"What do you want?" she asked frigidly.
"I've come to school," said Elizabeth confidingly. "I know I don't look
very nice, but I've had to come all the way from Montana on horseback. If
you could let me go where I can have some water and a thread and needle, I
can make myself look better."
The woman eyed the girl incredulously.
"You have come to school!" she said; and her voice was large, and
frightened Elizabeth. "You have come all the way from Montana! Impossible!
You must be crazy."
"No, ma'am, I'm not crazy," said Elizabeth. "I just want to go to school."
The woman perceived that this might be an interesting case for
benevolently inclined people. It was nothing but an annoyance to herself.
"My dear girl,"--her tone was bland and disagreeable now,--"are you aware
that it takes money to come to school?"
"Does it?" said Elizabeth. "No, I didn't know it, but I have some money. I
could give you ten dollars right now; and, if that is not enough, I might
work some way, and earn more."
The woman laughed disagreeably.
"It is impossible," she said. "The yearly tuition here is five hundred
dollars. Besides, we do not take girls of your class. This is a finishing
school for young ladies. You will have to inquire further," and the woman
swept away to laugh with her colleagues over the queer character, the new
kind of tramp, she had just been called to interview. The maid came pertly
forward, and said that Elizabeth could not longer stand where she was.
Bewilderment and bitter disappointment in her face, Elizabeth went slowly
down to her horse, the great tears welling up into her eyes. As she rode
away, she kept turning back to the school grounds wistfully. She did not
notice the passers-by, nor know that they were commenting upon her
appearance. She made a striking picture in her rough garments, with her
wealth of hair, her tanned skin, and tear-filled eyes. An artist noticed
it, and watched her down the street, half thinking he would follow and
secure her as a model for his next picture.
A woman, gaudily bedecked in soiled finery, her face giving evidence of
the frequent use of rouge and powder, watched her, and followed,
pondering. At last she called, "My dear, my dear, wait a minute." She had
to speak several times before Elizabeth saw that she was talking to her.
Then the horse was halted by the sidewalk.
"My dear," said the woman, "you look tired and disappointed. Don't you
want to come home with me for a little while, and rest?"
"Thank you," said Elizabeth, "but I am afraid I must go on. I only stop on
Sundays."
"But just come home with me for a little while," coaxed the wheedling
tones. "You look so tired, and I've some girls of my own. I know you would
enjoy resting and talking with them."