At Hilton seminary.
It was four o’clock in the afternoon on the
opening day of the midwinter term at Hilton Seminary,
a noted institution located in a beautiful old town
of Western New York.
A group of gay girls had just gathered in one of the
pleasant and spacious recreation rooms and were chattering
like the proverbial flock of magpies—exchanging
merry greetings after their vacation; comparing notes
on studies, classes and roommates; discussing the
advent of new teachers, pupils and improvements, when
a tall, gracious woman of, perhaps, thirty-five years
suddenly appeared in the doorway, her fair face gleaming
with humorous appreciation of the animated scene and
babel before her, and enjoined silence with the uplifting
of one slim white hand.
There was an instantaneous hush, as the bevy of maidens
turned their bright faces and affectionate glances
upon their teacher, who, evidently, was a prime favorite
with them all.
“What is it, Miss Reynolds? What can we
do for you?” eagerly queried several of the
group, as they sprang forward to ascertain her wishes.
“Is Miss Minturn in the room? I am looking
for a new pupil who arrived this morning,” the
teacher responded, her genial, friendly blue eyes
roving from face to face in search of the stranger
to whom she had referred.
A young girl, who had been sitting by herself in a
remote corner of the room, arose and moved towards
the speaker.
“I am Katherine Minturn,” she said, with
quiet self-possession, yet flushing slightly beneath
the many curious glances bent upon her, as her soft,
brown eyes met the smiling blue ones.
She was, apparently, about nineteen years of age,
a little above medium height, her form slight but
almost perfect in its proportions. A wealth of
hair, matching the color of her eyes, crowned a small,
shapely head, and contrasted beautifully with a creamy
complexion, the delicacy of which was relieved chiefly
by the vivid scarlet of her lips. Her features
were clear-cut and very attractive—at least
so thought Miss Reynolds as she studied the symmetrical
brow, the large, thoughtful eyes, the tender mouth
and prettily rounded chin curving so gracefully into
the white, slender neck.
“Ah! Miss Minturn. I have had quite
a search for you,” she said, reaching out a
cordial hand to her; for, despite the girl’s
self-poise, she had caught a quiver of loneliness
on the expressive face. “I am Miss Reynolds,
the teacher of mathematics, and I have been commissioned
by Prof. Seabrook to find and show you to his
study. But first, let me present you to these
chatterers.”
She dropped the hand that was trembling in her clasp,
and, slipping a reassuring arm about the girl’s
waist, continued:
“Young ladies, this is Miss Minturn, a new junior.
I can’t present each of you formally, for she
is wanted immediately elsewhere; but I will see that
she finds you all out later.”
