Polly’s First Year at Boarding School

CONTENTS

Singing and cheering wildly they carried her to the other end of the gym.

POLLY’S FIRST YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL

BY

DOROTHY WHITEHILL

ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES L. WRENN

PUBLISHERS

BARSE & CO.

NEW YORK, N. Y., NEWARK, N. J.

Copyright, 1916 By Barse & Co.

Polly’s First Year at Boarding School

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTER I—THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

Seddon Hall, situated on top of one of the many hills that lined either side of the Hudson River, was a scene of hubbub and confusion. It was the 27th of September and the opening day of school. The girls who had already arrived were walking arm in arm about the grounds, in the broad assembly hall, and in the corridors, talking, laughing and discussing the summer vacation, plans for the winter, the new girls, and a variety of subjects with fine impartiality.

In the Senior reception room Mrs. Baird, principal of the school, and a number of the faculty were receiving and assuring the mothers and guardians of the girls.

Outside the carriages from the 5:04 train were winding up the steep hill from the station. The girls were waving and calling hellos as they passed one another, and on the broad piazza there was a quantity of suit cases, and a good deal of kissing.

Polly Pendleton, seated beside her uncle in one of the last carriages, was just the least little bit frightened. She had never seen quite so many girls nor heard quite so much laughing and talking in all her rather uneventful life.

Polly’s real name was Marianna, but her heavy dark hair framed a face so bright and full of fun, and her big brown eyes had so much impishness in their depth, that to have called her by anything so long and dignified seemed absurd, and so she had been Polly all her life.

Until two months before this story opens she had lived her thirteen years in an old fashioned New England town with her aunt, Hannah Pendleton, her father’s eldest sister, and quite as severe as her name. It had been a very unexciting existence—school every morning with the village minister, and a patchwork “stint” every afternoon under the direction of Aunt Hannah.

Polly was beginning to think every day was going to be just like every other, when suddenly Aunt Hannah died and she came to New York to live with Uncle Roddy. It had been a great change to leave the old house and the village, but under Uncle Roddy’s jolly companionship she soon ceased to miss any part of her old life.

After what seemed an age, the carriage finally reached the top of the hill, and Polly, holding tight to her uncle’s arm, was shown into the reception-room. She was finding it harder every minute to keep down the unaccountable lump that had risen

in her throat, when Mrs. Baird, catching sight of them, held out a welcoming hand.

“How do you do, Mr. Pendleton?” she asked. “And is this Marianna? My dear,” she added, putting her hand on