Briarwood Girls

  Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Josephine Paolucciand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net.

  BRIARWOOD GIRLS

  BY

  JULIA LESTARJETTE GLOVER

  "_I follow, follow, sure to meet the sun,And confident that what the future yieldsWill be the right, unless myself be wrong._"

  THE BOOK CONCERNCOLUMBUS, OHIO

  MADE INColumbus

  U.S.A.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. Alison's Wonderful Lamp 5

  II. Briarwood College 19

  III. Some of the Girls 25

  IV. Essays and Essays 31

  V. The Tangled Skein 38

  VI. Mysteries 47

  VII. Without Leave 54

  VIII. In Miss Harland's Office 64

  IX. Adventure of the Lamp 70

  X. Discoveries 79

  XI. Class Prophecy 89

  CHAPTER I

  ALISON'S WONDERFUL LAMP

  "Mother, isn't there _any_ way for me to go back?"

  It was the first of June, and Alison Fair, just returned home forvacation at the end of her Freshman year, found herself confronted withthe staggering knowledge that she could not return to Briarwood tofinish her college course, so well and happily begun.

  It was her mother who told her, breaking the hard news as gently as shecould, that the pressure of hard times and financial stress made itimpossible for her father to think of sending her back in the fall. Shetold it very tenderly and lovingly, making it clear that only sternnecessity compelled them to deny her the opportunity; but the tendernesscould not alter the hard fact.

  "You are not more disappointed than we are, darling," she said. "I wouldnot have told you so soon, but it would be worse if I would leave youunder the impression that you can return to Briarwood College. You willbe brave, and try not to distress your father by showing yourdisappointment too much. I know how hard it is, dear. But be patient,and perhaps some way will open. You are only sixteen, you can afford towait a little."

  Alison swallowed the lump in her throat and said nothing. Wait--yes--butthen she could not go on with her class--with Polly and Evelyn and Joanand the rest. And next year they would be Sophomores--and the fun andstudy would go on, and she would not be there; she would be out of itall. No other girls would be just the same as those girls, her chums ofthe Freshman year. And then she asked her one despairing question:

  "Mother, isn't there _any_ way for me to go back?"

  But even as she asked it, she knew the answer, and gave it herself. "No,I know there isn't. Father would send me if he could. I'll try to bepatient, mother. Don't worry. Don't mind, mother--" seeing that hermother's tears were flowing. "I'll try not to think of it or talk of itany more. I've had one year, anyway. And maybe I can take acorrespondence course, or something--"

  She tried to speak bravely, but it was more than she could manage justnow, and she hastily kissed her mother, and ran away to have it out byherself.

  The children thought it strange that "Sister," suddenly stopped talkingof her college experiences and the pranks and frolics of the girls. Totheir questions and demands to hear more, she would reply quietly,"There isn't anything more to tell you, Floss. I guess I talked myselfout those first few days. Now I want to hear all you have been doingduring all the months I've been away."

  Which effectually diverted the attention of Floss and Billy and Mat andopened a flood of reminiscences of their own school life, to which shetried to listen patiently.

  The summer dragged on. Alison had looked forward to it--and beyondit--with such eager pleasure; but the thought that she was not to goback seemed to take all the zest from life. Letters came from thegirls--from Evelyn in the mountains, from Polly at the seaside, fromJoan and Katherine in Europe--all telling of the good times they werehaving, and looking forward to their reunion at Briarwood in September.And she would not be there. Trying not to show her disappointment toomuch, not to distress her father and mother, was as far as Alison couldget. She could not look forward; there seemed nothing to look forwardto. And to look back to the happy days of last winter was more than shecould bear.

  So the days passed, and grew into weeks. August came, with glowing sunand deep blue skies. Summer was at its glorious height. One brightmorning Billy came whistling in with the mail; a letter for Alison fromJoan, her roommate of last winter, and a long, legal-looking envelopefor Mr. Fair. Both became absorbed, and Alison, deep in Joan's news,scarcely heard when her father said gravely,

  "Aunt Justina is dead."

  "Who is Aunt Justina?" asked Floss with some curiosity, wondering whyfather looked so "funny."

  "An old great-aunt of mine, who lived far away, in New England. Youchildren have scarcely heard of her, perhaps, but I used often to be ather house, as a boy, in my holidays. Now she is dead, and her lawyer hassent me a copy of her will. Wait, I will read it."

  He unfolded a stiff typewritten document. All the family were listeningnow. Alison folded up Joan's sheet and looked up, interested.

  "Did she leave you anything, father?" Floss inquired. "Was she veryrich?"

  "No, not very. She was eccentric, and I never expected anything fromher. No, she has left me nothing. Most of her money was left tocharities; but she has left you, Alison, a bequest. Whether it is of anyvalue or not we cannot tell until we see it. Here it is in the will: 'Tomy great niece, Alison Fair, my brass lamp which stands on my dresser,with a letter, which I direct shall be sent to her along with it.'

  "The lawyer says: 'The lamp has been forwarded by express, the letterbeing enclosed with it.' It will probably arrive today, and you can seefor yourself what Aunt Justina's legacy is like. It may be valuable; shehad a fancy for collecting antiques, and she traveled a good deal in heryounger days. On the other hand, it may be merely an old lamp on whichshe set some fictitious value. So don't raise your expectations toohigh."

  The thought crossed Alison's mind: "I wish she had left me its value inmoney instead;" but she did not say it aloud. It seemed unsuitable tothink of money when Aunt Justina was just dead, though she could not beexpected to grieve over-much for an aged relative whom she had neverseen.

  Later in the day the expressman brought a box for Alison. The familycrowded around, all eager to help in unpacking the legacy. It wasbeautifully packed, and as layer after layer of wrappings was liftedoff, curiosity rose to an almost irrepressible height. Finally the lampitself came into view, a beautiful thing of shining brass; ancientVenetian work, hammered and beaten into a shape of exquisite lovelinessby artist fingers, long since dust.

  A cry of admiration arose as Alison lifted it from the last swathingsand held it up to view. The letter from Aunt Justina was tied to oneside, and she unfastened it with fingers that shook a little. It was amessage from the dead. It was so strange that that old lady, so faraway, should have thought of her and sent her this beautiful thing, andwritten her a letter with her own trembling hand. With an odd feeling ofunreality she unfolded the letter and read it aloud to her excitedfamily.

  "My dear great-niece, Alison," it began, "You have never seen me, perhaps you have never heard of me, until you will read this, after my death; and you will think it strange, perhaps, that I should take enough interest in you to send you my favorite lamp. Your father was my favorite nephew, and I had intended to make him my heir; but he displeased me by taking his own way in life, instead of the one I had planned for him. He had a right, I suppose, to do as he thought best, and I was wrong to try to force him to do as I
wished. Whether he was wise or not, time will show. I am a lonely old woman with none of my own near me in my last years.

  "I declared I would leave his name out of my will, and I must keep my word; but I have followed his career closely enough to know something of his family and circumstances. And so, though I am leaving him nothing, I want to leave to his eldest daughter a small token of my interest and affection. Take it, my dear, as an old woman's freak. I bought it long ago in a quaint old shop in Venice. It is not an heirloom, and if you should some day wish to sell it, you may do so. On one condition, however: That is, that you keep it, _as it is_, until you are in some strait when no other help is available. Then, if you have exhausted all other resources, fill the lamp and light it. It may cast a light on your perplexities.

  "Until then, keep it bright in remembrance of

  "Your affectionate aunt,

  "Justina Laurence."