was out of its usual orbit in
the process of getting ready for the opening day.

Lying awake the night before in the upper berth of the hot Pullman car,
Mary had carefully planned her little speech of explanation, and had
rehearsed it a dozen times since. But now her heart was beating so fast
and her throat was so dry she knew the words would stick at the very
time she needed them most. Feeling as if she were about to have a tooth
pulled, she sank into a large upholstered rocking chair to wait. It
tipped back so far that her toes could not reach the floor, and she
sprang out again in a hurry. One could never feel at ease in an
infantile position like that.

Then she tried a straight chair, imitating the pose of a majestic
gentlewoman in one of the portraits on the panelled wall. It was one of
Madam's grand ancestors she conjectured. A glance into the tell-tale
mirror made her sigh despairingly again. She was not built on majestic
lines herself. No matter how queenly and imposing she might feel in that
attitude, she only looked ridiculously stiff.

Once more she changed her seat, flouncing down on a low sofa, and
struggling for a graceful position with one elbow leaning on a huge silk
cushion. It was in all seriousness that she made these changes,
realizing that she could not appear at her best unless she felt at ease.
But the humour of the situation was not lost on her. An amused smile
dimpled her face as she gave the sofa cushion a thump and once more
changed her seat. "I'm worse than Goldilocks trying all the chairs of
the three bears, but that's too loppy!"

She whisked into a fourth seat, this time opposite the portieres. To her
consternation the parted curtains revealed an appalling fact. Not only
could the winding stairway be seen from where she sat, but the entire
interior of the reception room must be equally visible to any one coming
down the steps. The dignified white-haired Personage now on the bottom
step must have seen every move she made as she darted around the room
trying the chairs in turn.

The faint gleam of suppressed amusement on Madam Chartley's face as she
entered, confirmed the girl's fears. It was unthinkable that such a
mortifying situation should go unexplained, yet for a moment after
Madam's courteous greeting Mary stood tongue-tied. Then she burst out,
her face fairly purple:

"Oh, I _wish_ you could change places with me for just five minutes!
Then you'd know how it feels to always put your worst foot first and
make a mess of everything!"

Madam Chartley had welcomed many types of girls to her school and was
familiar with every shade of embarrassment, but she had never been
greeted with quite such an outburst as this. Desperate to make herself
understood, Mary began in the middle of her carefully planned speech and
breathlessly explained backward, as to why she had arrived at this
inopportune time. The explanation was so characteristic of her, so
heart-felt and utterly honest, that it revealed far more than she
intended and opened a wide door into Madam's sympathies. As she stood
looking down at the girl with grave kind eyes, Mary suddenly became
aware of a strangely comforting thing. This was not an awesome
personage, but a dear adorable being who could _understand_. The
discovery made the second part of her explanation easier. She plunged
into it headlong as soon as they were seated.

"You see, I've heard so much about Hawkins and the way he sometimes
confuses the new girls with his grand London airs till they're too
rattled to eat, that I made up my mind that even if I am from Arizona,
I'd made him think that I've always 'dwelt in marble halls, with vassals
and serfs at my side.' I thought I was making a perfectly regal
entrance, till I looked into the mirror and saw how dilapidated I was
after my long journey. It took all the heart out of me and made me
dreadfully nervous about meeting you. I was trying to get into an easy
attitude that would make me feel more self-possessed when you came down.
That is why I was experimenting with all the sofas and chairs. Oh,
you've no idea how the Walton girls and Lloyd Sherman and Betty Lewis
have talked about you," she went on hurriedly, eager to justify herself.
"They made me feel that you were--well--er--sort of like _royalty_ you
know. That one ought to courtesy and back out from your presence as they
do at court."

Madam laughed an appreciative little laugh that showed a thorough
enjoyment of the situation. "But when you saw that the girls were
mistaken--"

Mary interrupted hurriedly, blushing again in her confusion. "No, no!
they were not mistaken! You're exactly as they described you, only they
didn't tell me how--how--er," she groped frantically for the word and
finished lamely, "how _human_ you are."

She had started to say "how _adorable_ you are," but checked herself,
afraid it would sound too gushing on first acquaintance, although that
was exactly what she felt.

"I mean," she continued, in her effort to be understood, "it seems from
the way you put yourself in my place so quickly, that once upon a time
you must have been the same kind of girl that I am. But of course I know
you were not. You were Lloyd Sherman's kind. She just naturally does the
right thing in the right place, and there's no occasion for her being a
copy-cat. That's what Jack calls me. Jack is my brother."

Madam laughed again, such an appreciative, friendly laugh, that Mary
joined in, wondering how the other girls could think her cold and
unapproachable. It seemed to her that Madam was one of the most
responsive and sympathetic listeners she had ever had, and it moved her
to go on with her confidences.

"Jack says I am not built on the same lines as the Princess. Princess
Winsome is one of our names for Lloyd. And he says it is ridiculous for
me to try to do things the way she does. He is always quoting Epictetus
to me: 'Were I a nightingale I would act the part of a nightingale; were
I a swan, the part of a swan.' He says that trying to copy her is what
makes me just plain goose so much of the time."

Madam Chartley, long accustomed to reading girls, knew that it was not
vanity or egotism which prompted these confessions, only a girlish
eagerness to be measured by her highest ideals and not by appearances.
She saw at a glance the possibilities of the material that lay here at
her hand. Out of it might be wrought a strong, helpful character such as
the world always needs, and such as she longed to send out with every
graduate who passed through her doors. Many things were awaiting her
attention elsewhere, but she lingered to extend their acquaintance a
trifle further.

"You know Lloyd Sherman well, I believe," she said. "I remember that you
gave Mrs. Sherman as one of your references when you applied for
admission to the school, and I had a highly satisfactory letter from her
about you in reply to my inquiry. Now that we speak of it I am reminded
that Lloyd added a most enthusiastic post-script concerning you."

Mary's face flushed with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
"Oh, did she?" she cried eagerly. "We've been friends always, even with
half a continent between us. Our mothers were school-mates. Lloyd was
more Joyce's friend than mine at first, because they are nearer of an
age. (Joyce is my sister. She's an artist now in New York City, and we
think she's going to be famous some day. She does such beautiful
designing.) Lloyd has been my model ever since I was eleven years old.
I'd rather be like her than anybody I ever knew or read of, so I don't
mind Jack calling me a copy-cat for trying. One of the reasons I wanted
to come to Warwick Hall was that she had been here. Would you believe
it?" she rattled on, "Last night on the sleeping-car I counted up
forty-two good reasons for wanting to come here to school."

It had been many a moon since Mary's remarks had met with such
flattering attention. Not realizing she was being studied she felt that
Madam was genuinely interested. It encouraged her to go on.

"Jack gave me my choice of all the schools in the United States, and I
chose this without hesitating an instant. Jack is paying my expenses you
know. I couldn't have come a step if it hadn't been for him, and there
wouldn't have been the faintest shadow of a hope of coming if he hadn't
been promoted to the position of assistant manager at the mines. Oh,
Madam Chartley, I _wish_ you knew Jack! He's just the dearest brother
that ever lived! So unselfish and so ambitious for us all"--

She stopped abruptly, feeling that she was letting her enthusiasm run
away with her tongue. But Madam, noting the quick leap of light to her
eyes and the eager clasping of her hands as she spoke of him wanted to
hear more. She was sure that in these naive confessions she would find
the key-note to Mary's character. So with a few well chosen questions
she encouraged her to go on, till she had gathered a very accurate idea
of the conditions which had produced this wholesome enthusiastic little
creature, almost a woman in some respects, the veriest child in others.

Mary had had an uneventful life, she judged, limited to the narrow
bounds of a Kansas village, and later to the still narrower circle of
experiences in the lonely little home they had made on the edge of the
desert, when Mrs. Ware's quest of health led them to Arizona. But it was
a life that had been lifted out of the ordinary by the brave spirit
which made a jest of poverty, and held on to the refining influences
even while battling back the wolf from the door. It had made a family of
philosophers of them, able to extract pleasure from trifles, and to
find it where most people would never dream of looking.

As she listened, Madam began to feel warmly drawn to the entire family
who had taken the good old Vicar of Wakefield for an example, and
adopted one of his sayings as a rule of life: "Let us be inflexible and
fortune will at last turn in our favour."

Mary had no intention of revealing so much personal history, but she had
to quote the motto to show how triumphantly it had worked out in their
case and what a grand turn fortune had taken in their favour after so
many years of struggle to keep inflexible in the face of repeated
disappointments and troubles. It had turned for all of them. Joyce,
after several years of work and worry with her bees, had realized enough
from them to start on her career as an artist. Holland was at Annapolis
in training for the navy. Within the last six weeks Jack's promotion had
made possible his heart's desire, to send Mary to school and to bring
his mother and thirteen year old brother to Lone-Rock, the little mining
town where he had been boarding, ever since Mr. Sherman gave him his
first position there, several years before.

Mary was so bubbling over with the pleasure these things gave her that
it was impossible not to feel some share of it when one looked at her.
As Madam Chartley led the way to the office she felt a desire to add
still more to her pleasure. It was refreshing to see some one who could
enjoy even little things so thoroughly. She bent over the ledger a
moment, scanning the page containing the list of Freshmen who had passed
the strict entrance requirements.

"I had already assigned you to a room," she said, "but from what you
tell me I fancy you would count it a privilege to be given Lloyd's old
room. If that is so I'll gladly make the change, although I do not know
whether the other girl assigned to that room will prove as congenial a
companion to you as the first selection. Her mother asked for that
particular room, so I cannot well change."

Mary's face grew radiant. "Oh, Madam Chartley!" she cried. "I'd room
with a Hottentot for a chance to stay inside the four walls that held
the Princess all her school-days. You don't know how much it means to
me! You've made me the happiest girl on the face of the globe."

"It's a far cry from Ethelinda Hurst to a Hottentot," laughed Madam
Chartley. "She comes from one of the wealthiest homes in the suburbs of
Chicago, and has had every advantage that civilization can offer. She's
been abroad eight times, I believe, and has always studied at home under
private tutors. She's an only daughter."

"How interesting! That will be lots more diverting than a room-mate who
has always done the same common-place things that I have. Oh, you've no
idea how hard I'm going to work to deserve all this! I wrote to Jack
last night that I intend to tackle school this year just the way I used
to kill snakes--with all my might and main!"

An amused expression crossed Madam Chartley's face again. She was
thinking of Ethelinda and the possible effect the two girls might have
on each other. At any rate it was an experiment worth trying. It might
prove beneficial to them both. She turned to Mary with a smile, and
pressed a button beside her desk.

"Your trunk shall be sent up as soon as the men find time to attend to
it. In the meantime you may take possession of your room as soon as you
please."

CHAPTER II

"THE KING'S CALL"

Left to herself in the room which she was to occupy for the year, Mary
stood looking around with the keen interest of an explorer. It was a
pleasant room, with two windows looking out over the river and two over
the garden. To an ordinary observer it had no claim to superiority over
the other apartments, but to Mary it was a sort of shrine. Here in the
low chair by the window her Princess Winsome had sat to read and study
and dream all through her school days.

Here was the mirror that had caught her passing reflection so often,
that it still seemed to hold a thousand shadowy semblances of her in its
shining depths. Only the June before (three short months ago) she had
stood in front of it in all the glory of her Commencement gown.

Mary crossed the room on tiptoe, smiling at the recollection of one of
her early make-believes. Oh, if it were only true that one could pass
through the looking-glass into the wonderland behind it, what a
charming picture gallery she would find! All the girls who had occupied
the room since Warwick Hall had been a school! Blue eyes and brown,
laughing faces and wistful ones, girls in gorgeous full dress, pluming
themselves for some evening entertainment, girls in dainty undress and
unbound hair, exchanging bed-time confidences as they prepared for the
night, ambitious little saints and frivolous little sinners--they were
all there, somewhere in the dim background of the mirror, and because of
them there was a subtle charm about the room to Mary, which she would
not have felt if she had been its first occupant.

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