Books: Mary Louise
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Edith van Dyne (one of L. Frank Baum\'s pen names) >> Mary Louise
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MARY LOUISE
By
Edith Van Dyne
Author of
"Aunt Jane's Nieces Series"
"The Daring Twins," etc.
TO YOUNG READERS
You will like Mary Louise because she is so much like yourself. Mrs. Van
Dyne has succeeded in finding a very human girl for her heroine; Mary
Louise is really not a fiction character at all. Perhaps you know the
author through her "Aunt Jane's Nieces" stories; then you don't need to
be told that you will want to read all the volumes that will be written
about lovable Mary Louise. Mrs. Van Dyne is recognized as one of the
most interesting writers for girls to-day. Her success is largely due to
the fact that she does not write DOWN to her young readers; she realizes
that the girl of to-day does not have to be babied, and that her quick
mind is able to appreciate stories that are as well planned and cleverly
told as adult fiction.
That is the theory behind "The Bluebird Books." If you are the girl who
likes books of individuality--wholesome without being tiresome, and full
of action without being sensational--then you are just the girl for whom
the series is being written. "Mary Louise" is more than a worthy
successor to the "Aunt Jane's Nieces Series"--it has merit which you
will quickly recognize.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CONTENTS
I JUST AN ARGUMENT
II GRAN'PA JIM
III A SURPRISE
IV SHIFTING SANDS
V OFFICIAL INVESTIGATION
VI UNDER A CLOUD
VII THE ESCAPE
VIII A FRIENDLY FOE
IX OFFICER O'GORMAN
X RATHER QUEER INDEED
XI MARY LOUISE MEETS IRENE
XII A CHEERFUL COMRADE
XIII BUB SUCCUMBS TO FORCE
XIV A CALL FROM AGATHA LORD
XV BUB'S HOBBY
XVI THE STOLEN BOOK
XVII THE HIRED GIRL
XVIII MARY LOUISE GROWS SUSPICIOUS
XIX AN ARTFUL CONFESSION
XX DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND
XXI BAD NEWS
XXII THE FOLKS AT BIGBEE'S
XXIII A KISS FROM JOSIE
XXIV FACING THE TRUTH
XXV SIMPLE JUSTICE
XXVI THE LETTER
CHAPTER I
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?"
"Didn't I tell you?" snapped Mable, addressing the group. "Mary Louise
is always on the wrong side. Other schools are not criterions for this
ramshackle establishment, anyhow. We have twelve boarders and four day
scholars, and how Miss Stearne ever supports the place and herself on
her income is an occult problem that the geometries can't solve. She
pays little Miss Dandler, her assistant, the wages of an ordinary
housemaid; the furniture is old and shabby and the classrooms gloomy;
the food is more nourishing than feastful and the tablecloths are so
patched and darned that it's a wonder they hold together."
Mary Louise quietly seated herself upon the bench beside them.
"You're looking on the seamy side, Mable," she said with a smile, "and
you're not quite just to the school. I believe your parents sent you
here because Miss Stearne is known to be a very competent teacher and
her school has an excellent reputation of long standing. For twenty
years this delightful old place, which was once General Barlow's
residence, has been a select school for young ladies of the best
families. Gran'pa Jim says it's an evidence of good breeding and
respectability to have attended Miss Stearne's school."
"Well, what's that got to do with this insulting order to stay in
evenings?" demanded Sue Finley. "You'd better put all that rot you're
talking into a circular and mail it to the mothers of imbecile
daughters. Miss Stearne has gone a step too far in her tyranny, as
she'll find out. We know well enough what it means. There's no
inducement for us to wander into that little tucked-up town of Beverly
after dinner except to take in the picture show, which is our one
innocent recreation. I'm sure we've always conducted ourselves most
properly. This order simply means we must cut out the picture show and,
if we permit it to stand, heaven only knows what we shall do to amuse
ourselves."
"We'll do something worse, probably," suggested Jennie.
"What's your idea about it, Mary Louise?" asked Dorothy.
"Don't be a prude," warned Mable, glaring at the young girl. "Try to be
honest and sensible--if you can--and give us your advice. Shall we
disregard the order, and do as we please, or be namby-pambies and submit
to the outrage? You're a day scholar and may visit the picture shows as
often as you like. Consider our position, cooped up here like a lot of
chickens and refused the only harmless amusement the town affords."
"Gran'pa Jim," observed Mary Louise, musingly, "always advises me to
look on both sides of a question before making up my mind, because every
question has to have two sides or it couldn't be argued. If Miss Stearne
wishes to keep you away from the pictures, she has a reason for it; so
let's discover what the reason is."
"To spoil any little fun we might have," asserted Mable bitterly.
"No; I can't believe that," answered Mary Louise. "She isn't unkindly,
we all know, nor is she too strict with her girls. I've heard her remark
that all her boarders are young ladies who can be trusted to conduct
themselves properly on all occasions; and she's right about that. We
must look for her reason somewhere else and I think it's in the pictures
themselves."
"As for that," said Jennie, "I've seen Miss Stearne herself at the
picture theatre twice within the last week."
"Then that's it; she doesn't like the character of the pictures shown. I
think, myself, girls, they've been rather rank lately."
"What's wrong with them?"
"I like pictures as well as you do," said Mary Louise, "and Gran'pa Jim
often takes me to see them. Tuesday night a man shot another in cold
blood and the girl the murderer was in love with helped him to escape
and married him. I felt like giving her a good shaking, didn't you? She
didn't act like a real girl at all. And Thursday night the picture story
told of a man with two wives and of divorces and disgraceful doings
generally. Gran'pa Jim took me away before it was over and I was glad to
go. Some of the pictures are fine and dandy, but as long as the man who
runs the theatre mixes the horrid things with the decent ones--and we
can't know beforehand which is which--it's really the safest plan to
keep away from the place altogether. I'm sure that's the position Miss
Stearne takes, and we can't blame her for it. If we do, it's an evidence
of laxness of morals in ourselves."
The girls received this statement sullenly, yet they had no logical
reply to controvert it. So Mary Louise, feeling that her explanation of
the distasteful edict was not popular with her friends, quietly rose and
sauntered to the gate, on her way home.
"Pah!" sneered Mable Westervelt, looking after the slim figure, "I'm
always suspicious of those goody-goody creatures. Mark my words, girls:
Mary Louise will fall from her pedestal some day. She isn't a bit better
than the rest of us, in spite of her angel baby ways, and I wouldn't be
surprised if she turned out to be a regular hypocrite!"
CHAPTER II
GRAN'PA JIM
Beverly is an old town and not especially progressive. It lies nearly
two miles from a railway station and has little attractiveness for
strangers. Beverly contains several beautiful old residences, however,
built generations ago and still surrounded by extensive grounds where
the trees and shrubbery are now generally overgrown and neglected.
One of these fine old places Miss Stearne rented for her boarding
school; another, quite the most imposing residence in the town, had been
leased some two years previous to the time of this story by Colonel
James Weatherby, whose family consisted of his widowed daughter, Mrs.
Burrows, and his grandchild, Mary Louise Burrows. Their only servants
were an old negro, Uncle Eben, and his wife, Aunt Polly, who were
Beverly bred and had been hired when the Colonel first came to town and
took possession of the stately Vandeventer mansion.
Colonel Weatherby was a man of exceptionally distinguished appearance,
tall and dignified, with courtly manners and an air of prosperity that
impressed the simple villagers with awe. His snow-white hair and
piercing dark eyes, his immaculate dress upon all occasions, the
whispered comments on his ample deposits in the local bank, all
contributed to render him remarkable among the three or four hundred
ordinary inhabitants of Beverly, who, after his two years' residence
among them, scarcely knew more of him than is above related. For Colonel
Weatherby was an extremely reserved man and seldom deigned to exchange
conversation with his neighbors. In truth, he had nothing in common with
them and even when he walked out with Mary Louise he merely acknowledged
the greeting of those he met by a dignified nod of his stately head.
With Mary Louise, however, he would converse fluently and with
earnestness, whether at home during the long evenings or on their
frequent walks through the country, which were indulged in on Saturdays
and holidays during the months that school was in session and much more
often during vacations. The Colonel owned a modest automobile which he
kept in the stable and only drove on rare occasions, although one of
Uncle Eben's duties was to keep the car in apple-pie order. Colonel
Weatherby loved best to walk and Mary Louise enjoyed their tramps
together because Gran'pa Jim always told her so many interesting things
and was such a charming companion. He often developed a strain of humor
in the girl's society and would relate anecdotes that aroused in her
spontaneous laughter, for she possessed a keen sense of the ludicrous.
Yes, Gran'pa Jim was really funny, when in the mood, and as jolly a
comrade as one would wish.
He was fond of poetry, too, and the most severe trial Mary Louise was
forced to endure was when he carried a book of poems in his pocket and
insisted on reading from it while they rested in a shady nook by the
roadside or on the bank of the little river that flowed near by the
town. Mary Louise had no soul for poetry, but she would have endured far
greater hardships rather than forfeit the genial companionship of
Gran'pa Jim.
It was only during these past two years that she had come to know her
grandfather so intimately and to become as fond of him as she was proud.
Her earlier life had been one of so many changes that the constant
shifting had rather bewildered her. First she remembered living in a big
city house where she was cared for by a nurse who was never out of sight
or hearing. There it was that "Mamma Bee"--Mrs. Beatrice Burrows--
appeared to the child at times as a beautiful vision and often as she
bent over her little daughter for a good-night kiss the popular society
woman, arrayed in evening or ball costume, would seem to Mary Louise
like a radiant angel descended straight from heaven.
She knew little of her mother in those days, which were quite hazy in
memory because she was so young. The first change she remembered was an
abrupt flitting from the splendid city house to a humble cottage in a
retired village. There was no maid now, nor other servant whatever.
Mamma Bee did the cooking and sweeping, her face worn and anxious, while
Gran'pa Jim walked the floor of the little sitting room day by day, only
pausing at times to read to Mary Louise stories from her nursery books.
This life did not last very long--perhaps a year or so--and then they
were in a big hotel in another city, reached after a long and tiresome
railway journey. Here the girl saw little of her grandfather, for a
governess came daily to teach Mary Louise to read and write and to do
sums on a pretty slate framed in silver. Then, suddenly, in dead of
night, away they whisked again, traveling by train until long after the
sun was up, when they came to a pretty town where they kept house again.
There were servants, this time, and horses and carriages and pretty
clothes for Mary Louise and Mamma Bee. The little girl was sent to a
school just a block away from her home. She remembered Miss Jenkins
well, for this teacher made much of her and was so kind and gentle that
Mary Louise progressed rapidly in her studies.
But the abrupt changes did not end here. Mary Louise came home from
school one afternoon and found her dear mother sobbing bitterly as she
clung around the neck of Gran'pa Jim, who stood in the middle of the
room as still as if he had been a marble statue. Mary Louise promptly
mingled her tears with those of her mother, without knowing why, and
then there was a quick "packing-up" and a rush to the railway again.
Next they were in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Conant, very pleasant
people who seemed to be old friends of Mamma Bee and Gran'pa Jim. It was
a cosy house, not big and pretentious, and Mary Louise liked it. Peter
Conant and Gran'pa Jim had many long talks together, and it was here
that the child first heard her grandfather called "Colonel." Others
might have called him that before, but she had not heard them. Mrs.
Conant was very deaf and wore big spectacles, but she always had a smile
on her face and her voice was soft and pleasing.
After a few days Mamma Bee told her daughter she was going to leave her
in the care of the Conants for a time, while she traveled to a foreign
country with Gran'pa Jim. The girl was surprised at being abandoned but
accepted her fate quietly when it was explained that she was to go to
school while living with the Conants, which she could not do if she was
traveling with her mother and grandfather, who were making this
arrangement for the girl's best good.
Three years Mary Louise lived with the Conants and had little to
complain of. Mr. Conant was a lawyer and was at his office all day,
while Mrs. Conant was very kind to the girl and looked after her welfare
with motherly care.
At last, quite unexpectedly, Mary Louise's trunk was packed and she was
taken to the station to meet a train on which were her mother and
grandfather. They did not leave the cars except to shake hands with the
Conants and thank them for their care of Mary Louise. A moment later the
train bore away the reunited family to their new home in Beverly.
Mary Louise now found she must "get acquainted" with Mamma Bee and
Gran'pa Jim all over again, for during these last three years she had
developed so fast in mind and body that her previous knowledge of her
relatives seemed like a hazy dream. The Colonel also discovered a new
granddaughter, to whom he became passionately attached. For two years
now they had grown together until they were great friends and cronies.
As for Mrs. Burrows, she seemed to have devoted her whole life to her
father, the Colonel. She had lost much of her former beauty and had
become a thin, pale woman with anxious eyes and an expectant and
deprecating air, as if always prepared to ward off a sudden blow. Her
solicitude for the old Colonel was almost pathetic and while he was in
her presence she constantly hovered around him, doing little things for
his comfort which he invariably acknowledged with his courtly bow and a
gracious word of thanks.
It was through her association with this cultured old gentleman that
Mary Louise had imbibed a certain degree of logic and philosophy unknown
to many girls of fifteen. He taught her consideration for others as the
keynote of happiness, yet he himself declined to mingle with his fellow
men. He abhorred sulking and was always cheerful and pleasant in his
home circle, yet when others approached him familiarly he resented it
with a frown. He taught his granddaughter to be generous to the poor and
supplied her freely with money for charity, yet he personally refused
all demands upon him by churches or charitable societies.
In their long talks together he displayed an intimate acquaintance with
men and affairs, but never referred in any way to his former life.
"Are you really a colonel?" Mary Louise once asked him.
"Men call me so," he replied, but there was a tone in his voice that
warned the girl not to pursue the subject further. She knew his moods
almost as well as her mother did.
The Colonel was very particular as to dress. He obtained his own
clothing from a New York tailor and took a keen interest in the gowns of
his daughter and of Mary Louise, his taste in female apparel being so
remarkable that they were justly considered the best dressed women in
Beverly. The house they were living in contained an excellent library
and was furnished in a quaint, old-fashioned manner that was very
appealing to them all. Mary Louise sincerely hoped there would be no
more changes in their lives and that they might continue to live in
Beverly for many years to come.
CHAPTER III
A SURPRISE
On the afternoon when our story begins Mary Louise walked home from
school and found Colonel Weatherby waiting for her in the garden,
leggings strapped to his gaunt legs, the checked walking-cap on his
head, a gold-headed crop in his hand.
"Let us go for a walk, my dear," he proposed. "It is Friday, so you will
have all day to-morrow in which to get your lessons."
"Oh, it won't take all day for that," she replied with a laugh. "I'll be
glad of the walk. "Where shall we go, Gran'pa Jim?"
"Perhaps to the mill-race. We haven't visited it for a long time."
She ran to the house to put away her books and get her stout shoes, and
presently rejoined him, when together they strolled up the street and
circled round the little town until they came to the river bank. Then
they followed the stream toward the old mill.
Mary Louise told her grandfather of the recent edict of Miss Stearne and
the indignation it had aroused in her girl boarders.
"And what do you think of it, Gran'pa Jim?" she asked in conclusion.
"What do YOU think of it, Mary Louise?"
"It is rather hard on the girls, who have enjoyed their liberty for so
long; but I think it is Miss Stearne's plan to keep them away from the
picture theatre."
"And so?"
"And so," she said, "it may do the girls more good than harm."
He smiled approvingly. It was his custom to draw out her ideas on all
questions, rather than to assert his own in advance. If he found her
wrong or misinformed he would then correct her and set her right.
"So you do not approve of the pictures, Mary Louise?"
"Not all of them, Gran'pa Jim, although they all seem to have been
'passed by the Board of Censors'--perhaps when their eyes were shut. I
love the good pictures, and I know that you do, but some we have seen
lately gave me the shivers. So, perhaps Miss Stearne is right."
"I am confident she is," he agreed. "Some makers of pictures may
consider it beneficial to emphasize good by exhibiting evil, by way of
contrast, but they are doubtless wrong. I've an old-fashioned notion
that young girls should be shielded, as much as possible, from knowledge
of the world's sins and worries, which is sure to be impressed upon them
in later years. We cannot ignore evil, unfortunately, but we can often
avoid it."
"But why, if these pictures are really harmful, does Mr. Welland exhibit
them at his theatre?" asked the girl.
"Mr. Welland is running his theatre to make money," explained the
Colonel," and the surest way to make money is to cater to the tastes of
his patrons, the majority of whom demand picture plays of the more vivid
sort, such as you and I complain of. So the fault lies not with the
exhibitor but with the sensation-loving public. If Mr. Welland showed
only such pictures as have good morals he would gain the patronage of
Miss Stearne's twelve young ladies, and a few others, but the masses
would refuse to support him."
"Then," said Mary Louise, "the masses ought to be educated to desire
better things."
"Many philanthropists have tried to do that, and signally failed. I
believe the world is gradually growing better, my dear, but ages will
pass before mankind attains a really wholesome mental atmosphere.
However, we should each do our humble part toward the moral uplift of
our fellows and one way is not to condone what we know to be wrong."
He spoke earnestly, in a conversational tone that robbed his words of
preachment. Mary Louise thought Gran'pa Jim must be an exceptionally
good man and hoped she would grow, in time, to be like him. The only
thing that puzzled her was why he refused to associate with his fellow
men, while at heart he so warmly espoused their uplift and advancement.
They had now reached the mill-race and had seated themselves on the high
embankment where they could watch the water swirl swiftly beneath them.
The mill was not grinding to-day and its neighborhood seemed quite
deserted. Here the old Colonel and his granddaughter sat dreamily for a
long time, conversing casually on various subjects or allowing
themselves to drift into thought. It was a happy hour for them both and
was only interrupted when Jackson the miller passed by on his way home
from the village. The man gave the Colonel a surly nod, but he smiled on
Mary Louise, the girl being as popular in the district as her
grandfather was unpopular.
After Jackson had passed them by Gran'pa Jim rose slowly and proposed
they return home.
"If we go through the village," said he, "we shall reach home, without
hurrying ourselves, in time to dress for dinner. I object to being
hurried, don't you, Mary Louise?"
"Yes, indeed, if it can be avoided."
Going through the village saved them half a mile in distance, but Mary
Louise would not have proposed it herself, on account of the Colonel's
well-known aversion to meeting people. This afternoon, however, he made
the proposal himself, so they strolled away to the main road that led
through the one business street of the little town.
At this hour there was little life in Beverly's main street. The farmers
who drove in to trade had now returned home; the town women were busy
getting supper and most of their men were at home feeding the stock or
doing the evening chores. However, they passed an occasional group of
two or three and around the general store stood a few other natives,
listlessly awaiting the call to the evening meal. These cast curious
glances at the well-known forms of the old man and the young girl, for
his two years' residence had not made the testy old Colonel any less
strange to them. They knew all about him there was to know--which was
nothing at all--and understood they must not venture to address him as
they would have done any other citizen.
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