BEFORE I went to school I intended to write a little bit of my journal every day, but now the holidays have come, and, when I look at my book, I find that I have only written about my journey, and have not said a single word about my school life. I was so very busy at school that I had no time for anything but my lessons; but now that I have no work at all to do for nearly two months, I shall be able to write an account of the most important things that have happened this half year.
I will begin where I left off. I was driving in a cab to Miss Maynard’s house, at twelve o’clock at night, and I was very much afraid that when I arrived at Marlborough Place, every one would be in bed. I wondered what I should do if I could not wake them. I knew no one in Clinton, and I should be very frightened if I had to go to a hotel alone.
It was a very long drive. We drove down street after street, and it seemed to me as if I should never get there. How could I tell if the cabman were taking me in the right direction ? I had never been to Clinton before, and it looked very dreadful to me that night when I was driving through it alone. Some of the streets were empty and deserted, but others were very noisy and crowded, although it was so late. Every now and then I passed some drunken people, or heard a sound of quarrelling and screaming from some dark court in one of the back streets. Oh, how lonely and unprotected I felt at first! But in a moment I remembered that underneath me were the everlasting arms. I must be safe in those strong arms ; no one could hurt me there. I prayed very earnestly to be held safely to my journey’s end, and to be kept from harm and danger.
Presently, to my great joy, we left the noisy back streets behind, and came upon a wide, open road. There was a very steep hill here, and the cabman got down and walked, and we went so very slowly, that I thought we should never come to the end of it.
At last we reached the top of the hill, and soon after the cabman drew up at Marlborough Place, and rang the bell.
Oh, how thankful I was when the door was opened almost immediately! Miss Maynard had not expected me that night, but she had been obliged to sit up to finish some accounts, and she came to the door to meet me.
‘Poor tired child’ she said kindly. ‘What would you like to eat ?’
But I felt too sick and miserable to eat, and asked if I might go at once to bed. So she led the way upstairs, and took me past two landings to the top of the house.
‘This will be your bedroom, Olive,’ she said. ‘There are three beds in it, and, as you will be the eldest in the room, I shall make you responsible for what goes on in it. Maria Laurie has arrived. Poor child !’ she said, as she bent over her bed, and looked at her as she lay asleep ; she has been crying, I see; she is young yet to leave home. Alice Carter, who is to sleep in this other bed, will not be here till tomorrow.
‘Poor child you are feeling lonely too,’ said Miss Maynard, as she saw tears in my eyes ; ‘but you will soon make friends here, and one Friend is always near to comfort us. Do you know that Friend, Olive ?’
I told her I did, and she gave me a kiss, and said how glad she was, I loved her so much that night, and I have loved her ever since.
Then Miss Maynard went away, saying I must get quickly to bed. I was very glad to do as she told me, but I crept for a moment to Maria’s bed, and peeped at her as she lay asleep. She is a rosy, healthy-looking girl, nearly twelve years old, and generally looks very happy and bright, but that night her eyes were red and swollen with crying. I wondered very much if she had said goodbye to her mother that day, Then I got into bed, and soon fell asleep.
I was waked the next morning by the sound of a bell. Three times the bell rang, first close to my door, then on the landing below, and then on the landing below that, so that every girl might hear it distinctly.
Maria Laurie sat up in her bed, and burst into tears.
‘Oh, it’s that nasty bell!’ she said, ‘I was dreaming I was at home!’
I felt very sorry for her. ‘Have you never been from home before?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she answered. ‘I was here last half year. It is very nice for a school, but home is nicer still, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said ; ‘I should think it was.’ Then we made haste to get dressed, but, though we were not quite half an hour getting ready to go downstairs, Maria had told me in that time where she lived, and all about her home, and her relations, and the names of the different masters and governesses, and the name and age and character of every girl in the school.
I soon saw that Maria was a great chatterbox, and that her trouble had quickly passed away, for she seemed quite happy and merry when we had been talking together for a few minutes.
At seven o’clock another bell rang, and Maria took me downstairs to the schoolroom. It is a very large room, with four windows in it, and a smaller schoolroom opens out of it. This little room is full of shelves, and here we keep our books and slates and copy-books, and all we need for our schoolwork.
I felt very strange that first morning, for I knew no one there; but I sat next to Maria, and she told me what to do, and some of the girls came to speak to me, and were very kind and pleasant.
After breakfast Miss Maynard asked me a great many questions, and gave me a small examination in history and arithmetic and geography, and she seemed pleased with my answers, for she said I should go into the first class.
It is a very small class ; there are only three other girls in it. There is Mary Conder ; she is very clever indeed. She is always the first in the class, and yet she is the most idle. Sometimes she never looks at her lessons until a few minutes before we have to say them, and yet she always knows them better than I do, when I have worked hard for more than an hour. None of the girls like Mary very much ; she does not seem to have any friends, they all think her very disagreeable and conceited.
Then there is Flora Morton ; everyone likes her. She has very pleasant manners, and is always in a good temper. I sometimes wish she was not quite so selfish; she always manages to get her own way in everything, and all the girls let her do whatever she likes, which I think is not good for her. They feel it rather trying sometimes to give up the piano to her whenever she wants to practice, and always to let her have the seat nearest the fire, and to be ready to fetch her everything she wants; and yet, somehow or other, they always do it, and never like to refuse her anything.
Alice Marshall, the other girl in our class, is so different. Nobody waits on her, but she is always pleased to do a kind thing for any of us. She is not at all good-looking, and yet no one could help liking her face. She is not at all clever; it takes her twice as long to learn her lessons as it takes me, and sometimes she has very bad headaches, and cannot learn anything. So Alice is always at the bottom of the class, but she is never cross about it, and works just as hard as if she hoped to get a prize.
Mother told me before I went to school that I should find school just like a little world. She said I should find there girls of all sorts of characters and tempers and ideas, and she told me I should need God’s grace to keep me right quite as much in the little world of school, as should need it when I am grown up, and leave lessons behind, and, as people say, go out in the world.
And I am sure mother was right.