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.