CHAPTER XX

THE LOCKED DOOR

The dreaded day at last arrived. Elizabeth was so nervous that her mother felt a deep compassion for the child. “I almost wish there were no scholarship to be won,” she said to her husband. “Elizabeth is such an intense sort of little body that I am afraid she will be actually ill if she fails.”

“I don’t believe she is going to fail,” returned Mr. Hollins hopefully.

Betsy was almost as anxious as Elizabeth, not for herself, for all that she really cared for was to get a worthy mark, but she did care very much for Elizabeth. Corinne had withdrawn from the race, as she had received word that her parents would return before long. There were, then, but four contestants to look upon as rivals, for the two great friends.

“Oh, Elizabeth, I do hope and pray you will get it,” whispered Betsy, as they took their places. Elizabeth was beyond words, but she gave Betsy’s hand a nervous squeeze, and by the coldness of the eager fingers Betsy knew the state of Elizabeth’s feelings.

It was a solemn-faced little company which Miss Jewett overlooked, but she gave each an encouraging smile, as she told them to sit one desk apart in alternate rows. She explained what the work would be and herself wrote the first set of questions on the board.

The children fell to work with eagerness. There was not a sound except a sigh from one or another overwrought heart, the subdued rustle of papers, and the scratching of pens. At the end of the first hour the papers were collected. That much over, Elizabeth felt rather confident that she had answered all her questions correctly. So far, good.

Next came an examination in United States history. Facts Elizabeth was familiar with, and she expected to be able to answer every question rightly. She went over them carefully and began her answers, writing with precision and making an effort to use simple words. She went on swimmingly until about half her work was done, then she suddenly came to a halt. The date of the battle of Alamance. Alamance? Alamance? What did she know about it? For the life of her she could not think. She looked at the board and back again at her paper. She glanced at the clock. She looked over at Betsy. Finally she concluded that she would leave the question for awhile and go back to it when she had finished the rest. This she did, finding no further trouble. The time was almost up when she again cudgelled her brains. She became more and more nervous as the moments sped. Why was she so stupid? What was the matter with her that this thing had failed to stick in her memory? She felt desperate.

Betsy, looking up, caught the distressed expression and knew that something had gone wrong. Her own paper was about complete. She had remembered all about Alamance, even to the exact date. There it was plainly written: “May 16, 1771.” She wondered what it was that was troubling Elizabeth. Of course she could not ask, but she did so wish that she knew. Supposing Elizabeth were to get a lower mark than herself and thus lose the scholarship. That would never do. Betsy looked down at her neat paper which showed correct answers to the ten questions given. She looked over at Elizabeth’s sheet lying spread out before her, and saw a blank space which came, she guessed, in about the place where the answer to Alamance should be. Elizabeth’s two hands were buried in her curly locks, her eyes were fixed on the paper, but she did not make a move to write anything further. The hands of the clock were approaching the close of the hour; in another minute the papers must be handed in. As if knowing that Betsy was watching her, she turned around and gave her a despairing look. The clock struck the hour. There was a rustle of papers as the different contestants gathered them up. Betsy dipped her pen in the ink, hastily made a mark which converted 1771 into 1774 and took up her paper. Elizabeth hurriedly scribbled something in the blank space, feeling that an error was better than nothing, and followed Betsy.

The rest of the day went fairly enough. All were earnest and serious, and did their very best. At last it was over; the long dreaded moments had actually passed. With a smile Miss Jewett dismissed them. “I can at least attest to your having been good workers,” she said. “I never saw such very deep interest. I wish there was a scholarship for each one of you, but as it is I can only wish good-luck to you all. We shall see how it comes out by day after tomorrow, I think.”

Elizabeth and Betsy clasped hands as they went out the door. “It is over,” said Elizabeth, “and I feel like a rag. I think I did pretty well with most of the questions, though I did get rattled over the history. There was one question that I couldn’t seem to get, and I waited, hoping it would come to me, but it didn’t and at the very last minute I just put down something. Oh Betsy, I wonder if you know the date of the battle of Alamance. What did you put down?”

“I put down May 16, 1774,” replied Betsy calmly.

“And I said 1775; I wonder which is right. I shall look the minute I get home. I don’t see why they picked out a little unimportant thing like that to ask us.”

“But it isn’t unimportant,” declared Betsy. “It was really the first strike for freedom; it was in North Carolina, you know, long before Concord and Lexington and all that.”

“Oh, dear me, so it was. I remember all about it now. How very stupid of me to forget. It all comes back to me now, but, Betsy, I think it was even earlier than we have made it; I don’t believe either one of us is right.”

“Then if we are both wrong there is no harm done,” said Betsy with a smile.

“How can we live till day after tomorrow?” Elizabeth went on.

“We shall have to think about the wedding and that will take our minds off unpleasant things,” returned Betsy. Then they fell to discussing this great event and no more was said about the battle of Alamance then or at any other time, for Betsy kept her own counsel.

If the two girls were excited on the day of the examinations they were more so on that morning when Miss Jewett announced that she was ready to give the name of the successful competitors. You could have heard a pin drop in the schoolroom. Two fiery spots burned in Elizabeth’s cheeks. Betsy was very pale, even Bess looked less placid than usual, for she really was most anxious that Elizabeth should win. Phil Selden nervously fingered a pencil, then thrust his hands in his pockets and sat with eyes fixed on his desk. Patsy McGonigle looked around with a broad grin.

“I will first tell you,” said Miss Jewett, “that it is Mr. Henry Gilmore who has established these scholarships, and I am sure he--” but the clapping of hands broke in upon the sentence. Elizabeth clapped more vigorously than any of the rest. Dear Grandpa Gil, why had she never thought of its being him? She was conscious that in case of success she would be thankful that it was not aunt Eunice to whom she must offer her thanks.

Miss Jewett looked around with an indulgent smile. “That is right,” she said. “I am glad you all feel like applauding. I do myself. The boy who received the highest marks in the examination is Patsy McGonigle.” For some reason everyone giggled, and Patsy turned very red, squirming in his seat most awkwardly. “I must say that Patsy’s record in school is good, too, except in the matter of deportment,” Miss Jewett went on; “but even that does not place him so low as to lose him the scholarship. The next, I may state, is Phil Selden, who lacks very little of being even with Patsy. The trustees give Phil honorable mention.”

This, however, appeared small comfort to Phil, who looked as if he could cry. He did want that scholarship so badly, and to be outdone by a little rascal like Patsy was almost too much. Patsy’s grin had disappeared. Even when Bert thumped him on the back, this being his way of offering congratulations, Patsy only squirmed away, and presently arose to his feet. “Miss Jewett, ma’am,” he said, “might I speak a wurrud?”

“To be sure, Patsy,” replied Miss Jewett.

“Me mother was sayin’, Miss Jewett,” Patsy began, “that was I to git the scholarship, she’d be turr’ble proud, but afther all, ma’am, she was thinkin’ I was full young to be goin’ so far to school, and how would I be gittin’ there, says she, an’, I bein’ the oldest, how would she git at me if me father was took worse or one av the little ones fell in the fire or annything like that, an’, says she, ‘Patsy, me boy, I think ye’d best not be thinkin’ of it for another year. Ye’ll be gettin’ good schoolin’ enough where ye are, for awhile, and, says she, if so be it comes to ye, just ye be thankin’ the schoolmistress and say ye’ll be stayin’ where ye are for awhile yet.’” Then Patsy sat down.

Miss Jewett threw a smiling glance at Phil. “If that is so, Patsy,” she said, “then of course the scholarship will go to Phil Selden; you know that.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s all right.”

“I congratulate you both,” Miss Jewett said, “but we must not talk about this any more just now, for I know there are some very anxious girls here. I won’t keep them waiting a moment longer. The scholarship for the girls goes to Miss Elizabeth Hollins.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth could not refrain from an ecstatic exclamation. She clutched Betsy fiercely.

“Honorable mention is given to Betsy Tyson,” Miss Jewett went on. “The contest was very close, but Elizabeth came out a little ahead.”

A soft color suffused Betsy’s face and she cast down her eyes. How glad, how very glad she was of that little mark which made a figure one into a four.

Elizabeth flew home on wings of joy. It seemed to her as if her feet scarcely touched the earth. She rushed into the house pell-mell, crying out, “Where is mother? Where is Kathie? It’s mine! It’s mine!”

Electra appeared from the kitchen. “What’s all this to-do about?” she asked. “Your mother and Miss Kathie have both gone up to your Cousin Belle’s.”

Elizabeth did not wait for anything further, but was out of the door like a flash, and racing up the street as if running for a wager. They were all gathered on the porch when she reached the gray house, her mother, Kathie, cousin Belle, Grandpa Gil, Ruth and aunt Eunice. The presence of the last-mentioned did not dampen Elizabeth’s enthusiasm on this occasion, and she rushed into the midst of the group, throwing herself into her mother’s arms, crying: “I’ve got it! It’s mine! It’s mine!”

Aunt Eunice looked at her severely. “What is hers?” she asked Mrs. Gilmore.

“Is it the scholarship?” cried Kathie. “Oh, Elizabeth, have you really won it?”

“Oh, I have, I have!” replied Elizabeth in tones of triumph. Then she rushed over to Grandpa Gil and wound her arms around his neck. “Oh, dearest, dearest Grandpa Gil,” she said. “I know now that it was you; it was all you who did it.” Then suddenly, without another word, she collapsed upon the floor and began to sob from sheer excitement.

“There, there, dear child,” expostulated Grandpa Gil, “don’t do that. Why, I thought you wanted to win, and now will you cry about it? Come here and dry your eyes. I want to whisper something to you.”

“I’m--I’m crying,” stammered Elizabeth, “because all my laugh is used up and there are no commotions left but the crying ones.”

Then everyone, even aunt Eunice, laughed; and Elizabeth recovered sufficiently to go to Grandpa Gil and hear what he had to say.

“I counted on your winning,” he whispered, “and that is the chief reason why there is a scholarship at all.”

“So you have actually won the scholarship,” aunt Eunice’s clear, crisp voice came in. “I am very much pleased with you, Elizabeth. I confess I didn’t expect it was in you. Come here, my child.”

Elizabeth left Grandpa Gilmore’s side, where she would much rather be, and went to her aunt. “I wish to show my appreciation of your good effort,” said aunt Eunice, “and should like you to accept this. You will probably need new school books, and it will go toward the purchase of them.”

Elizabeth’s hand closed over a coin which aunt Eunice put into it. “Thank you very much,” she said quietly. “I am glad I have done something to please you, aunt Eunice,” she added.

Miss Darby looked at her great-niece sharply. She did not know whether the remark was made in sarcasm or not, but, seeing Elizabeth’s innocent look, she assumed a more amiable expression. “The money is yours to do with as you please,” she said. “Your mother can help you decide upon the best use to make of it. I only suggested the books.” Aunt Eunice restored her pocket-book to the little bag from which she had taken it and Elizabeth felt herself dismissed.

Of course, there were congratulations from all the rest, and there were many questions about the other contestants. Elizabeth gave a humorous account of Patsy’s speech. She was a good mimic and imitated him perfectly. Then she must run home to tell her father the glad news, and as it was time to end their own visit, Mrs. Hollins and Kathie left too.

“What was it aunt Eunice gave you?” asked Kathie, as they were walking down the shady road.

“I haven’t looked,” said Elizabeth, opening her hand in which she held the coin. “Why, it’s gold,” she exclaimed. “It felt so little that I didn’t think it was more than a dime. How much is it, mother? I don’t know much about gold pieces.”

Her mother looked at it. “Why, it is five dollars, my dear.”

“Really? Why, I don’t believe I expressed my gratification half pleasedly enough. Do you think I ought to go back and do it over again?”

“No, my dear; I think you have said quite as much as can be required of you,” her mother replied, to Elizabeth’s relief.

The child looked wistfully down at the money in her hand. “I never had so much,” she said. “Do you think I should spend it on school books, mother?”

“Why, my dear child, I think that as you have done so well and have made it so easy for us all that the least we can do is to buy your books for you. You shall do just as aunt Eunice said; spend it as you please.”

“Oh mother, would it buy the hat?”

“I am sure it would.”

“Then may I? May I?”

“If that will please you the most, you may, assuredly. Kathie must make one more trip to the city before the wedding and you might go with her to select what you would like.”

“Will you take me, Kathie? I beseech you with all the ardency of my nature.”

“Why, of course I will,” responded her sister heartily. “I think if we get the hat untrimmed and the flowers separate, that I can trim it and it will not cost so much, or we can get finer flowers for it in that way.”

And so the nasturtium hat was bought, and Elizabeth’s cup of happiness was full. Betsy was no less happy. She had received high praise from her aunt and uncle, who said that she had done them credit, and that they were quite as well pleased with her honorable mention as with the scholarship; in fact, they were more pleased because she had so nearly won it, and as things were it was better that Elizabeth should be first.

Loyal, good, little Betsy said never a word about the battle of Alamance, but took the praise sedately and turned her thoughts to the wedding, now but a few days off.

As for the event itself, it was like most others, except that among the guests rarely are three happier girls than those who sat side by side, one in yellow, one in white and one in blue, and who were the first to kiss the bride after her own family had done so.

They all rode home together in the gloaming, tired but very, very content. The new house for the newer Mrs. Tyson loomed up among the trees. Opposite stood the schoolhouse, silent and deserted.

“The door is locked,” murmured Elizabeth to Betsy, “locked for us always.”

“Why, no, it isn’t,” returned Betsy. “We can go in if we like sometimes.”

“I didn’t mean just that,” replied Elizabeth, with a backward look at the familiar door; but Betsy did not follow the flight of Elizabeth’s thoughts, which were already speeding on through future years.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

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Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.