“He came from Canada,” said Marcelle, “and settled here. Later on he went into Minnesota, and on into Dakota as one of the first of the Indian fighters in the Sioux wars there, but he was really seeking gold. The family was very poor after he died, but my mother came here for two years, and even when I was a little bit of a girl, seven or eight, years old, before she died, she used to tell me how she loved it, and that I must come here, too.”
“Don’t any of your brothers want to come?” asked Kit impulsively. “They’re all older than you, aren’t they?”
Marcelle shook her head with a curious little smile.
“They are all Beaubien, every one. They eat, and they sleep and fish, that is all.”
Kit led the way to the upper floor, where the dormitories were, and meeting Charity, she asked the way to the Douglas.
“Why, you were in that one to-day,” replied Charity in surprise. “It’s our dormitory, don’t you know?”
“Oh, thank you so much,” Kit said, with suspicious alacrity, as she guided Marcelle down the corridor, and Charity glanced back at them both, speculatively, wondering just what special business could take two new day girls into the most exclusive dormitory at Hope.
ENTER THE ROYAL MUMMIES
Kit deliberately planned her campaign for the following week, and the only girl she took into her confidence was Anne Bellamy. It had been the greatest relief, somehow, when Anne returned to Delphi for the fall term. There was something good-natured and comfortably serene about Anne that made her companionship a relief from that of the other girls. Jean often said back home that Kit was such a bunch of fireworks herself, she always needed the background of a calm silent night or a flaccid temperament, to set her off properly.
“You know, Anne,” Kit exclaimed, sinking with a luxurious sigh of content down among the cushions on the broad couch in Anne’s room, “I’d give anything, sometimes, if I’d been an only child; of course, you’ve got a brother, but you’re the only girl. You don’t know what it is to be one of four. I share my room with Helen, back home, and all honors with Jean. Then, of course, Doris is the baby, and while we all love each other devotedly, still you do have to elbow your way through a large family, if you want to keep on being yourself. I read somewhere about old Joaquin Miller, the poet of the Sierras. Know him?”
Anne shook her head, as she combed out her long brown hair, holding one roll with her teeth.
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Kit went on happily. “That’s one reason why you and I are going to be fearfully good friends, ’cause you don’t know everything in creation. It seems to me I can’t speak of anything at all at home now that Jean doesn’t know more about it than I do, or Helen thinks she does, which is worse. Don’t mind me this morning. I just got a family budget, full of don’ts.”