The pile of deal boxes had disappeared from the narrow hall and was already on its way to Dunstan Station, where they were to meet a local train which would presently enable them to join the express for London. There was a bewildered moment of great anguish when Jean caught the lassies to her breast, when the dogs clustered round to be embraced and hugged and patted. Then Donald, leading the horse (for there was no room for him to ride in the crowded dogcart), started briskly on the road to Dunstan, and Craigie Muir was left far behind.
By and by they all reached the railway station. The luggage was piled up on the platform. Sir John took first-class tickets to London, and the curious deal boxes found their place in the luggage van. Donald’s grizzly head and rugged face were seen for one minute as the train steamed out of the station. Betty clutched at the side of her dress where Aunt Frances’ old flat pocket which contained the packet was secured. The other two girls looked at her with a curious mingling of awe and admiration, and then they were off.
Sir John guessed at the young people’s feelings, and did not trouble them with conversation. By and by they left the small train and got into a compartment reserved for them in the London express. Sir John did everything he could to enliven the journey for his young cousins. But they were taciturn and irresponsive. Betty’s wonderful gray eyes looked out of the window at the passing landscape, which Sir John was quite sure she did not see; Sylvia and Hester were absorbed in watching their sister. Sir John had a queer kind of feeling that there was something wrong with the girls’ dress; that very coarse black serge, madewith no attempt at style; the coarse, home-made stockings; the rough, hobnailed boots; the small tam-o’-shanter caps, pushed far back from the little faces; the uncouth worsted gloves; and then the deal boxes! He had a kind of notion that things were very wrong, and that the girls did not look a bit at his own darling Fanny looked, nor in the least like the other girls he had seen at Haddo Court. But Sir John Crawford had been a widower for years, and during that time had seen little of women. He had not the least idea how to remedy what looked a little out of place even at Craigie Muir, but now that they were flying south looked much worse. Could he possibly spare the time to spend a day in a London hotel, and buy the girls proper toilets, and have their clothes put into regulation trunks? But no, in the first place, he had not the time; in the second, he would not have the slightest idea what to order.
They all arrived in London late in the evening. Sylvia and Hetty had been asleep during the latter part of the journey, but Betty still sat bolt upright and wide awake. It was dusk now, and the lamp in the carriage was lit. It seemed to throw a shadow on the girl’s miserable face. She was very young—only the same age as Sir John’s dear Fanny; and yet how different, how pale, how full of inexpressible sadness was that little face! Those gray eyes of hers seemed to haunt him! He was the kindest man on earth, and would have given worlds to comfort her; but he did not know what to do.
Having made up her mind to receive the Vivian girls, Mrs. Haddo arranged matters quite calmly and to her entire satisfaction. There was no fuss or commotion of anykind; and when Sir John appeared on the following morning, with the six deal boxes and the three girls dressed in their coarse Highland garments, they were all received immediately in Mrs. Haddo’s private sitting-room.
“I have brought the girls, Mrs. Haddo,” said Sir John. “This is Betty. Come forward, my dear, and shake hands with your new mistress.”
“How old are you?” asked Mrs. Haddo.
“I was sixteen my last birthday, and that was six months ago, and one fortnight and three days,” replied Betty in a very distinct voice, holding herself bolt upright, and looking with those strange eyes full into Mrs. Haddo’s face. She spoke with extreme defiance. But she suddenly met a rebuff—a kind of rebuff that she did not expect; for Mrs. Haddo’s eyes looked back at her with such a world of love, sympathy, and understanding that the girl felt that choking in her throat and that bursting sensation in her heart which she dreaded more than anything else. She instantly lowered her brilliant eyes and stood back, waiting for her sisters to speak.
Sylvia came up a little pertly. “Hetty and I are twins,” she said, “and we’ll be fifteen our next birthday; but that’s not for a long time yet.”
“Well, my dears, I am glad to welcome you all three, and I hope you will have a happy time in my school. I will not trouble you with rules or anything irksome of that sort to-day. You will like to see your cousin, Fanny Crawford. She is busy at lessons now; so I would first of all suggest that you go to your room, and change your dress, and get tidy after your journey. You have come here nice and early; and in honor of your arrival I will give, what is my invariable custom, a half-holiday to the upper school, so that you may get to know your companions.”
“Ask Miss Symes to be good enough to come here,” said Betty, but Betty would not raise her eyes. She was standing very still, her hands locked tightly together.Mrs. Haddo walked to the bell and rang it. A servant appeared.
“Ask Miss Symes to be good enough to come here,” said Mrs. Haddo.
The English governess with the charming, noble face presently appeared.
“Miss Symes,” said Mrs. Haddo, “may I introduce you to Sir John Crawford?”
Sir John bowed, and the governess bent her head gracefully.
“And these are your new pupils, the Vivians. This is Betty, and this little girl is Sylvia. Am I not right, dear?”
“No; I am Hester,” said the girl addressed as Sylvia.
“This is Hetty, then; and this is Sylvia. Will you take them to their room and do what you can for their comfort? If they like to stay there for a little they can do so. I will speak to you presently, if you will come to me here.”
The girls and Miss Symes left the presence of the head mistress. The moment they had done so Mrs. Haddo gave a quick sigh. “My dear Sir John,” she said, “what remarkable, and interesting, and difficult, and almost impossible girls you have intrusted to my care!”
“I own they are not like others,” said Sir John; “but you have admitted they are interesting.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Haddo, speaking slowly. “I shall manage them yet. The eldest girl, Betty, is wonderful. What a heart! what a soul! but, oh, very hard to get at!”
“I thought, perhaps,” said Sir John, fidgeting slightly, “that you would object to the rough way they are clothed. I really don’t like it myself; at least, I don’t think it’s quite the fashion.”
“Their clothes do not matter at all, Sir John.”
“But the less remarkable they look the better they will get on in the school,” persisted Sir John; “so, of course, you will get what is necessary.”
“Naturally, Miss Symes and I will see to that.”
“They led a very rough life in the country,” continued Sir John, “and yet it was a pure and healthy life—out all day long on those great moors, and with no one to keep them company except a faithful old servant of Miss Vivian’s and his wife. They made pets of dogs and horses, and were happy after their fashion. You will do what you can for them, will you not, Mrs. Haddo?”
“Having accepted them into my school, I will do my utmost. I do not mind simple manners, for the noblest natures are to be found among such people; nor do I mind rough, ungainly clothing, for that, indeed, only belongs to the outward girl and can quickly be remedied. I will keep these girls, and do all that woman can for them, provided I see no deceit in any of them; but that, you will clearly understand, Sir John, is in my opinion an unpardonable sin.”
“Do they look like girls who would deceive any one?” was Sir John’s rejoinder.
“I grant you they do not. Now, you must be very busy, so you must cast the girls from your mind. You would like to see Fanny. I know she is dying to have a talk with you.”
Meanwhile Miss Symes had conducted the girls upstairs. The room they entered was much grander than any room they had ever seen before. It was large—one of the largest bedrooms in the great house. It had three noble windows which reached from floor to ceiling, and were of French style, so that they could be opened wide in summer weather to admit the soft, warm air. There was a great balcony outside the windows, where the girls could sit when they chose. The room itself was called the blue room; the reason of this was that the color on the walls was pale blue, whereas the paint was white. The three little beds stood in a row, side by side. There was a very large wardrobe exactly facing the beds, also a chest of large drawers for each girl, while the carpet was blue to match the walls. A bright firewas burning in the cheerful, new-fashioned grate. Altogether, it would have been difficult to find a more charming apartment than the blue room at Haddo Court.
“Are we to sleep here?” asked Betty.
“Yes, my dear child. These are your little beds; and Anderson, the schoolroom maid, will unpack your trunks presently. I see they have been brought up.”
Miss Symes slightly started, for the six wooden trunks, fastened by their coarse ropes, were standing side by side in another part of the room.
“Why do you look at our trunks like that?” asked Sylvia, who was not specially shy, and was quick to express her feelings.
But Betty came to the rescue. “Never mind how she looks,” remarked Betty; “she can look as she likes. What does it matter to us?”
This speech was so very different from the ordinary speech of the ordinary girl who came to Haddo Court that Miss Symes was nonplussed for a moment. She quickly, however, recovered her equanimity.
“Now, my dears, you must make yourselves quite at home. You must not be shy, or lonely, or unhappy. You must enter—which I hope you will do very quick—into the life of this most delightful house. We are all willing and anxious to make you happy. As to your trunks, they will be unpacked and put away in one of the attics.”
“I wish we could sleep in an attic,” said Betty then in a fierce voice. “I hate company-rooms.”
“There is no attic available, my dear; and this, you must admit, is a nice room.”
“I admit nothing,” said Betty.
“I think it’s a nice room,” said Hester; “only, of course, we are not accustomed to it, and that great fire is so chokingly hot. May we open all the windows?”
“Certainly, dears, provided you don’t catch cold.”
“Catch cold!” said Sylvia in a voice of scorn. “If youhad ever lived on a Scotch moor you wouldn’t talk of catching cold in a stuffy little hole of a place like this.”
Miss Symes had an excellent temper, but she found it a trifle difficult to keep it under control at that moment. “I must ask you for the keys of your trunks,” she said; “for while we are at dinner, which will be in about an hour’s time, Anderson will unpack them.”
“Thanks,” said Betty, “but we’d much rather unpack our own trunks.”
Miss Symes was silent for a minute. “In this house, dear, it is not the custom,” she said then. She spoke very gently. She was puzzled at the general appearance, speech, and get-up of the new girls.
“And we can, of course, keep our own keys,” continued Betty, speaking rapidly, her very pale face glowing with a faint tinge of color; “because Mrs.——What is the name of the mistress?”
“Mrs. Haddo,” said Miss Symes in a tone of great respect.
“Well, whatever her name is, she said we were to be restricted by no rules to-day. She said so, didn’t she, Sylvia? Didn’t she, Hetty?”
“She certainly did,” replied the twins.
“Then, if it’s a rule for the trunks to be unpacked by some one else, it doesn’t apply to us to-day,” said Betty. “If you will be so very kind, Miss——”
“Symes is my name.”
“So very kind, Miss Symes, as to go away and leave us, we’ll begin to unpack our own trunks and put everything away by dinner-time.”
“Very well,” said Miss Symes quite meekly. “Is there anything else I can do for your comfort?”
“Yes,” remarked Sylvia in a pert tone; “you can go away.”
Miss Symes left the room. When she did so the twoyounger girls looked at their elder sister. Betty’s face was very white, and her chest was working ominously.
Sylvia went up to her and gave her a sudden, violent slap between the shoulders. “Now, don’t begin!” she said. “If you do, they’ll all come round us. It isn’t as if we could rush away to the middle of the moors, and you could go on with it as long as you liked. Here, if you howl, you’ll catch it; for they’ll stand over you, and perhaps fling water on your head.”
“Leave me alone, then, for a minute,” said Betty. She flung herself flat on the ground, face downwards, her hair falling about her shoulders. She lay as still as though she were carved in stone. The twin girls watched her for a minute. Then very softly and carefully Sylvia approached the prone figure, pushed her hand into Betty’s pocket (a very coarse, ordinary pocket it was, put in at the side of her dress by Jean’s own fingers), and took out a bunch of keys.
Sylvia held up the keys with a glad smile. “Now let’s begin,” she said. “It’s an odious, grandified room, and Betty’ll go mad here; but we can’t help it—at least, for a bit. And there’s always the packet.”
At these words, to the great relief of her younger sisters, Betty stood upright. “There’s always the packet,” she said. “Now let’s begin to unpack.”
Notwithstanding the fact that there were six deal trunks—six trunks of the plainest make, corded with the coarsest rope—there was very little inside them, at least as far as an ordinary girl’s wardrobe is concerned; for Miss Frances Vivian had been very poor, and during the last year of her life had lived at Craigie Muir in the strictest economy. She was, moreover, too ill to be greatly troubled about the girls’ clothing; and by and by, as her illness progressed, she left the matter altogether to Jean. Jean was to supply what garments the young ladies required, and Jean set about the work with a right good will. So the coarsestpetticoats, the most clumsy stockings, the ugliest jackets and blouses and skirts imaginable, presently appeared out of the little wooden trunks.
The girls sorted them eagerly, putting them pell-mell into the drawers without the slightest attempt at any sort of order. But if there were very few clothes in the trunks, there were all sorts of other things. There were boxes full of caterpillars in different stages of chrysalis form. There was also a glass box which contained an enormous spider. This was Sylvia’s special property. She called the spider Dickie, and adored it. She would not give it flies, which she considered cruel, but used to keep it alive on morsels of raw meat. Every day, for a quarter of an hour, Dickie was allowed to take exercise on a flat stone on the edge of the moor. It was quite against even Jean Macfarlane’s advice that Dickie was brought to the neighborhood of London. But he was here. He had borne his journey apparently well, and Sylvia looked at him now with worshiping eyes.
In addition to the live stock, which was extensive and varied, there were also all kinds of strange fossils, and long, trailing pieces of heather—mementos of the life which the girls lived on the moor, and which they had left with such pain and sorrow. They were all busy worshiping Dickie, and envying Sylvia’s bravery in bringing the huge spider to Haddo Court, when there came a gentle tap at the door.
Betty said crossly, “Who’s there?”
A very refined voice answered, “It’s I;” and the next minute Fanny Crawford entered the room. “How are you all?” she said. Her eyes were red, for she had just said good-bye to her father, and she thoroughly hated the idea of the girls coming to the school.
“How are you, Fan?” replied Betty, speaking in a careless tone, just nodding her head, and looking again into the glass box. “He is very hungry,” she continued. “Bythe way, Fan, will you run down to the kitchen and get a little bit of raw meat?”
“Will I do what?” asked Fanny.
“Well, I suppose there is a kitchen in the house, and you can get a bit of raw meat. It’s for Dickie.”
“Oh,” said Fanny, coming forward on tiptoe and peeping into the box, “you can’t keep that terror here—you simply won’t be allowed to have it! Have younoidea what school-life is like?”
“No,” said Betty; “and what is more, I don’t want you to tell me. Dickie darling, I’d let you pinch my finger if it would do you any good. Sylvia, what use are you if you can’t feed your own spider? If Fan won’t oblige her cousins when she knows the ways of the house, I presume you have a pair of legs and can use them? Go to the kitchen at once and get a piece of raw meat.”
“I don’t know where it is,” said Sylvia, looking slightly frightened.
“Well, you can ask. Go on; ask until you find. Now, be off with you!”
“You had better not,” said Fanny. “Why, you will meet all the girls coming out of the different classrooms!”
“What do girls matter,” said Betty in a withering voice, “when Dickie is hungry?”
Sylvia gathered up her courage and departed. Betty laid the glass box which contained the spider on the dressing-table.
If Fanny had not been slightly afraid of these bold northern cousins of hers, she would have dashed the box out on the balcony and released poor Dickie, giving him back to his natural mode of life. “What queer dresses you are wearing!” she said. “Do, please, change them before lunch. You were not dressed like this when I saw you last. You were never fashionable, but this stuff——”
“You’d best not begin, Fan, or I’ll howl,” said Betty.
“Hush! do hush, Fanny!” exclaimed Hester. “Don’t forget that we are in mourning for darling auntie.”
“But have you really no other dresses?”
“There’s nothing wrong with these,” said Hester; “they’re quite comfortable.”
Just at that moment there came peals of laughter proceeding from several girls’ throats. The room-door was burst open, and Sylvia entered first, her face very red, her eyes bright and defiant, and a tiny piece of raw meat on a plate in her hand. The girls who followed her did not belong to the Specialities, but they were all girls of the upper school. Fanny thanked her stars that they were not particular friends of hers. They were choking with laughter, and evidently thought they had never seen so good a sight in their lives.
“Oh, this is too delicious!” said Sibyl Ray, a girl who had just been admitted into the upper school. “We met this—this young lady, and she said she wanted to go to the kitchen to get some raw meat; and when I told her I didn’t know the way she just took my hand and drew me along with her, and said, ‘If you possessed a Dickie, and he was dying of hunger, you wouldn’t hesitate to find the kitchen.’”
“Well, I’m not going to interfere,” said Fanny; “but I think you know the rules of the house, Sibyl, and that no girl is allowed in the kitchen.”
“I didn’t go in,” said Sibyl; “catch me! But I went to the beginning of the corridor which leads to the kitchen.Shewent in, though, boldly enough, and she got it. Now, we do want to see who Dickie is. Is he a dog, or a monkey, or what?”
“He’s a spider—goose!” said Sylvia. “And now, please, get out of the way. He won’t eat if you watch him. I’ve got a good bit of meat, Betty,” she continued. “It’ll keep Dickie going for several days, and he likes it all the better when it begins to turn. Don’t you Dickie?”
“If you don’t all leave the room, girls,” said Fanny, “I shall have to report to Miss Symes.”
The girls who had entered were rather afraid of Fanny Crawford, and thought it best to obey her instructions. But the news with regard to the newcomers spread wildly all over the house; so much so that when, in course of time, neat-looking Fanny came down to dinner accompanied by her three cousins, the whole school remained breathless, watching the Vivians as they entered. But what magical force is there about certain girls which raises them above the mere accessories of dress? Could there be anything uglier than the attire of these so-called Scotch lassies? And was there ever a prouder carriage than that of Betty Vivian, or a more scornful expression in the eye, or a firmer set of the little lips?
Mrs. Haddo, who always presided at this meal, called the strangers to come and sit near her; and though the school had great difficulty in not bursting into a giggle, there was not a sound of any sort whatever as the three obeyed. Fanny sat down near her friend, Susie Rushworth. Her eyes spoke volumes. But Susie was gazing at Betty’s face.
At dinner, the girls were expected to talk French on certain days of the week, and German on others. This was French day, and Susie murmured something to Fanny in that tongue with regard to Betty’s remarkable little face. But Fanny was in no mood to be courteous or kind about her relatives. Susie was quick to perceive this, and therefore left her alone.
When dinner came to an end, Mrs. Haddo called the three Vivians into her private sitting-room. This room was even more elegant than the beautiful bedroom which they had just vacated. “Now, my dears,” she said, “I want to have a talk with you all.”
Sylvia and Hester looked impatient, and shuffled from one ungainly clad foot to the other; but Mrs. Haddo fixedher eyes on Betty’s face, and again there thrilled through Betty’s heart the marvelous sensation that she had come across a kindred soul. She was incapable, poor child, of putting the thought into such words; but she felt it, and it thawed her rebellious spirit.
Mrs. Haddo sat down. “Now,” she said, “you call this school, and, having never been at school before, you doubtless think you are going to be very miserable?”
“If there’s much discipline we shall be,” said Hester, “and Betty will howl.”
“Don’ttalk like that!” said Betty; and there was a tone in her voice which silenced Hetty, to the little girl’s own amazement.
“There will certainly be discipline at school,” said Mrs. Haddo, “just as there is discipline in life. What miserable people we should be without discipline! Why, we couldn’t get on at all. I am not going to lecture you to-day. As a matter of fact, I never lecture; and I never expect any young girl to do in my school what I would not endeavor to do myself. Above all things, I wish to impress one thing upon you. If you have any sort of trouble—and, of course, dears, you will have plenty—you must come straight to me and tell me about it. This is a privilege I permit to very few girls, but I grant it to you. I give you that full privilege for the first month of your stay at Haddo Court. You are to come to me as you would to a mother, had you, my poor children, a mother living.”
“Don’t! It makes the lump so bad!” said Betty, clasping her rough little hand against her white throat.
“I think I have said enough on that subject for the present. I am very curious to hear all about your life on the moors—how you spent your time, and how you managed your horses and dogs and your numerous pets.”
“Do you really want to hear?” said Betty.
“Certainly; I have said so.”
“Do you know,” said Hetty, “that SylviawouldbringDickie here. Betty and I were somewhat against it, although he is a darling. He is the most precious pet in the world, and Sylvia would not part with him. We sent her to the kitchen before dinner to get a bit of raw meat for him. Would you like to see him?”
Mrs. Haddo was silent for a minute. Then she said gently, “Yes, very much. He is a sort of pet, I suppose?”
“He is a spider,” said Betty—“a great, enormous spider. We captured him when he was small, and we fed him—oh, not on little flies—that would be cruel—but on morsels of raw meat. Now he is very big, and he has wicked eyes. I would rather call him Demon than Dickie; but Sylvia named him Dickie when he was but a baby thing, so the name has stuck to him. We love him dearly.”
“I will come up to your room presently, and you shall show him to me. Have you brought other pets from the country?”
“Oh, stones and shells and bits of the moor.”
“Bits of the moor, my dear children!”
“Yes; we dug pieces up the day before yesterday and wrapped them in paper, and we want to plant them somewhere here. We thought they would comfort us. We’d like it awfully if you would let one of the dogs come, too. He is a great sheep-dog, and such a darling! His name is Andrew. I think Donald Macfarlane would part with him if you said we might have him.”
“I am afraid I can’t just at present, dear; but if you are really good girls, and try your very best to please me, you shall go back to Donald Macfarlane in the holidays, and perhaps I will go with you, and you will show me all your favorite haunts.”
“Oh, will you?” said Betty. Her eyes grew softer than ever.
“You are quite a dear for a head mistress,” said Sylvia. “We’ve always read in books that they are such horrors. It is nice for you to say you will come.”
“Well, now, I want to say something else, and then we’ll go up to your room and see Dickie. I am going to take you three girls up to town to-morrow to buy you the sort of dresses we wear in this part of the world. You can put away these most sensible frocks for your next visit to Craigie Muir. Not a word, dears. You have said I am a very nice head mistress, and I hope you will continue to think so. Now, let us come up to your room.”
Mrs. Haddo was genuinely interested in Dickie. She never once spoke of him as a horror. She immediately named the genus to which he belonged in the spider tribe, and told the girls that they could look up full particulars with regard to him and his ways in a large book she had downstairs called “Chambers’s Encyclopedia.” She suggested, however, that they should have a little room in one of the attics where they could keep Dickie and his morsels of meat, and the different boxes which contained the caterpillars. She volunteered to show this minute room to the young Vivians at once.
They looked at her, as she spoke, with more and more interest and less and less dislike. Even Sylvia’s little heart was melted, and Hetty at once put out her hand and touched Mrs. Haddo’s. In a moment the little brown hand was held in the firm clasp of the white one, which was ornamented with sparkling rings.
As the children and Mrs. Haddo were leaving the blue room, Mrs. Haddo’s eyes fell upon the deal trunks. “What very sensible trunks!” she said. “And so you brought your clothes in these?”
“Yes,” replied Betty. “Donald Macfarlane made themfor us. He can do all sorts of carpentering. He meant to paint them green; but we thought we’d like them best just as they are unpainted.”
“They are strong, useful boxes,” replied Mrs. Haddo. “And now come with me and I will show you the room which shall be your private property and where you can keep your pets. By the way,” she added, “I am exceedingly particular with regard to the neatness of the various rooms where my pupils sleep; and these bits of heather and these curious stones—oh, I can tell you plenty about their history by and by—might also be put into what we will call ‘the Vivians’ attic.’”
“Thank you so much!” said Betty. She had forgotten all about howling—she had even forgotten for the minute that she was really at school; for great Mrs. Haddo, the wonderful head mistress, about whom Fanny had told so many stories, was really a most agreeable person—nearly, very nearly, as nice as dear Aunt Frances.
The little attic was presently reached; the pets were deposited there; and then—wonderful to relate!—Mrs. Haddo went out herself with the girls and chose the very best position in the grounds for them to plant the pieces of heather, with their roots and surrounding earth. She gave to each girl a small plot which was to be her very own, and which no other girl was to have anything whatever to do with. When presently she introduced them into the private sitting-room of the upper school, Betty’s eyes were shining quite happily; and Sylvia and Hetty, who always followed her example, were looking as merry as possible.
Fanny Crawford, being requested to do so by Susie Rushworth, now introduced the Vivians to the Specialities. Mary and Julia Bertram shook hands with them quite warmly. Margaret Grant smiled for a minute as her dark, handsome eyes met those of Betty; while Olive Repton said in her most genial tone, “Oh, do sit down, and tell us all about your life!”
“Yes, please—please, tell us all about your life!” exclaimed another voice; and Sibyl Ray came boldly forward and seated herself in the midst of the group, which was known in the school as the Specialities.
But here Margaret interfered. “You shall hear everything presently, Sibyl,” she said; “but just now we are having a little confab with dear Fanny’s friends, so do you mind leaving us alone together?”
Sibyl colored angrily. “I am sure I don’t care,” she said; “and if you are going to be stuck-up and snappish and disagreeable just because you happen to call yourselves the Specialities, you needn’t expectmeto take an interest in you. I am just off for a game of tennis, and shall have a far better time than you all, hobnobbing in this close room.”
“Yes, the room is very close,” exclaimed Betty. Then she added, “I do not think I shall like the South of England at all; it seems to be without air.”
“Oh, you’ll soon get over that!” laughed Susie. “Besides,” she continued, “winter is coming; and I can tell you we find winter very cold, even here.”
“I am glad of that,” said Betty. “I hate hot weather; unless, indeed,” she added, “when you can lie flat on your back, in the centre of one of the moors, and watch the sky with the sun blazing down on you.”
“But you must never lie anywhere near a flat stone,” exclaimed Sylvia, “or an adder may come out, and that isn’t a bit jolly!”
Sibyl had not yet moved off, but was standing with her mouth slightly gaping and her round eyes full of horror.
“Do go! do go, Sibyl!” said Mary Bertram; and Sibyl went, to tell wonderful stories to her own special friends all about these oddest of girls who kept monstrous spiders—spiders that had to be fed on raw meat—and who themselves lay on the moors where adders were to be found.
“Now tell us about Dickie,” said Susie, who was always the first to make friends.
But Betty Vivian, for some unaccountable reason, no longer felt either amiable or sociable. “There’s nothing to tell,” she replied, “and you can’t see him.”
“Oh, please, Betty, don’t be disagreeable!” exclaimed Fanny. “We can see him any minute if we go to your bedroom.”
“No, you can’t,” said Betty, “for he isn’t there.”
Fanny burst out laughing. “Ah,” she said, “I thought as much! I thought Mrs. Haddo would soon put an end to poor Dickie’s life!”
“Then you thought wrong!” exclaimed Sylvia with flashing eyes, “for Mrs. Haddo loves him. She was down on her knees looking——Oh, what is the matter, Betty?”
“If you keep repeating our secrets with Mrs. Haddo I shall pinch you black and blue to-night,” was Betty’s response.
Sylvia instantly became silent.
“Well, tell us about the moor, anyhow,” said Margaret.
“And let’s go out!” cried Olive. “The day is perfectly glorious; and, of course,” she continued, “we are all bound to make ourselves agreeable to you three, for we owe our delightful half-holiday to you. But for you Vivians we’d be toiling away at our lessons now instead of allowing our minds to cool down.”
“Do minds get as hot as all that?” asked Hester.
“Very often, indeed, at this school,” said Olive with a chuckle.
“Well, I, for one, shall be delighted to go out,” said Betty.
“Then you must run upstairs and get your hats and your gloves,” said Fanny, who seemed, for some extraordinary reason, to wish to make her cousins uncomfortable.
Betty looked at her very fiercely for a minute; then she beckoned to her sisters, and the three left the room intheir usual fashion—each girl holding the hand of another.
“Fan,” said Olive the moment the door had closed behind them, “you don’t like the Vivians! I see it in your face.”
“I never said so,” replied Fanny.
“Oh, Fan, dear—not with the lips, of course; but the eyes have spoken volumes. Now, I think they are great fun; they’re so uncommon.”
“I have never said I didn’t like them,” repeated Fanny, “and you will never get me to say it. They are my cousins, and of course I’ll have to look after them a bit; but I think before they are a month at the school you will agree with me in my opinion with regard to them.”
“How can we agree in an opinion we know nothing about?” said Margaret Grant.
Fanny looked at her, and Fanny’s eyes could flash in a very significant manner at times.
“Let’s come out!” exclaimed Susie Rushworth. “The girls will follow us.”
This, however, turned out not to be the case. Susie, the Bertrams, Margaret Grant, Olive Repton, waited for the Vivians in every imaginable spot where they it likely the newcomers would be.
As a matter of fact, the very instant the young Vivians had left the sitting-room, Betty whispered in an eager tone, first to one sister and then to the other, “We surely needn’t stay any longer with Fanny and those other horrid girls. Never mind your hats and gloves. Did we ever wear hats and gloves when we were out on the moors at Craigie Muir? There’s an open door. Let’s get away quite by ourselves.”
The Vivians managed this quite easily. They raced down a side-walk until they came to an overhanging oak tree of enormous dimensions. Into this tree they climbed, getting up higher and higher until they were lost to view in the topmost branches. Here they contrived to make a cozynest for themselves, where they sat very close together, not talking much, although Betty now and then said calmly, “I like Mrs. Haddo; she is the only one in the whole school I can tolerate.”
“Fan’s worse than ever!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“Oh, don’t let’s talk of her!” said Betty.
“It will be rather fun going to London to-morrow,” said Hester.
“Fun!” exclaimed Betty. “I suppose we shall be put into odious fashionable dresses, like those stuck-up dolls the other girls. But I don’t think, try as they will, they’ll ever turnmeinto a fashionable lady. How I do hate that sort!”
“Yes, and so do I,” said Sylvia; while Hetty, who always echoed her sisters’ sentiments, said ditto.
“Mrs. Haddo was kind about Dickie,” said Betty after a thoughtful pause.
“And it is nice,” added Sylvia, “to have the Vivian attic.”
“Oh, dear!” said Hester; “I wish all those girls would keep out of sight, for then I’d dash back to the house and bring out the pieces of heather and plant them right away. They ought not to be long out of the ground.”
“You had best go at once,” said Betty, giving Hester a somewhat vigorous push, which very nearly upset the little girl’s balance. “Go boldly back to the house; don’t be afraid of any one; don’t speak to any one unless it happens to be Mrs. Haddo. Be sure you are polite to her, for she is a lady. Go up to the Vivian attic and bring down the clumps of heather, and the little spade we brought with us in the very bottom of the fifth trunk.”
“Oh, and there’s the watering-can; don’t forget that!” cried Sylvia.
“Yes, bring the watering-can, too. You had best find a pump, or a well, or something, so that you can fill it up to the brim. Bring them all along; and then just whistle ‘Robin Adair’ at the foot of this tree, and we two will comeswarming down. Now, off with you; there’s no time to lose!”
Hester descended without a word. She was certainly born without a scrap of fear of any kind, and adventure appealed to her plucky little spirit. Betty settled herself back comfortably against one of the forked branches of the tree where she had made her nest.
“If we are careful, Sylvia, we can come up here to hide as often as we like. I rather fancy from the shape of those other girls that they’re not specially good at climbing trees.”
“What do you mean by their shape?” asked Sylvia.
“Oh, they’re so squeezed in and pushed out; I don’t know how to explain it. Now,wehave the use of all our limbs; and I say, you silly little Sylvia, won’t we use them just!”
“I always love you, Betty, when you call me ‘silly little Sylvia,’ for I know you are in a good humor and not inclined to howl. But, before Hetty comes back, I want to say something.”
“How mysterious you look, Sylvia! What can you have to say that poor Hetty’s not to hear? I am not going to have secrets that are not shared among us three, I can tell you. We share and share alike—we three. We are just desolate orphans, alone in the world; but at least we share and share alike.”
“Of course, of course,” said Sylvia; “but I saw—and I don’t think Hetty did——”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw Fan looking at us; and then she came rather close. It was that time when we were all stifling in that odious sitting-room; Fan came and sat very close to you, and I saw her put her hand down to feel your dress. I know she felt that flat pocket where the little sealed packet is.”
Betty’s face grew red and then white.
“And don’t you remember,” continued Sylvia, “that Fan was with us on the very, very day when darling auntie told us about the packet—the day when you came out of her room with your eyes as red as a ferret’s; and don’t you remember how you couldn’t help howling that day, and how far off we had to go for fear darlingest auntie would hear you? And can’t you recall that Fan crept after us, just like the horrid sneak that she is? And I know she heard you say, ‘That packet is mine; it belongs to all of us, and I—Iwillkeep it, whatever happens.’”
“She may do sneaky things of that sort every hour of every day that she likes,” was Betty’s cool rejoinder. “Now, don’t get into a fright, silly little Sylvia. Oh, I say, hark! that’s Hester’s note. She is whistling ‘Robin Adair’!”
Quick as thought, the girls climbed down from the great tree and stood under it. Hester was panting a little, for she had run fast and her arms were very full.
“I saw a lot ofthemscattered everywhere!” she exclaimed; “but I don’tthinkthey saw me, but of course I couldn’t be sure. Here’s the heather; its darling little bells are beginning to droop, poor sweet pets! And here’s the spade; and here’s the watering-can, brimful of water, too, for I saw a gardener as I was coming along, and I asked him to fill it for me, and he did so at once. Now let’s go to our gardens and let’s plant. We’ve just got a nice sod of heather each—one for each garden. Oh, do let’s be quick, or those dreadful girls will see us!”
“There’s no need to hurry,” said Betty. “I rather think I can take care of myself. Give me the watering-can. Sylvia, take the heather; and, Hetty—your face is perfectly scarlet, you have run so fast—you follow after with the spade.”
The little plots of ground which had been given over to the Vivian girls had been chosen by Mrs. Haddo on the edge of a wild, uncultivated piece of ground. The girls of Haddo Court were proud of this piece of land, whichsome of them—Margaret Grant, in particular—were fond of calling the “forest primeval.” But the Vivians, fresh from the wild Scotch moors, thought but poorly of the few acres of sparse grass and tangled weed and low under-growth. It was, however, on the very edge of this piece of land that the three little gardens were situated. Mrs. Haddo did nothing by halves; and already—wonderful to relate—the gardens had been marked out with stakes and pieces of stout string, and there was a small post planted at the edge of the center garden containing the words in white paint:The Vivians’ Private Gardens.
Even Betty laughed. “This is good!” she said. “Girls, that is quite a nice woman.”
The twins naturally acknowledged as very nice indeed any one whom Betty admired.
Betty here gave a profound sigh. “Come along; let’s be quick,” she said. “We’ll plant our heather in the very center of each plot. I’ll have the middle plot, of course, being the eldest. You, silly Sylvia, shall have the one on the left-hand side; and you, Het, the one on the right-hand side. I will plant my heather first.”
The others watched while Betty dug vigorously, and had soon made a hole large enough and soft enough to inclose the roots of the wild Scotch heather. She then gave her spade to Sylvia, who did likewise; then Hetty, in her turn, also planted a clump of heather. The contents of the watering-can was presently dispersed among the three clumps, and the girls turned back in the direction of the house.
“Sheisnice!” said Betty. “I will bring her here the first day she has a minute to spare and show her the heather. She said she knew all about Scotch heather, and loved it very much. I shouldn’t greatly mind, for my part, letting her know about the packet.”
“Oh, better not!” said Hester in a frightened tone. “Remember, she is not the only one in that huge prison of ahouse.” Here she pointed to the great mansion which constituted the vast edifice, Haddo Court. “She is by no means the only one,” continued Hester. “If she were, I could be happy here.”
“You are right, Het; you are quite a wise, small girl,” said Betty. “Oh, dear,” she added, “how I hate those monstrous houses! What would not I give to be back in the little, white stone house at Craigie Muir!”
“And with darling Jean and dearest old Donald!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“Yes, and the dogs,” said Hester. “Oh, Andrew! oh, Fritz! are you missing us as much as we miss you? And, David, you darling! are you pricking up your ears, expecting us to come round to you with some carrots?”
“We’d best not begin too much of this sort of talk,” said Betty. “We’ve got to make up our minds to be cheerful—that is, if we wish to please Mrs. Haddo.”
The thought of Mrs. Haddo was certainly having a remarkable effect on Betty; and there is no saying how soon she might, in consequence, have been reconciled to her school-life but for an incident which took place that very evening. For Fanny Crawford, who would not tell a tale against another for the world, had been much troubled since she heard of her cousins’ arrival. Her conscientious little mind had told her that they were the last sort of girls suitable to be in such a school as Haddo Court. She had found out something about them. She had not meant to spy on them during her brief visit to Craigie Muir, but she had certainly overheard some of Betty’s passionate words about the little packet; and that very evening, curled up on the sofa in the tiny sitting-room at Craigie Muir Cottage, she had seen Betty—although Betty had not seen her—creep into the room in the semi-darkness and remove a little sealed packet from one of Miss Vivian’s drawers. As Fanny expressed it afterwards, she felt at the moment as though her tongue would cleave to the roof of her mouth.She had tried to utter some sound, but none would come. She had never mentioned the incident to any one; and as she scarcely expected to see anything more of her cousins in the future, she tried to dismiss it from her thoughts. But as soon as ever she was told in confidence by Miss Symes that the Vivian girls were coming to Haddo Court, she recalled the incident of what she was pleased to regard as the stolen packet. It had haunted her while she was at Craigie Muir; it had even horrified her. Her whole nature recoiled against what she considered clandestine and underhand dealings. Nevertheless she could not, she would not, tell. But she had very nearly made up her mind to say something to the girls themselves—to ask Betty why she had taken the packet, and what she had done with it. But even on this course she was not fully decided.
On the morning of that very day, however, just before Fanny bade her father good-bye, he had said to her, “Fan, my dear, there’s a trifle worrying me, although I don’t suppose for a single moment you can help me in the matter.”
“What is it, father?” asked the girl.
“Well, the fact is this. I am going, as you know, to India for the next few years, and it is quite possible that as the cottage at Craigie Muir will belong to the Vivian girls—for poor Frances bought it and allowed those Scotch folk the Macfarlanes to live there—it is, I say, quite possible that you may go to Craigie Muir for a summer holiday with your cousins. The air is superb, and would do you much good, and of course the girls would be wild with delight. Well, my dear, if you go, I want you to look round everywhere—you have good, sharp eyes in your head, Fan, my girl—and try if you can find a little sealed packet which poor Frances left to be taken care of by me for your three cousins.”
“A sealed packet?” said Fanny. She felt herself turning very pale.
“Yes. Do you know anything about it?”
“Oh, father!” said poor Fanny; and her eyes filled with tears.
“What is the matter, my child?”
“I—I’d so much rather not talk about it, please.”
“Then you do know something?”
“Please, please, father, don’t question me!”
“I won’t if you don’t wish it; but your manner puzzles me a good deal. Well, dear, if you can get it by any chance, you had better put it into Mrs. Haddo’s charge until I return. I asked those poor children if they had seen it, and they denied having done so.”
Fanny felt herself shiver, and had to clasp her hands very tightly together.
“I also asked that good shepherd Donald Macfarlane and his wife, and they certainly knew nothing about it. I can’t stay with you any longer now, my little girl; but if you do happen to go to Craigie Muir you might remember that I am a little anxious on the subject, for it is my wish to carry out the directions of my dear cousin Frances in all particulars. Now, try to be very, very good to your cousins, Fan; and remember how lonely they are, and how differently they have been brought up from you.”
Fanny could not speak, for she was crying too hard. Sir John presently went away, and forgot all about the little packet. But Fanny remembered it; in fact, she could not get it out of her head during the entire day; and in the course of the afternoon, when she found that the Vivian girls joined the group of the Specialities, she forced a chair between Betty and Olive Repton, and seated herself on it, and purposely, hating herself all the time for doing so, felt Betty’s pocket. Beyond doubt there was something hard in it. It was not a pocket-handkerchief, nor did it feel like a pencil or a knife or anything of that sort.
“I shall know no peace,” thought Fanny to herself, “until I get that unhappy girl to tell the truth and returnthe packet to me. I shall be very firm and very kind, and I will never let out a single thing about it in the school. But the packet must be given up; and then I will manage to convey it to Mrs. Haddo, who will keep it until dear father returns.”
But although Fan intended to act the part of the very virtuous and proper girl, she did not like her cousins the more because of this unpleasant incident. Fanny Crawford had a certain strength of character; but it is sad to relate that she was somewhat overladen with self-righteousness, and was very proud of the fact that nothing would induceherto do a dishonorable thing. She sadly lacked Mrs. Haddo’s rare and large sympathy and deep knowledge of life, and Fanny certainly had not the slightest power of reading character.
That very evening, therefore, when the Vivian girls had gone to their room, feeling very tired and sleepy, and by no means so unhappy as they expected, Fanny first knocked at their door and then boldly entered. Each girl had removed her frock and was wearing a little, rough, gray dressing-gown, and each girl was in the act of brushing out her own very thick hair.
“Brushing-hair time!” exclaimed Fanny in a cheerful tone. “I trust I am not in the way.”
“We were going to bed,” remarked Betty.
“Oh, Betty, what a reproachful tone!” Fanny tried to carry matters off with a light hand. “Surely I, your own cousin, am welcome? Do say I am welcome, dear Betty! and let me bring my brush and comb, and brush my hair in your room.”
“No,” said Betty; “you are not welcome, and we’d all much rather that you brushed your hair in your own room.”
“You certainly are sweetly polite,” said Fanny, with a smile on her face which was not remarkable for sweetness. She looked quite calmly at the girls for a moment. Then she said, “This day, on account of your arrival, rules areoff, so to speak, but they begin again to-morrow morning. To-morrow evening, therefore, I cannot come to your bedroom, for it would be breaking rules.”
“Oh, how just awfully jolly!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“Thanks,” said Fanny. She paused again for a minute. Then she added, “But as rules are off, I may as well say that I have come here to-night on purpose. Just before father left, he told me that there was a little sealed packet”—Betty sat plump down on the side of her bed; Sylvia and Hetty caught each others hands—“a little sealed packet,” continued Fanny, “which belonged to poor Miss Vivian—your aunt Frances—and which father was to take charge of for you.”
“No, he wasn’t,” said Betty; “you make a mistake.”
“Nonsense, Betty! Father never makes a mistake. Anyhow, he has Miss Vivian’s letter, which proves the whole thing. Now, the packet cannot be found. Father is quite troubled about it. He says he has not an idea what it contains, but it was left to be placed under his care. He asked you three about it, and you said you knew nothing. He also asked the servants in that ugly little house——”
“How dare you call it ugly?” said Betty.
“Well, well, pray don’t get into a passion! Anyhow, you all denied any knowledge of the packet. Now, I may as well confess that, although I have not breathed the subject to any one, I saw you, Betty, with my own eyes, take it out of Miss Vivian’s drawer. I was lying on the sofa in the dark, or almost in the dark, and you never noticed me; but I saw you open the drawer and take the packet out. That being the case, youdoknow all about it, and you have told a lie. Please, Betty, give me the packet, and I will take it to-morrow to Mrs. Haddo, and she will look after it for you until father returns; and I promise you faithfully that I will never tell a soul what you did, nor the lie you told father about it. Now, Betty, do be sensible. Giveit to me, without any delay. I felt it in the pocket under your dress to-day, so you can’t deny that you have it.”
Fanny’s face was very red when she had finished speaking, and there were two other faces in that room which were even redder; but another face was very pale, with shining eyes and a defiant, strange expression about the lips.
The three Vivians now came up to Fanny, who, although older than the two younger girls, was built much more slightly, and, compared with them, had no muscle at all. Betty was a very strong girl for her age.
“Come,” said Betty, “we are not going to waste words on you. Just march out of this!”
“I—what do you mean?”
“March! This is our room, our private room, and therefore our castle. If you like to play the spy, you can; but you don’t come in here. Go along—be quick—out you go!”
A strong hand took Fanny forcibly by her right arm, and a strong hand took her with equal force by her left, then two very powerful hands pushed from behind; so that Fanny Crawford, who considered herself one of the most dignified and lady-like girls in the school, was summarily ejected. She went into her room, looked at the cruel marks on her arms caused by the angry girls, and burst into tears.
Miss Symes came in and found Fanny crying, and did her best to comfort the girl. “What is wrong, dear?” she said.
“Oh, don’t—don’t ask me!” said poor Fanny.
“You are fretting about your father, darling.”
“It’s not that,” said Fanny; “and I can’t ever tell you, dear St. Cecilia. Oh, please, leave me! Oh, oh, I am unhappy!”
Miss Symes, finding she could do no good, and believing that Fanny must be a little hysterical on account of herfather, went away. When she had gone Fanny dried her eyes, and stayed for a long time lost in thought. She had meant to be good, after her fashion, to the Vivian girls; but, after their treatment of her, she felt that she understood for the first time what hate really meant. If she could not force the girls to deliver up the packet, she might even consider it her duty to tell the whole story to Mrs. Haddo. Never before in the annals of that great school had a Speciality been known to tell a story of another girl. But Fanny reflected that there were great moments in life which required that a rule should be broken.
The Specialities had made firm rules for themselves. Their numbers were few, for only those who could really rise to a high ideal were permitted to join.
The head of the Specialities was Margaret Grant. It was she who first thought of this little scheme for bringing the girls she loved best into closer communion each with the other. She had consulted Susie Rushworth, Fanny Crawford, Mary and Julia Bertram, and Olive Repton. Up to the present there were no other members of the Speciality Club. These girls managed it their own way. They had their private meetings, their earnest conversations, and their confessions each to make to the other. They swore eternal friendship. They had all things in common—that is, concealments were not permitted amongst the Specialities; and the influence of this small and apparently unimportant club did much towards the formation of the characters of its members.
Now, as poor Fanny sat alone in her pretty room shethought, and thought again, over what had occurred. According to the rules of the club to which she belonged, she ought to consult the other girls with regard to what the Vivians had done.Thegreat rule of the Specialities was “No secrets.≵ Each must know all that the others knew. Never before in the annals of the school had there been a secret of such importance—in short, such a horrible secret—to divulge. Fanny made up her mind that she could not do it.
There was to be a great meeting of the Specialities on the following evening. They usually met in each other’s bedrooms, taking the task of offering hospitality turn and turn about. At these little social gatherings they had cocoa, tempting cakes, and chocolate creams; here they laughed and chatted, sometimes having merely a merry evening, at others discussing gravely the larger issues of life. Fanny was the one who was to entertain the Specialities on the following evening, and she made preparations accordingly. Sir John had brought her a particularly tempting cake from Buzzard’s, a couple of pounds of the best chocolate creams, a tin of delicious cocoa, and, last but not least, a beautiful little set of charming cups and saucers and tiny plates, and real silver spoons, also little silver knives. Notwithstanding her grief at parting from her father, Fanny was delighted with her present. Hitherto there had been no attempt at style in these brief meetings of the friends. But Fanny’s next entertainment was to be done properly.
There was no secret about these gatherings. Miss Symes had been told that these special girls wanted to meet once a week between nine and ten o’clock in their respective bedrooms. She had carried the information to Mrs. Haddo, who had immediately given the desired permission, telling the girls that they might hold their meeting until the great bell rang for chapel. Prayers were always read at a quarter to ten in the beautiful chapelbelonging to Haddo Court, but only the girls of the upper school attended in the evening. Fanny would have been in the highest spirits to-night were it not for the Vivians, were it not for the consciousness that she was in possession of a secret—a really terrible secret—which she must not tell to her companions. Yes, she must break her rule; she must not tell.
She lay down on her bed at last and fell asleep, feeling tired and very miserable. She was horrified at Betty’s conduct with regard to the little packet, and could not feel a particle of sympathy for the other girls in the matter.
It was soon after midnight on that same eventful night. The great clock over the stables had struck twelve, and sweet chimes had come from the other clock in the little tower of the chapel. The whole house was wrapped in profound slumber. Even Mrs. Haddo had put away all cares, and had laid her head on her pillow; even the Rev. Edmund Fairfax and his wife had put out the lights in their special wing of the Court, and had gone to sleep.
It was shortly after the clocks had done their midnight work that Betty Vivian raised herself very slowly and cautiously on her elbow, and touched Sylvia on her low, white forehead. The little girl started, opened her eyes, and was about to utter an exclamation when Betty whispered, “Don’t make a sound, silly Sylvia! It’s only me—Betty. I want you to get very wide awake. And now you are wide awake, aren’t you?”
“Yes, oh yes,” said Sylvia; “but I don’t know where I am. Oh yes, of course I remember; I am in——”
“You are in prison!” whispered Betty back to her. “Now, lie as still as a statue while I waken Hester.”
Soon the two little sisters were wide awake.
“Now, both of you creep very softly into my bed. We can all squeeze up together if we try hard.”
“Lovely, darlingest Betty!” whispered Sylvia.
“You are nice, Bet!” exclaimed Hester.
“Now I want to speak,” said Betty. “You know the packet?”
The two younger girls squeezed Betty’s hands by way of answer.
“You know howshespoke to-night?”
Another squeeze of Betty’s hands, a squeeze which was almost ferocious this time.
“Do you think,” continued Betty, “that she is going to have her way, and we are going to give it up to her?”
“Of course not,” said Sylvia.
“I might,” said Betty—“Imighthave asked Mrs. Haddo to look after it for me; but never now—never! Girls, we’ve got to bury it!”
“Oh Bet!” whispered Sylvia.
“We can’t!” said Hester with a sort of little pant.
“We can, and we will,” said Betty. “I’ve thought it all out. I am going to bury it my own self this very minute.”
“Betty, how—where? Betty, what do you mean?”
“You must help me,” said Betty. “First of all, I am going to get up and put on my thick skirt of black serge. I won’t make a sound, for that creature Fan sleeps next door. Lie perfectly still where you are while I am getting ready.”
The girls obeyed. It was fearfully exciting, lying like this almost in the dark; for there was scarcely any moon, and the dim light in the garden could hardly be called light at all. Betty moved mysteriously about the room, and presently came up to her two sisters.
“Now, you do exactly what you are told.”
“Yes, Betty, we will.”
“I am going, first of all,” said Betty, “to fetch the little spade.”
“Oh Bet, you’ll wake the house!”
“No,” said Betty. She moved towards the door. Shewas a very observant girl, and had noticed that no door creaked in that well-conducted mansion, that no lock was out of order. She managed to open the door of her bedroom without making the slightest sound. She managed to creep upstairs and reach the Vivian attic. She found the little spade and brought it down again. She re-entered the beautiful big bedroom and closed the door softly.
“Here’s the spade!” she whispered to her sisters. “Did you hear me move?”
“No, Bet. Oh, you are wonderful!”
“Now,” said Betty, “we must take the sheets off our three beds. The three top sheets will do. Sylvia, begin to knot the sheets together. Make the knots very strong, and be quick about it.”
Sylvia obeyed without a word.
“Hester, come and help me,” said Betty now. She took the other twin’s hand and led her to one of the French windows. The window happened to be a little open, for the night was a very warm and balmy one. Betty pushed it wider open, and the next minute she was standing on the balcony.
“Go back,” she whispered, speaking to Hester, “and bring Sylvia out with the sheets!”
In a very short time Sylvia appeared, dragging what looked like a tangled white rope along with her.
“Now, then,” said Betty, “you’ve got to let me down to the ground by means of these sheets. I am a pretty good weight, you know, and you mustn’t drop me; for if you did I might break my leg or something, and that would be horrid. You two have got to hold one end of these knotted sheets as firmly as ever you can, and not let go on any account. Now, then—here goes!”
The next instant Betty had clutched hold of one of the sheets herself, and had climbed over the somewhat high parapet of the balcony. A minute later, still firmlyholding the white rope, she was gradually letting herself down to the ground, hand over hand. By-and-by she reached the bottom. When she did this she held up both hands, which the girls, as they watched her from above, could just see. She was demanding the little spade. Sylvia flung it on the soft grass which lay beneath. Betty put her hand, making a sort of trumpet of it, round her lips, and whispered up, “Stay where you are till I return.”
She then marched off into the shrubbery. She was absent for about twenty minutes, during which time both Sylvia and Hetty felt exceedingly cold. She then came back, fastened the little spade securely into the broad belt of her dress, and, aided by her sisters, pulled herself up and up, and so on to the balcony once more.
The three girls re-entered the bedroom. Not a soul in that great house had heard them, or seen them, or knew anything about their adventure.
“It is quite safe now—poor, beautiful darling!” whispered Betty. “Girls, we must smooth out these sheets; theydolook rather dragged. And now we’ll get straight into bed.”
“I am very cold,” said Sylvia.
“You’ll be warm again in a minute,” replied Betty; “and what does a little cold matter when I have savedIt? No, I am not going to tell you where it is; just because it’s safer, dear, dearest, for you not to know.”
“Yes, it’s safer,” said Sylvia.
The three sisters lay down again. By slow degrees warmth returned to the half-frozen limbs of the poor little twins, and they dropped asleep. But Betty lay awake—warm, excited, triumphant.
“I’ve managed things now,” she thought; “and if every girl in the school asks me if I have a little packet, and if every teacher does likewise, I’ll be able truthfully to say ‘No.’”
Early the next morning Mrs. Haddo announced herintention to take the Vivians to London. School-work was in full swing that day; and Susie, Margaret, Olive, and the other members of the Specialities rather envied the Vivians when they saw them driving away in Mrs. Haddo’s most elegant landau to the railway station.
Sibyl Ray openly expressed her sentiments on the occasion. She turned to her companion, who was standing near. “I must say, and I may as well say it first as last, that I do not understand your adorable Mrs. Haddo. Why should she make such a fuss over common-looking girls like those?”