The girls of the lower school were all busy with their preparation. Violet and Rose sat side by side. They had been chums for nearly a year now, and the fact was so fully recognized in the school that even their desks were placed close together. Violet was puzzling her little brains over a very difficult piece of French translation, Rose endeavoring to learn four or five long stanzas from Scott's "Lady of the Lake." They were both clever little girls, and, as a rule, their preparation was quickly over, and their tasks speedily conquered; but to-night there was a holiday feeling in the air; a sense of idleness pervaded everyone. Lessons seemed cruel, and the children rebelled against their tasks. They looked at one another, laughed, yawned, struggled with the listlessness which seized them, shot envious glances at their more studious companions, and absolutely refused to overcome the difficulties of the French translation and the English poetry.
The door between the lower schoolroom and the room occupied by the girls of the middle school had been thrown open, and from where the children sat they could see the pretty flounce of a pale blue muslin dress, and the provoking and exasperating peep of a little, pointed, blue Morocco shoe. The shoe evidently belonged to a restless foot, for it often appeared beneaththe flounce, to vanish as quickly, and then to poke itself into notice again.
"It's Biddy," whispered Violet in a low tone to Rose. "I don't believe she's learning her lessons a bit better than we are."
"She never learns them at all," answered Rose. "Janet does them for her now; don't you know that, Violet?"
"Hush!" said Violet, "we are disturbing Katie and Susy Martin, and they are such spiteful little cats, they are sure to tell on us. Hush! do hush, Rose! you ought not to say such things."
"I won't say them if you don't like," whispered Rose back again; "but they are true all the same."
Violet bent over her French translation. Rose made another frantic struggle to conquer "The Lady of the Lake."
The other children in the room were working with considerable industry; the little idlers in the corner had to suppress their emotions as best they could.
Rose had a very emphatic way; she was a stronger character than Violet, and in consequence had her little friend more or less under her thumb.
Violet had a great admiration for Biddy, and, as she was really an honorable and conscientious child, Rose's words shocked her very much.
The moments went by. The summer evening outside looked more beautiful and inviting each moment. After preparation was over, there was a treat in store for the children. This was Bridget O'Hara's birthday, and she was herself the giver of the treat. The children were to have a sort of supper-tea in the tent on the lawn, and afterward Biddy was going to giveeach of them a little present in memory of the day.
The thought of Biddy's present and Biddy's treat had filled every little heart with a pleasant sense of excitement during the entire day; but Violet felt now that if Rose's words were really true she would not care to accept a keepsake from Bridget.
As she sat before her desk, too lazy, too languid, and at the same time too excited, to pay the smallest heed to her lessons, she could not help wishing that she could see something more of the blue frock than just that part which covered the pretty foot.
She slipped down lower and lower by her desk, and presently contrived to get a view of Bridget's desk. She could not see her face, but she could catch a glance of a plump young hand; it was quite still, it did not move, it did not turn a page. Violet could stand it no longer. In a moment of desperation she kicked off her slipper, and springing from her seat, bent low on the floor to pick it up.
From there she could see the whole of Biddy's figure. Oh, horror! her little heart went down to zero; Bridget O'Hara's head rested against her plump hand; she was fast asleep.
The shrill voice of mademoiselle was heard from her corner of the room:
"Reste tranquille, mon enfant; tu es bien ennuyeuse; est ce que tu ne sais pas que c'est l'heure de silence?"
Violet scrambled to, her feet, and sat down before her French translation with a crimson face.
In the meanwhile a pale, quiet-looking girl had entered the room where the middle school were busy over their tasks, and, bending down by BridgetO'Hara's side, took up an exercise she had just finished, and looked over it swiftly and eagerly.
"That is right," she said; "you will get good marks for this. Now, what about your arithmetic?"
"I have managed my sums fairly well, Janet; see," pulling an exercise-book forward. "I suppose they are all right, but they look very funny."
"They must be all right, dear. Let me see! Yes, yes; oh, what an incorrigibly stupid girl you are! This sum in compound subtraction has got the answer which should be attached to the compound addition sum. Quick, Bridget, give me your pen; I will score through these two lines, and then you must add the figures underneath yourself. That is right. What have you done with my——"
"Your copy, Janet? I was going to tear it up, as I had done with it."
"Don't do that, give it to me; it will be safest. Now, try and look over your poetry, Bridget. I will wait for you outside."
"Oh, that is easy enough; I shan't be any time. It's the first page or two of that delightful 'Ancient Mariner'; I can get it done in no time."
"Lucky for you. I will wait for you outside; I have something I want to say to you. Be quick, for all those small tots will be out immediately, and they'll want to take up every moment of your time. Give me those notes, however, before I go."
Bridget pulled some crumpled bits of paper out of her pocket, and thrust them into Janet's eager hand.
Miss May left the room, and Biddy, wide awake now, devoted herself to her poetry.
There was an eager, pleased, almost satisfied, expression on her face.
It was over a week now since Janet had taken her up. During that time she had, without in the least guessing the fact herself, been brought into a considerable state of discipline.
If she obeyed no one else in the school, Janet's slightest nod was sufficient for her.
It was Janet's present aim, whether by foul means or fair, to make Biddy appear both good and fascinating.
She did not want her captive to feel the end of her chain; she was clever enough to make Biddy her complete slave without allowing the slave to be conscious of her slavery.
The result of this week of very judicious slavery was, as far as externals went, highly beneficial.
Biddy had a gorgeous taste in the matter of dress. She wore her splendid garments with truly barbarian recklessness, overdressing herself on one occasion, being untidy and almost slovenly on another. A few suggestions, however, from Janet, altered all this, and the most fastidious person could now see nothing to object to in the clothes which adorned her beautifully proportioned figure, and the hats under which that charming and lovely face looked out.
To-night, Biddy's pale blue muslin, made simply, but with a lavish disregard to expense in the matter of lace and ribbons, was all that was appropriate; her crisp chestnut curls surrounded her fair face like a halo. There was a queer mixture of the woman and the child about her; she was by many degrees the most striking-looking girl in the school.
It took Biddy but a very few minutes to conquer thedifficulties of "The Ancient Mariner." She had a great aptitude for committing poetry to memory, and after repeating the stanzas two or three times under her breath, she slipped the book inside her desk and ran out.
To do this she had to go through the schoolroom where the little girls, Violet and Alice, were sitting mournfully in front of their unlearned lessons.
"Oh, you poor tots!" she said, struck by the expression on their wistful faces, "haven't you done yet? The feast is almost ready. I've ordered clothes baskets of strawberries, my dears, and quarts and quarts of cream."
"Silence, mademoiselle!" screamed the French teacher.
Bridget put her rosy fingers to her lips in mock solemnity, blew a kiss to all the children, and banged the door somewhat noisily behind her.
Violet's blue eyes sought Alice's; there was a world of entreaty in their meaning. Alice began, with feverish, forced energy, to mutter to herself:
"A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid."
"A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid."
Violet continued to gaze at her; then, taking up a scrap of paper, she scribbled on it:
"I don't believe that Janet helps Biddy with her lessons."
"I don't believe that Janet helps Biddy with her lessons."
This scrap of paper was thrust into Alice's hand, who, in a moment, tossed a reply into Violet's lap:
"Yes, she does. You ask Honora Stedman or Jessie Sparkes."
"Yes, she does. You ask Honora Stedman or Jessie Sparkes."
Violet tore the paper into a thousand bits. Tears, she could scarcely tell why, dimmed her pretty eyes. She sank back in her seat, and resumed her lessons.
"Maintenant, mes enfants, l'heure de préparation est passée," said the French governess, rising, and speaking with her usual, quick little scream. "Mettez vos livres de côté; allons-nous à la fête donnée par la gracieuse Mlle. Bridget O'Hara."
The children jumped up with alacrity. Chairs scraped against the floor; desks were opened and books deposited therein more quickly than quietly, and then the whole eager group went out.
There was a large tent erected on the front lawn; gay flags were posted here and there round it, and a rustic porch had been hastily contrived at the entrance. This was crowned with many smaller flags, and was further rendered gay with bunches of wild flowers and ferns which had been fastened to it, under Bridget's supervision, early in the day.
The brilliant effect of the many colored flags and banners, the peep within the tent of tempting tables and many charming presents, excited the wild spirits of the little ones to an almost alarming degree.
Alice looked at Violet with a face full of ecstasy.
"HowI love Biddy O'Hara!" she exclaimed. "Think of her getting up such a lovely, exquisite treat for us! Would any other girl think only of others on her birthday? Oh, I love her; I do love her!"
"But if she does really crib her lessons!" answered Violet, in a low tone of great sorrow. "O Alice, it can't be true."
"It is true," replied Alice; "but, for goodness' sake, Violet, don't fret yourself; it isn't our affair if Biddy chooses to do wrong. Whether she does right or wrong, I shall still maintain that she's a dear, generous darling. Do come on now, Violet, and let us enjoyourselves." Alice caught her little companion's hand as she spoke, and the two children ran down the rather steep grassy incline to the tent.
Most of their companions had arrived before them, and when they entered under the flower-crowned porch, they found themselves in the midst of a very gay and attractive scene. Bridget, with two or three older girls of the school, was entertaining the children with strong sweet tea, piles of bread and butter, cakes of various sizes and shapes, and quantities of strawberries, which were further supplemented with jugs of rich cream.
Violet and Alice seated themselves at once at one end of the long table, and the merry feast went on.
What laughter there was at it, what childish jokes, what little harmless, affectionate, mirthful repartees! Bridget O'Hara's face wore its sweetest expression. The Irish girl had never looked more in her element. Frances Murray and Dorothy, who were both helping her, had never seen Bridget look like this. She showed herself capable of two things: of giving others the most intense pleasure and enjoyment, and absolutely forgetting herself.
Dorothy had not felt kindly disposed to Bridget during the past week. Bridget's conduct, Bridget's extraordinary reserve, the marked way in which she resented small overtures of friendship from Evelyn Percival, hurt her feelings a great deal; but to-night Dorothy Collingwood felt her heart going out to Biddy in a new, unexpected way.
"I agree with Evelyn," she said suddenly, turning round and speaking to Frances Murray.
"About what, my dear?" retorted that young lady. "You generally do agree with Evelyn, you know."
"Don't tease me, Frances; of course we're chums, but I hold, and always will hold, my own opinions. I agree with her now, however. I agree with her with regard to Bridget O'Hara."
"Biddy looks very sweet to-night," replied Frances, "but surely Evelyn cannot care about her."
"Biddy has been very nasty to Evelyn," answered Dolly. "Of course, I know who is really to blame for it. Still I thought Biddy would have more spirit than to be led in a matter of this sort. But do you think Evelyn resents this sort of thing? Not a bit of her. She is just as sweet and good about it all as she can be, and she said to me, what I am really inclined to believe, that if Biddy is only done justice to, there won't be a nobler woman in the world than she."
"Oh, fudge!" said Frances; "I grant that she does look very sweet now, but it's just like Evelyn to go to the fair with things, and it's just like you, Dolly, to believe her. Come, come, the little ones cannot eat another strawberry, however hard they try, and Bridget is going up to the end of the tent to distribute the presents."
"Let us see," replied Dolly.
The two girls went up to the far end of the tent, where a little table covered with a crimson cloth stood; on this Bridget had placed her small gifts.
They were all minute, but all dainty. They had arrived from Paris, a few nights ago, in a small box. Thimbles in charming little cases, dainty workboxes, writing cases, penholders, dolls, photograph frames, boxes of colors, etc., etc., lay in profusion on the pretty table.
Biddy stood by her presents, a bright light in hereyes, a bright color on her cheeks. The two elder girls, who stood in the background, could not help a sudden pang as they watched her. There was something about her mien and bearing which made them, for the first time, clearly understand that this girl was a wild Irish princess at home. For the first time they got an insight into Biddy's somewhat complex character.
"Come here, darlings," she said to the children in her sweet, rather low-pitched voice. "I am glad to give you a little bit of pleasure. It is the best sort of thing that can happen to me, now that I'm away from father. Had you enough to eat, pets?"
"Oh, yes, Biddy, oh, yes!" they all cried.
"That's right. I thought you would. We have lots of feasts of this sort at the Castle. The children aren't like you, of course; they live, half of them, down in the cabins near the water's edge, and they come up with their little bare feet, and their curly heads that have never known hat nor bonnet, and their eyes as blue as a bit of the sky, or as black as the sloes in the hedges. Oh, they are pets every one of them, with their soft voices, and their little prim courtesies, and their 'Thank you, kind lady,' and their 'Indeed, then, it's thrue for ye, that I'm moighty honored by ateing in the sight of yer honor.' Ah, I can hear them now, the pets! and don't they like the presents afterward, and don't they send up three cheers for father and me before they go away! They are all having a feast to-night at the Castle in honor of my birthday, and father is there, and all the dogs, but I'm away; I expect they're a bit lonesome, poor dears, without Biddy, but never mind! You have all been very good to let me give you a little feast, my dear darling pets."
There was a great pathos in Biddy's words; the children felt more inclined to cry than to laugh; Dolly felt a lump in her throat, and even Frances looked down on the ground for a second, but when there was a brief pause Frances raised her hand, and waved it slightly as a signal.
This was enough, all the hands were raised, all the handkerchiefs waved, and from every throat there rose a "Hip! hip! hurrah!" and "Three cheers for the Irish princess!"
"Many happy returns of the day," said Frances, and then all the children repeated her words.
"You must not add any more," exclaimed Biddy. "I don't wish to cry; I want to be happy, as I ought to be when you are all so nice and good to me. I may as well say frankly that I did not at all like school at first, but I do now. If you are all affectionate and loving, and if Janet goes on being kind to me, I shall like school, and I shan't mind so much being broken in."
"Poor Biddy," exclaimed Dorothy, turning to her companion; "she reminds me of the lovely silver-winged horse Pegasus. She does not like the taming process."
"No, my dear, that's true," replied Frances; "but Pegasus grew very fond of Bellerophon in the end."
"Only I deny," said Dolly, "that Janet is in the least like Bellerophon."
"Listen!" exclaimed Frances.
"I am going to give you your presents now," said Bridget. "Come here, each of you in turn."
The children pressed eagerly to the front, and Biddy put a small gift into each of their hands.
"Now come for a walk with me," she said. "I shalltell you a fairy story—a very short one; it pleased the barefooted children at home, and I dare say it will please you. After that you must go to bed."
It was really late now. The sun had set, but there was an after-glow all over the sky, and the moon was showing her calm, full, round face above the horizon.
Alice linked her hand inside Biddy's arm, the other children surrounded her, and Violet felt herself pressed up to her other side.
On another occasion Violet would have taken Biddy's arm, and held it tight. She did not do so to-night; she walked quietly by her side, holding a lovely jointed doll in her arms.
Bridget told a wonderful fairy tale, but Violet's eyes were fixed on her doll, and her thoughts were far away.
The other children cheered and applauded, and questioned and criticised, but Violet was absolutely silent.
At last the gong in the great house sounded. This was the signal for all the little ones to go to bed. They each of them pressed up to kiss Bridget, and thank her for the lovely treat she had given them. Each one after she had kissed her friend ran into the house.
At last Violet was the only child left. Even Alice ran off, but Violet stood in the middle of the gravel walk, clasping her doll in her arms.
"What is the matter, Vi?" asked Bridget. "Don't you like the doll? Would you rather I exchanged it for something else?"
Alice had climbed the steep grassy slope. She stood on the summit, and shouted down into the gathering darkness:
"Come, Violet, come at once, or you'll be late!"
"Kiss me, Violet, and run to bed," said Bridget. "If you don't like the doll, I'll exchange it to-morrow."
"But I do like the doll," said Violet. "I love it! It isn't that, Biddy. May I ask you something?"
"Of course you may, you little darling. How pale you look. What's the matter, Vi?"
"Is it true, Biddy, that you crib your lessons? Alice says it's true; but I don't believe her."
Bridget had knelt down by Violet in her earnest desire to comfort her. She rose now to her feet, and stood erect and tall in the moonlight. After a very brief pause, she spoke in a haughty tone:
"Alice says that I crib?" she repeated. "What do you English girls mean by 'cribbing'?"
"Alice says—oh, please don't be angry, Biddy—she says that Janet helps you; that Janet does—doessomeof your lessons for you, herself. I don't believe it! I said it wasn't true."
"You are a good little soul," said Biddy.
She took the child's hand within her own.
"What a plucky little thing you are, Vi. So you think it wrong to crib?"
"I think it wrong to crib?" repeated Violet. "I think it wrong to crib? Why, of course; it ismost unhonorable."
Bridget colored.
"That's what you English think," she said, in a would-be careless tone; "but when a girl doesn't know, and when she's quite certain to get into all sorts of scrapes—eh, Vi—you tell me what a girl of that sort has got to do?"
"She must not crib," said Violet, in a shaky and intensely earnest little voice; "it's most awfullyunhonorable of her; a girl who cribs must feel so—so mean. If it was me, I'd rather have all the punishments in the school than feel as mean asthat. But you don't crib, Biddy, darling; you are so lovely, and you are so sweet; I know—Iknow you don't crib."
Bridget O'Hara had been tempted by Janet into a very dishonorable course of action, but no spoken lie had ever yet passed her lips.
When Violet looked up at her with the moonlight reflected on her little pale, childish, eager face, Biddy felt the hour for that first lie had arrived. She thought that she would do anything in the world rather than crush the love and the eager trust which shone out of Violet's eyes.
"Of course I don't crib," she was about to say; but suddenly, like a flash, she turned away.
"I'm sorry to destroy your faith in me, Vi," she said, in a would-be careless tone; "but though I have done a very 'unhonorable' thing, as you call it, I really can't tell a lie about it. I do crib, if cribbing means taking Janet's help when I learn my lessons."
The faint roses which Violet wore in her cheeks faded out of them.
"I'm awfully sorry for you," she said. "I didn't believe it a bit when Alice said it; I wouldn't believe it now from anyone but yourself. There's the doll back again, Biddy; I—I can't keep it, Biddy."
She pushed the waxen beauty into Bridget's arms, and rushed back to the house.
For the past week, Janet May had managed, through her tact and cleverness, to make Bridget's life quite comfortable to her. She had shown her a way in which she could obey the rules and yet not feel the fetters. She imparted to Bridget some of that strange and fatal secret which leads to death in the long run, but which at first shows many attractions to its victims. Bridget might live at the school, and have a very jolly, and even independent time; all she had to do was to obey the letter and break the spirit.
In point of acquirements, Biddy could scarcely hold a place even in the middle school. She had many talents, but her education had never been properly attended to. During the last week, however, she had made rapid progress in her studies; she had been moved up a whole class, and was steadily getting to the top of her present one. Her masters and mistresses praised her, and these words of approval proved themselves extremely sweet, and spurred her on to make genuine efforts in those studies for which she had really a talent. Biddy's English was perhaps her weakest point. Her spelling was atrocious; her writing resembled a series of hieroglyphics; her sums were faulty; her history was certainly fable, not fact.
She could speak French perfectly; her marks,therefore, in this tongue were always good. Now her English, too, began to assume quite a respectable appearance; her sums were invariably correct; her spelling irreproachable; her various themes were well expressed, and her facts were incontestable. She was making her way rapidly through the middle school, and Mrs. Freeman said that she had every reason to hope that so clever a girl might take her place in the upper school by the beginning of the next term.
As it was, Bridget was accorded a few of the privileges of the upper school. One of these privileges was very much prized; she might spend her evenings, once preparation was over, exactly as she pleased.
After Violet's unexpected reproof she came slowly into the house. She had that uncertain temperament which is so essentially Irish; her spirits could rise like a bird on the wing, or they could fall into the lowest depths of despondency.
She had felt gay and joyful while her birthday treat was going on; now as she entered the house she could scarcely drag one leaden step after the other.
Janet was standing in the stone passage which led to the common room, when Biddy passed by.
"I have been waiting for you," she said, in a rather cross voice. "What an age you've been! Surely the treat need not have been followed by a whole wasted hour afterward?"
"I was telling the children a story," said Biddy; "the story was part of the treat."
Janet's thin lips curled somewhat sarcastically.
"Well, come now," she said; "the committee have all assembled in the common room, and we're only waiting for you to begin."
"You must do without me to-night," said Bridget; "I have got a headache, and I'm going to bed." She turned abruptly away, utterly disregarding Janet's raised brows of astonishment, and the faint little disagreeable laugh which followed her as she went upstairs.
Bridget's room adjoined the one occupied by Evelyn Percival. As Bridget was entering her bedroom, Evelyn was coming out of hers.
"Had you a nice treat?" she said, stopping for a moment to speak to Bridget. "You never asked me to come and look on, and I should have enjoyed it so much."
"But you're the head girl of the school; my treat was only for the little ones," said Bridget, in a cold tone.
"I love treats for little ones," said Evelyn, "and I think it was so nice of you to think of it. Aren't you coming down to the committee, Miss O'Hara? This is the evening when we arrange our different contributions. You know, of course, that the bazaar is only a week off."
"I don't care when it is held," said Biddy; "there never was such a stupid fuss made about anything as that bazaar; I'm sick of the subject. No, Miss Percival, I'm not going to join the committee to-night."
"Well, good-night, then," said Evelyn.
She ran downstairs, and Biddy shut herself into her own room and locked the door.
About an hour later the other girls went to bed. Biddy unlocked her door, and getting between the sheets just as she was, in her pretty blue muslin frock, waited until all the house was still. Miss Delicia usually visited the girls the last thing before going to bed. She came into Bridget's room as usual, butnoticed nothing wrong. The top of a curly head was seen above the sheet. Miss Delicia stepped lightly on tiptoe out of the room, and a few moments later the large house, with its many inmates, was wrapped in profound silence.
When this silence had lasted about a quarter of an hour, Biddy raised herself on her elbow, and listened intently; then she threw aside the bedclothes, and stepped lightly on to the floor. Her slippers were discarded, and her little stockinged feet made no sound as she walked across the boards. She managed to open her door without its making a single creak, and a few moments later, guided by the moon, she was standing in the deserted schoolroom, and was unlocking her school desk. From out of it she took three very neat looking exercise-books. From each of these books she tore a page. These three pages she deliberately reduced to the minutest fragments; returned the books to her desk, locked it, and went back to bed.
No one had heard her go or come. When she laid her head once more on her pillow a little sob escaped her lips.
"You shan't ever say I'm unhonorable again, Violet," she muttered; some tears stole from under her thick, curly lashes. Two or three minutes afterward she had dropped into profound and peaceful slumber.
The next day at lesson time Bridget O'Hara was in extreme disgrace. She had no exercises, either good or bad, to show; not the most careless or untidy notes had she with regard to her history lesson; her geography had simply not been prepared at all.
Biddy went to the bottom of her class, where she stayed for the remainder of the morning.
She was to learn her lessons during the hours of recreation, and was told by her indignant teachers that she might consider herself in great disgrace.
She received this announcement with complacency, and sat with a contented, almost provoking, smile hovering round her lips.
Morning school being over, the girls went out to play as usual; but Biddy sat in the schoolroom with her sums, history lesson, and geography all waiting to get accomplished.
"You have been a good girl lately, Bridget; you have prepared your lessons carefully and cleverly," said Miss Dent, the English teacher. "I am quite sure, therefore, that you will speedily retrieve the great carelessness of this morning. I am willing to make all allowances for you, my dear, for we none of us forget that yesterday was your birthday. Now, just give your attention to these lessons, and you will have them nicely prepared by dinner time."
"I don't believe I shall," said Bridget, with a comical expression. She bent over her books as she spoke, and Miss Dent, feeling puzzled, she did not know why, left the room.
A moment later Janet came in.
"What is the matter?" asked Janet. "I have just met Miss Dent, who tells me that you failed in your three English lessons this morning. How can that be? Your grammar and English history and geography were perfect last night. They had not a single mistake!"
"You mean," said Bridget, raising her eyes and looking full at, Janet, "thatyourgrammar and geography and English history were perfect last night."
Janet shrugged her shoulders.
"It's all the same," she said. "I told you that I'd help you with your lessons, and I shall keep my word. How is it that you have managed to get into disgrace, after all the trouble I have taken for you?"
"You are never to take it again, Janet; that is all!"
"Never to take it again! Dear me, what a very superior voice we can use when we like! And has our 'first' sweet little 'gem of the ocean' discovered that her own mighty genius can tide her over all school troubles?"
"I'm not going to be afraid of you, Janet," said Biddy. "Of course, you've been awfully kind to me, and I'm not ungrateful. But something—somethinghappenedlast night which made me see that I've been a mean, horrid, deceitful girl to let you help me at all, and you are not to do it again; that's all."
"What happened last night to open your virtuous eyes?"
"I'm not going to say."
"Have any of the girls found out?"
Janet turned decidedly pale as she asked this question.
"I'm not going to say."
"You don't mean to hint to me, Bridget, that you have told the teachers about what I have done?"
"Of course I haven't, Janet. But I'll tell you what I did do. I went down last night when all the other girls—you among them—were sleeping the sleep of the just, and I tore a sheet out of each of these books; the sheet which you had so carefully prepared for me last night. That's why I had no English lessons, good, bad, or indifferent, to show this morning."
Janet stood quite silent for a moment or two; herdelicately formed fingers beat an impatient tattoo on the top of Biddy's desk.
"You can please yourself, of course," she said, after a pause. "You can wade through your lessons as best you can, and sink to your proper position, you great big baby, in the lower school. You have shown a partiality for the little children. You are likely to see enough of them in future, for you will belong to them."
"They are dear little creatures, much nicer than any of the big girls, except Dolly. I'd rather be with them and do right than stay in the middle school, or even the upper, and feel as I did last night."
"It is delightful to see what a tender conscience you have got! I confess I did not know of its existence until to-day, but I congratulate you most heartily on such a priceless possession. It will be a great relief to me, not to have to worry any more about your lessons. For the future I wash my hands of you."
"Am I not to be your chum any more, then, Janet?"
Bridget looked up, with decided relief on her face.
Janet saw the look. Her brow darkened; she had to make a great effort to suppress the strong dislike which filled her breast. Bridget, however, was rich; she might be useful.
"Of course, we are chums still," she said in a hasty voice. "It is your own fault if I don't do as much for you as I promised. You are a great little goose to reject the help which I am giving you. Your father sent you to school in order that you might learn; you can't learn if you are not helped. However, it's your own affair; but if you ever let out to mortal that I gave youthis assistance your life won't be worth living, that's all."
"I'm not a bit afraid of your threats, Janet; but I won't tell, of course."
"I say," exclaimed Janet, suddenly rushing to the window, "what a nice carriage, and what fine horses! Who in the world can be coming to Mulberry Court now?"
Bridget had again bent over her lessons. They were hopelessly difficult. It was on the tip of her tongue to say:
"Janet, how am I to parse this sentence?" But she restrained herself.
Janet had forgotten all about her. She was gazing at the beautiful carriage and spirited horses with eyes full of curiosity.
The carriage, a smart little victoria, contained only one occupant. The horses were pawing the ground impatiently now; the lady had disappeared into the house.
"I say," exclaimed Janet, turning to Bridget; but whatever further words she meant to utter were arrested on her lips. There was the swishing sound of voluminous draperies in the passage, a gay, quick voice could be distinguished pouring out eager utterances, and the next moment the room door was opened hastily, and a lady rushed in.
She was immediately followed by Miss Patience, who seemed somewhat amazed.
"Really, Lady Kathleen——" she began.
"Now, my dear Miss Patience, don't interrupt me. I know what a good soul you are; but if you think I'm going to sit in your drawing room waiting until thatprecious child is brought to me, you are finely mistaken. Ah, and here you are, my treasure! Come into Aunt Kitty's arms!"
"Aunt Kathleen!" exclaimed Bridget.
She rushed from her seat, upsetting a bottle of ink as she did so, and found herself clasped in a voluminous embrace.
"Now that's good," said Lady Kathleen. "I'll write full particulars about you to Dennis to-night. And how are you, my pet? And how do you like school? Are they very cross? Oh,Iknow them! I was here long ago myself. Patience, do you remember how you used to insist upon punishing the girls, and dear old Delicia used to beg them off? I expect you are just the same as ever you were. Does Miss Patience give you many punishments, my ducky, and does Miss Delicia beg you off?"
"I'll leave you now, Lady Kathleen," said Miss Patience, still in her stiff voice. "If you really prefer staying in this room to the comfortable drawing room, I cannot help it. Of course, you will remain to dinner? Mrs. Freeman will be delighted to see you again."
"Dear Mrs. Freeman! If there's a woman in the world I respect, she's the one. But stay a moment, Miss Patience; I'll come and see Mrs. Freeman another time. I want to take this dear child off with me now to Eastcliff for the day, and I'd be delighted if her young companion would come too. What's your name, my love?"
"May," replied Janet.
"May? What a nice little flowery sort of title. Well, I want you to come and spend the day with me, May."
"My name is Janet May."
"It's all the same, I expect. Now, Miss Patience, may I take these two sweet children to Eastcliff? I'll promise to have them back under your sheltering wings by nine o'clock this evening."
Miss Patience hesitated for a moment, but Lady Kathleen Peterham was not a person to be lightly offended.
"It is very kind of you," she said, "and also most natural that you should wish to have your niece with you. But Janet——"
"Oh, come, come," said Lady Kathleen, with a hearty laugh, "I want to have them both, dear children. Run upstairs, now, both of you, and make yourselves as smart as smart can be. While the girls are getting ready, you and I can have a little talk, Patience. Run, my loves, run, make yourselves scarce."
Bridget and Janet both left the room. All the crossness had now disappeared from Janet's face. She was in high good humor, and even condescended to link her hand inside Bridget's arm as they mounted the stairs to their bedrooms.
Janet had very quiet and very good taste in dress.
She came downstairs presently in a dove-colored cashmere, a black lace hat on her head, and dove-colored gloves on her hands. A pretty black lace parasol completed her ladylike attire. There was nothing expensive about her simple toilet, but it was youthful, refined, and suitable.
Biddy did not return so quickly to the schoolroom. Alas! alas! she was givencarte blanchewith regard to her dress. Miss O'Hara loved gay clothing. She came out of her room at last bedizened with flutteringribbons, wherever ribbons could be put. Her dress was of shimmering sea green; she wore a large white hat, trimmed with enormous ostrich feathers; white kid gloves were drawn up her arms. Her parasol was of white lace, interspersed with bows of sea-green velvet. This gorgeous costume had not before seen the light. It suited Biddy, whose radiant sort of beauty could bear any amount of dress. Beside this splendid young person, quiet Janet May seemed to sink into utter insignificance. Miss Patience gave a gasp when Bridget appeared, but Lady Kathleen Peterham smiled with broad satisfaction.
"Ah!" she said, rising from her chair, "I call that costume really tasty. The moment I saw it at Worth's I knew it would suit you, Biddy, down to the ground. No, you naughty child, I'd be afraid even to whisper to you what it cost; but come along now, both of you, or we'll be late for all our fun. Miss Patience, I see you are lost in admiration of Bridget's turn-out."
"I must be frank with you, Lady Kathleen," said Miss Patience. "I consider your niece's dress most unsuitable—the child is only fifteen. A white muslin, with a blue ribbon belt, is the fitting costume for her, and not all that tomfoolery. You'll excuse me, Lady Kathleen; I think you and Mr. O'Hara make a great mistake in overdressing Miss Biddy as you do."
"Oh, come, come," said Lady Kathleen, "Bridget is my poor dear sister's only child, and my brother-in-law and I can't make too much of her. In school hours, of course, she can be as plain as you please, but out of school——" The lady raised her eyebrows, and her expression spoke volumes.
"Come, my dear," she said.
A moment later the gay little victoria was bowling back to Eastcliff, and Lady Kathleen was pouring out a volley of eager remarks to Janet May. The change from the dull routine of school life bewildered and delighted sober Janet; she forgot her habitual reserve, and became almost communicative. Biddy, notwithstanding all her fine feathers, seemed for some reason or other slightly depressed, but Janet had never known herself in better spirits.
"What a sweet companion you are for my niece!" said Lady Kathleen. "You may be quite sure, my love, that I'll tell my brother-in-law all about you. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he invited you to the Castle for the holidays. I shall be there, and we are going to have all kinds of gay doings. Eh, Biddy, love, what do you say to having your pretty school friend with you? Why, how pensive you look, my deary!"
"When I see you, Aunt Kathleen, I cannot help thinking of father and the dogs," said Bridget abruptly. She turned her head away as she spoke.
"Oh, my darling, the dogs; that recalls something to my mind. Minerva has had four pups, elegant little creatures, thoroughbred, every one of them. Dennis telegraphed their arrival to me last night."
Janet thought this information highly uninteresting, but Biddy's cheeks quite flamed with excitement. She asked innumerable and eager questions, and absorbed all Lady Kathleen's attention until they reached the gay hotel where the lady was staying at Eastcliff.
Lady Kathleen Peterham had a suite of rooms to herself, and no pains were spared to make these as luxurious and beautiful as possible. The wide balconies of her drawing room, which looked directly over thesea, were gay with many brilliant and lovely flowers. They were also protected from the rays of the sun by cool green-and-white striped awnings.
Lunch was ready when the girls arrived, but immediately afterward Lady Kathleen took them out to sit on the balcony with her.
"We will have our ices and coffee here, Johnson," she said to the servant who waited on them.
As she spoke, she sank into a comfortable chair, and taking up a large crimson fan, began to move it slowly backward and forward before her somewhat heated face.
Lady Kathleen was still a very handsome woman. Her blue eyes resembled Bridget's in their brightness and vivacity; but her skin, brows, and hair were much darker, and her expression, although vivacious and winning, had not that charming innocence about it which marked Bridget's young face.
Lady Kathleen was a woman of about five-and-thirty. She was made on a large scale, and the first slenderness of youth was already lost. She had seen a great deal of what she called "life," for she had married early, and had lived almost ever since in Paris with her husband.
Hers was a somewhat frivolous nature. She was imprudent, injudicious, incapable of really guiding the young; but, at the same time, she was the soul of good nature, and would not willingly have hurt the smallest living creature.
Janet could not help being greatly impressed by Lady Kathleen. If there was one point more strongly developed than another in Janet's character it was her worldliness. She was a lady by birth, but she was poor. Some day Janet knew that she would have toearn her own living. She had the most intense respect, therefore, for those people who were blessed with an abundance of this world's goods. Hers was naturally a cold, cynical, and calculating nature. Bridget was, in reality, not in the least to her taste, but the rumors of Bridget's wealth had always been pleasant to listen to. On account of these rumors, Janet had done what she considered good service to the willful and headstrong schoolgirl.
She felt highly pleased now with her own worldly wisdom, as she sat under the shelter of the green-and-white awning, and ate strawberry ices, and sipped her coffee.
Lady Kathleen was, in all respects, a woman to Janet's taste. She had thesavoir fairewhich impresses young girls. Janet's respect for Bridget increased tenfold when she saw that she was related to such a woman, and she wondered to herself how the aunt could have so much style and the niece be sogauche.
Lady Kathleen, who was determined to make the day delightful to her young companions, questioned Janet eagerly with regard to her school and school pursuits.
"Now, my darling," she said, "you must tell me about your little world. I know what school is. I was at school myself for many a weary year. At school there always is a big excitement going on. What's the present one?"
Biddy had seated herself close to the edge of the balcony, and was looking out over the sea. She was thinking of the Castle, and of Minerva, and of the cherished litter of pups; of her father's excitement, and Pat Donovan's raptures, and Norah Mahoney's comments.
She saw the Irish serving man and woman gesticulating and exclaiming; she saw her father's white hair and weatherbeaten, eagle face, and could almost hear his deep tones of satisfaction as he bent over Minerva, and patted her wise head.
"Biddy!" shrieked Lady Kathleen; "Biddy, child, wake up! What in the world have you gone off into one of those brown studies for? Here's this dear little Janet telling me that you're going to have a Fancy Fair at Mulberry Court."
"Oh, yes, Aunt Kathie," said Bridget; "I believe we are."
"Well, child, and isn't that a bright, lively sort of amusement for you? And the bazaar is to be for a charitable object, too? Splendid! splendid! Why, Dennis will be quite delighted when I tell him. I always said the Court was the right school for you, Biddy. It gives a sort of all-round training. It isn't only accomplishments—tinkle, tinkle on the piano, and that sort of thing—hearts are also thought of, and trained properly to think of others. Well, darlings, I'm very much pleased about the bazaar, and this good little Janet tells me that it is her idea; most creditable to her. You are the head of the whole thing, are you not, Janet?"
"No," said Janet, trying to speak in a calm, indifferent voice; "of courseIdon't mind; Ican'tmind, but one of Mrs. Freeman's strictest rules is that seniority goes before all else. I am not the head girl of the school, Lady Kathleen; the head girl's name is Evelyn Percival, and, although I was the one to think of the Fancy Fair, and although Evelyn was away from the school during the first two or three weeks while thematter was being planned out and we were getting materials ready for our stalls, still, the moment she came home, Mrs. Freeman insisted on our asking her to join the committee, and since then she has taken the lead, and hers will be the principal stall on the day of the fair."
"And you'll be nowhere, so to speak?" said Lady Kathleen.
"Well, I don't know that; I hope to have a pretty stall too; Bridget is helping me with my stall; aren't you, Biddy?"
"I don't know that I am," replied Bridget. "Father sent me a little money to buy a few pretty things, and that was about all that I could do. I love pretty things, but I am no worker."
She turned away as she spoke, and once more looked out over the sea with longing in her eyes.
Lady Kathleen had a keen perception of character. Janet had spoken in a very quiet, subdued voice, but the fact was by no means lost on the good lady that she was terribly chagrined at the position she was obliged to occupy at the fair.
"Confess, my little one; you don't like being second," she said, bending over her and tapping her fair head with the large crimson fan.
Janet colored faintly. "'What can't be cured,'" she said, shrugging her shoulders.
Lady Kathleen took up the proverb and finished it. "'Must be endured,'" she said. "But I don't believe that this position of affairs can't be cured. It strikes me as extremely unfair that you should have had the trouble of getting up this fair, and then that you should be pushed into a second position. I don't careif fifty Mrs. Freemans say you are not to be first. I don't choose that my niece, Bridget O'Hara, should have anything to do with a second-rate stall; or a second-rate position. Wake up, Biddy, child, and listen to me; I insist upon one thing—you and Janet are to be first on the day of the fair."
Janet's eyes began to sparkle, and the faint glow in her cheeks grew bright and fixed. Her eager expression spoke volumes, but she did not utter a word. Bridget, however, exclaimed wearily:
"Oh, what does it matter who is first! Besides, whether you like it or not, Aunt Kathie, you can't alter matters. Mrs. Freeman is mistress in her own school; and if she decides that Evelyn is to take the lead, Evelyn will take the lead, no matter whether you wish it or not, fifty times over."
"My good little Biddy, you are a bit of an innocent for all you are growing such a fine big girl—the pride of your father's heart, and the light of your old auntie's eyes! Little Janet has more wisdom than twenty great handsome creatures like you. Now, my pets, you listen to me; we'll manage this matter byguile. Miss Percival may have the first stall at the bazaar, if she likes. Who cares twopence about that? You, Janet, and you, Biddy, will have the stall that all the visitors will flock to. You leave me to manage the matter; I'll make your stall so lovely that all the others will sink into insignificance."
"Oh, will you?" exclaimed Janet; "how—howgood you are!"
"I will do it, my dear, I certainly will; the honor of the O'Haras is involved in this matter. Now, girls, you just put on your hats, and we'll go roundEastcliff, and see if we can't pick up a basketful of pretty trifles for you to take home with you this evening. Of course, they will be nothing to what will presently follow, but they'll just do for a beginning. You leave it to me, my loves; leave it all to me. This great, grand, wise Evelyn Percival can't compete with Paris and the Rue Rivoli; you leave it all to me."
"How kind you are," said Janet again.
"Don't thank me," said Lady Kathleen, rising; "it's for the honor of the O'Haras. Whoever yet heard of an O'Hara eating humble pie, or taking a second position anywhere? Now, girls, run into my room, and make yourselves smart as smart can be, for we have plenty to do with our time, I can assure you."
The rest of the day passed for Janet in a sort of delicious dream. Money seemed as plentiful to Lady Kathleen Peterham as the pebbles on the seashore. Janet almost gasped as she saw the good lady take one gold piece after another out of her purse to expend on the merest nothings. Lady Kathleen had exquisite taste, however, and many useless but beautiful ornaments were carefully tucked away in the large basket which was to be taken to Mulberry Court that evening.
"I shall go to Paris on Monday," said Lady Kathleen; "I will telegraph to my husband to expect me. When is your bazaar? next Thursday? I shall be back at Eastcliff on Wednesday at the latest. One day in Paris will effect my purpose. I mean to attend this bazaar myself, and I mean to bring several friends. Do your best, loves, in the meantime to make as creditable a show as possible, but leave the finalarrangements, the crowning dash of light, color, and beauty to me."
When the two girls were starting for Mulberry Court in the evening, Lady Kathleen opened her purse and put five golden sovereigns into Biddy's hand. "I don't know how you are off for pocket money, my pet," she said, "but here's something to keep you going. Now, good-night, dears; good-night to you both."
Now that the break-up day was so near, nothing was talked of in the school but the coming examinations, the prizes, and the delightful fair which was to bring such honor and renown to Mulberry Court. The school resembled a little busy hive of eager, animated workers. Even play during these last days was forgotten, and everyone, from the eldest to the youngest, was pressed into the service of the fair.
When the matter was first proposed, Mrs. Freeman had said to the girls: "You are abundantly welcome to try the experiment. My share will consist in giving you a large marquee or tent; everything else you must do yourselves. I shall invite people to see your efforts and to buy your wares. Each girl who contributes to the bazaar will be allowed to ask two or three guests to be present; the only stipulation I have to make is that you don't produce a failure; you are bound, for the honor of the school, to make the fair a success."
The programme for the great day was something as follows: The examinations were to be held in the morning. Immediately afterward the prize-winners would receive their awards; there would be an interval for dinner; and at three o'clock the great fair would be opened, and sales would continue until dusk.
The girls who were to sell at the stalls were all to be dressed in white with green ribbons. Mrs. Freeman had herself selected this quiet and suitable dress; she had done this with a special motive, for she was particularly anxious that Biddy should have no opportunity of displaying her finery.
The evening before the great and important day arrived. Evelyn had purchased a great many useful and beautiful articles for her stall. She and Dolly were to be the saleswomen; and Mrs. Freeman had arranged that the principal stall should be at the top end of the large marquee. Janet felt a sarcastic smile curling her lips when this arrangement was made.
"It does not really matter," she said to herself; "Bridget's and my stall will be exactly in the center. The light from the entrance to the tent will fall full upon it. After all, we shall have a better position, even than that occupied by the head stall." She kept her thoughts to herself. Her spirits had never been better, her manners never more amiable, than since the day of her visit to Lady Kathleen. The girls who were working under her were very busy, and much delighted with the basket of beautiful things which had been brought from Eastcliff, but about any further contributions Janet was absolutely silent.
On the afternoon of the day before the bazaar, Bridget came into the bedroom which was shared by Janet and one other girl. "Mrs. Freeman tells me that you are going into Eastcliff," she said.
"Yes," replied Janet, "I'm to drive in with Marshall. There has been a mistake about some of the confectionery, and Mrs. Freeman wants me to go to Dovedale's, in the High Street, without delay, to ordersome more cheese cakes, creams, and jellies. Frances Murray ought really to attend to this, for she is to manage the refreshment stall, but she happens to be in bed with a stupid headache. What's the matter, Bridget? How excited you look! and, good gracious, my dear! you have been crying; your eyes have red rims round them."
"I have had a letter from home," said Bridget, "and Pat Donovan is ill: he fell off the ladder and hurt his back. Norah Mahoney wrote about him—she's awfully troubled. Poor Norah, she is engaged to Pat, you know; she's says he's very bad, poor boy!"
"Who in the world is Pat Donovan? and who is Norah Mahoney?" asked Janet, as she hastily drew on her gauntlet gloves. "Friends of yours, of course. But I never heard of them before."
"They are very dear friends of mine," replied Bridget; "they are two of the servants; I love them very much. Poor, poor Pat! Norah has been engaged to him for years and years, and now only to think of his being hurt so dreadfully! Norah wrote me such a sad letter. I'll read it to you, if you like."
"No thanks, my dear; I really have no time to listen to the sorrows of your servants. It is too absurd, Bridget, to go on like that! Why, you're crying again, you great baby! I thought, when you spoke of them, that you meant people in your own rank."
"I won't tell you any more!" said Biddy, coloring crimson. "You have no heart, or you wouldn't speak in that horrid tone! Dear, dear Pat! I'm ten thousand times fonder of him than I am of anyone else in the world, except father and the dogs, and, perhaps,Aunt Kathleen. I used to ride on his shoulder all over the farm when I was quite a little tot!"
"Well, my dear, I must run now. I am sorry that I can't sympathize with you."
"Yes; but, Janet, one moment. I want to send a little present to Pat; I can, for Aunt Kathleen gave me five pounds. I want to send him a post-office order for two pounds, and I want to know if you will get it for me. Here's the letter, all written, and here are the two sovereigns. Will you get a postal order and put it into the letter for me, Janet, and then post it at Eastcliff?"
"But you are going home yourself in a couple of days."
"Oh! that doesn't matter; I wouldn't leave Pat a hour longer than I could help without his letter. You may fancy how fond I am of him, when I tell you that he has the care of Minerva and the pups."
"I think you're a great goose," said Janet. "But there's no time to argue. Give me the money, child, and let me go."
"Be sure you post the letter in good time," said Bridget. "Here it is; I haven't closed it."
She laid the directed envelope on Janet's dressing table, put the two sovereigns on the top of it, and ran off.
The whole place was in bustle and confusion. Many of the girls were packing their trunks preparatory to the great exodus which would take place the day after to-morrow. Evelyn and her favorite friends were sitting in the large summerhouse which faced the front of the house. They were chatting andlaughing merrily, and seeing Biddy they called to her to come and join them. Her impulse was to rush to them, and pour out some of her troubles in Dolly's kind ears; but then she remembered certain sarcastic sayings of Janet's. Janet's many insinuations were taking effect on her.
"They all look good enough up in that summerhouse," she said to herself; "but according to Janet they are each of them shams. Oh, dear, dear, what a horrid place the world is! I don't think there's anyone at all nice in it, except father and the dogs, and Pat and Norah. Aunt Kathie is pretty well, but even she is taken in by Janet. I don't think school is doing me any good; I hate it more and more every day. I shan't join the girls in the summerhouse; I'll go away and sit by myself."
She turned down a shady walk, and presently seating herself under a large tree, and, clasping her hands round her knees, she began to think with pleasure of the fast approaching holidays.
While Bridget was so occupied, two ladies passed at a little distance arm in arm. They were Miss Delicia and the English mistress, Miss Dent. These two were always good friends; they were both kind-hearted, and inclined to indulge the girls. They were great favorites, and were supposed to be very easily influenced.
When she saw them approach, Bridget glanced lazily round. They did not notice her, but made straight for the little rustic bower close to the tree under which she was sitting.
"I can't account for it," said Miss Dent. "Of course, I have always found plenty of faults in BridgetO'Hara, but I never did think that she would stoop to dishonor."
Bridget locked her hands tightly together; a great wave of angry color mounted to her temples. Her first impulse was to spring to her feet, to disclose herself to the two ladies, and angrily demand the meaning of their words. Then a memory of something Violet had said came over her; she sat very still; she was determined to listen.
"I think you must be mistaken, Sarah," said Miss Delicia to her friend. "I know my sister, Mrs. Freeman, thinks that Bridget, with all her faults, has a fine character. I heard her saying so to Patience one day. Patience, poor dear, just lacks the very thing she was called after, and Henrietta said to her: 'The material is raw, but it is capable of being fashioned into something noble.' I must say I agreed with Henrietta."
"My dear Delicia," responded the other lady, "am I unjust, suspicious, or wanting in charity?"
"No, Sarah; Patience—poor Patience—does fail in those respects occasionally; but no one can lay these sins to your door."
"I am glad to hear you say so. Now you must listen to the following facts. You know what a queer medley that poor girl's mind is in; she has a good deal of knowledge of a certain kind: she has poetic fancy, and brilliant imagination, she has a lovely singing voice, and the expression she throws into her music almost amounts to genius; nevertheless, where ordinary school work is concerned, the girl is an absolute ignoramus. Her knowledge of geography is a blank. Kamschatka may be within a mile of London, for all she knows to the contrary, Africa may be found at the opposite sideof the Straits of Dover; her spelling is too atrocious for words. As to arithmetic, she is a perfect goose whenever she tries to conquer the smallest and simplest sum."
"Well, my dear," interrupted Miss Delicia, "granted all this, the poor child has been sent to school to be taught, I suppose. I can't see why she should be accused of dishonor because she is ignorant."
"My dear friend, you must allow me to continue. I am coming to my point immediately. When Bridget first came to school, she was placed in the lowest class in the middle school. She was with girls a couple of years her juniors. Mrs. Freeman was much distressed at this arrangement, for Bridget is not only fifteen—she arrived at that age since she came to school—but she is a remarkably developed, grown-up-looking girl for her years; to have to do lessons, therefore, with little girls of twelve and thirteen was in every way bad for her.
"There was no help for it, however, and we had really to strain a point to keep her out of the lower school.
"For two or three weeks Biddy did as badly as any girl with a reasonable amount of brains could. Each day we felt that we must take her out of the middle school. Then occurred that unfortunate accident, when Evelyn Percival was so nearly hurt. That seemed to bring things to a crisis. Bridget was punished, you remember?"
"Yes," said Miss Delicia, nodding her wise head, "I remember perfectly."
"Bridget was punished," continued Miss Dent, "but on that day also she submitted to authority. Thenext morning she took her usual place in class, but—lo and behold! there was a marked and sudden improvement. Her spelling was correct, the different places in the world began to assume their relative positions. Her sums were more than good. In two or three days she had risen to the head of her class; she was moved into a higher one, and took a high place in that also. This state of things continued for a fortnight; we were all in delight, for the girl had plenty about her to win our interest. All she wanted to make her one of the most popular girls in the school was attention to the rules, and a certain power of getting on at her lessons.
"This golden fortnight in Biddy's life, however, came to an end. Her aunt, Lady Kathleen Peterham, called a week ago, and took her and Janet May to Eastcliff. On that very morning Bridget had absolutely no lessons to say; she had not written out her theme, she had not learned her geography; her sum book was a blank. From that day she has returned to her normal state of ignorance; her lessons are as hopelessly badly learnt as ever."
"Well, well," said Miss Delicia, "I am sorry for the poor child. That rather silly aunt of hers probably turned her brain, but I cannot even now see how you make her conduct dishonorable. She's a naughty child, of course, and we must spur her on to greater efforts next time; but as to her being wanting inhonor, that's a strong word, Sarah."
"Wait a minute," said Miss Dent. "You know the girls have to give up all their exercise books a couple of days before the examinations? Bridget handed me hers a couple of days ago. Her bookswere disgraceful—blotty, untidy, almost illegible. I examined them in hopeless despair. Suddenly my eyes were arrested; I was looking through the English themes.
"'Ah!' I said, 'here is the little oasis in the desert; these are the exercises Biddy wrote during the fortnight she was so good.'
"I suppose it was the force of the contrast, but I looked at these neatly written, absolutely correct, well spelled pages in astonishment. Busy as I was, I felt obliged to read one of the little essays over again; the subject was 'Julius Cæsar.' Bridget went up to the top of her class for the masterly way in which she had worked out her little essay. I read it over again, in perplexity and admiration. The English was correct, the style vigorous; there were both conciseness and thought in the well turned sentences. One phrase, however, struck on my ear with a curious sense of familiarity. At first I said to myself, 'I remarked this sentence when Bridget read her theme aloud, that is the reason why it is so familiar,' but my mind was not satisfied with this explanation. Like a flash I remembered where I had seen it before. I said to myself the child has got this out of Pearson's book of English extracts. Her essay is admirable, even without this concluding thought. I must tell her to put marks of quotation another time when she uses phrases not her own. I rose and went to the bookcase, and taking down Pearson, looked out his remarks on Julius Cæsar. My dear Delicia, judge of my feelings; the little essay was copied word for word from Pearson's book! It was a daring act, and, putting the wickedness out of sight, almost a silly one, for to quote from such a well-knownauthor as Pearson was naturally almost to invite discovery. All the good, carefully written essays were copied from the same volume. I can at last understand why Bridget has fallen back into her old state of hopeless ignorance. I can also, alas! understand that golden fortnight of promise."