JUST AN ARGUMENT

“It’s positively cruel!” pouted Jennie Allen, one of a group of girls occupying a garden bench in the ample grounds of Miss Stearne’s School for Girls, at Beverly.

“It’s worse than that; it’s insulting,” declared Mable Westervelt, her big dark eyes flashing indignantly.

“Doesn’t it seem to reflect on our characters?” timidly asked Dorothy Knerr.

“Indeed it does!” asserted Sue Finley.  “But here comes Mary Louise; let’s ask her opinion.”

“Phoo!  Mary Louise is only a day scholar,” said Jennie.  “The restriction doesn’t apply to her at all.”

“I’d like to hear what she says, anyhow,” remarked Dorothy.  “Mary Louise has a way of untangling things, you know.”

“She’s rather too officious to suit me,” Mable Westervelt retorted, “and she’s younger than any of us.  One would think, the way she poses as monitor at this second-rate, run-down boarding school, that Mary Louise Burrows made the world.”

“Oh, Mable!  I’ve never known her to pose at all,” said Sue.  “But, hush; she mustn’t overhear us and, besides, if we want her to intercede with Miss Stearne we must not offend her.”

The girl they were discussing came leisurely down a path, her books under one arm, the other hand holding a class paper which she examined in a cursory way as she walked.  She wore a dark skirt and a simple shirtwaist, both quite modish and becoming, and her shoes were the admiration and envy of half the girls at the school.  Dorothy Knerr used to say that “Mary Louise’s clothes always looked as if they grew on her,” but that may have been partially accounted for by the grace of her slim form and her unconscious but distinctive poise of bearing.  Few people would describe Mary Louise Burrows as beautiful, while all would agree that she possessed charming manners.  And she was fifteen—­an age when many girls are both awkward and shy.

As she drew near to the group on the bench they ceased discussing Mary Louise but continued angrily to canvass their latest grievance.

“What do you think, Mary Louise,” demanded Jennie, as the girl paused before them, “of this latest outrage?”

“What outrage, Jen?” with a whimsical smile at their indignant faces.

“This latest decree of the tyrant Stearne.  Didn’t you see it posted on the blackboard this morning?  ’The young ladies will hereafter refrain from leaving the school grounds after the hour of six p.m., unless written permission is first secured from the Principal.  Any infraction of this rule will result in suspension or permanent dismissal.’  We’re determined not to stand for this rule a single minute.  We intend to strike for our liberties.”

“Well,” said Mary Louise reflectively, “I’m not surprised.  The wonder is that Miss Stearne hasn’t stopped your evening parades before now.  This is a small school in a small town, where everyone knows everyone else; otherwise you’d have been guarded as jealously as if you were in a convent.  Did you ever know or hear of any other private boarding school where the girls were allowed to go to town evenings, or whenever they pleased out of school hours?”