“Now, whatever for?” asked Mrs. Miles. “And who could dislike a school like Haddo Court?”
“Of course we couldn’t tell,” said Sylvia, “not having been there; but Betty, who is always very wise, said it was best be on the safe side, and that perhaps the packet contained money, and if it did we’d have enough to live on in case we chose to run away.”
“Oh, missies, did I ever hear tell o’ the like! To run away from a beautiful school like Haddo Court! Why, there’s young ladies all over England trying to get into it! But you didn’t know, poor lambs! Well, go on; tell me the rest.”
“There was a man who was made our guardian,” continued Sylvia, “and he was quite kind, and we had nothing to say against him. His name is Sir John Crawford.”
“Miss Fanny’s father, bless her!” said Mrs. Miles; “and a pretty young lady she do be.”
“Fanny Crawford is our cousin,” said Sylvia, “and we hate her most awfully.”
“Oh, my dear young missies! but hate is a weed—a noxious weed that ought to be pulled up out o’ the ground o’ your hearts.”
“It is taking deep root in mine,” said Sylvia.
“And in mine,” said Hester.
“But please let us tell you the rest, Mrs. Miles. Sir John Crawford had a letter from our dear aunt, who left the packet for Betty; and we cannot understand it, but she seemed to wish Sir John Crawford to take care of the packet for the present. He looked for it everywhere, and could not find it. Was he likely to when Betty had takenit? Then he asked Betty quite suddenly if she knew anything about it, and Betty stood up and said ‘No.’ She told a huge, monstrous lie, and she didn’t even change color, and he believed her. So we came here. Well, Betty was terribly anxious for fear the packet should be found, and one night we helped her to climb down from the balcony out of our bedroom. No one saw her go, and no one saw her return, and she put the packet away somewhere—we don’t know where. Well, after that, wonderful things happened, and Betty was made a tremendous fuss of in the school. There was no one like her, and she was loved like anything, and we were as proud as Punch of her. But all of a sudden everything changed, and our Betty was disgraced. There were horrid things written on a blackboard about her. She was quite innocent, poor darling! But the things were written, and Betty is the sort of girl to feel such disgrace frightfully. We were quite preparing to run away with her, for we thought she wouldn’t care to stay much longer in the school—notwithstanding your opinion of it, Mrs. Miles. But all of a sudden Betty seemed to go right down, as though some one had felled her with an awful blow. She kept crying out, and crying out, that the packet was lost. Anyhow, she thinks it is lost; she hasn’t an idea where it can be. And the doctors say that Betty’s brain is in such a curious state that unless the packet is found she—she may die.
“So we went to her, both of us, and we told her we would go and find it,” continued Sylvia. “We have got to find it. That is what we have come about. We don’t suppose for a minute that it was right of Betty to tell the lie; but that was the only thing she did wrong. Anyhow, we don’t care whether she did right or wrong; she is our Betty, the most splendid, the very dearest girl in all the world, and she sha’n’t die. We thought perhaps you would help us to find the packet.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Miles, “that’s a wonderful story, andit’s a queer sort o’ job to put upon a very busy farmer’s wife.Meto find the packet?”
“Yes; you or your husband, whichever of you can or will do it. It is Betty’s life that depends upon it. Couldn’t your dogs help us? In Scotland we have dogs that scent anything. Are yours that sort?”
“They haven’t been trained,” said Mrs. Miles, “and that’s the simple truth. Poor darlings! you must bear up as best you can. It’s a very queer story, but of course the packet must be found. You stay here for the present, and I’ll go out and meet my husband as he comes along to his dinner. I reckon, when all’s said and done, I’m a right good wife and a right good mother, and that there ain’t a farm kept better than ours anywhere in the neighborhood, nor finer fowls for the table, nor better ducks, nor more tender geese and turkeys. Then as to our pigs—why, the pigs themselves be a sight. And we rears horses, too, and very good many o’ them turn out. And in the spring-time we have young lambs and young heifers; in fact, there ain’t a young thing that can be born that don’t seem to have a right to take up its abode at Stoke Farm. And I does for ’em all, the small twinses being too young and the old twinses too rough and big for the sort o’ work. Well, my dears, I’m good at all that sort o’ thing; but when it comes to dertective business I am nowhere, and I may as well confess it. I am sorry for you, my loves; but this is a job for the farmer and not for me, for he’s always down on the poachers, and very bitter he feels towards ’em. He has to be sharp and sudden and swift and knowing, whereas I have to be tender and loving and petting and true. That’s the differ between us. He’s more the person for this ’ere job, and I’ll go and speak to him while you sit by the kitchen fire.”
“Do, please, please, Mrs. Miles!” said both the twins.
Then she left them, and they sat very still in the warm, silent kitchen; and by and by Sylvia, worn out with grief,and not having slept at all during the previous night, dropped into an uneasy slumber, while Hetty stroked her sister’s hand and Dan’s head until she also fell asleep.
The dogs, seeing that the girls were asleep, thought that they might do the same. When, therefore, Farmer Miles and his wife entered the kitchen, it was to find the two girls and the dogs sound asleep.
“Poor little lambs! Do look at ’em!” said Mrs. Miles. “They be wore out, and no mistake.”
“Let’s lay ’em on the sofa along here,” said Miles. “While they’re having their sleep out you get the dinner up, wife, and I’ll go out and put on my considering-cap.”
The farmer had no sooner said this than—whispering to the dogs, who very unwillingly accompanied him—he left the kitchen. He went into the farmyard and began to pace up and down. Mrs. Miles had told her story with some skill, the farmer having kept his attention fixed on the salient points.
Miss Betty—even he had succumbed utterly to the charms of Miss Betty—had lost a packet of great value. She had hidden it, doubtless in the grounds of Haddo Court. She had gone had gone to look for it, and it was no longer there. Some one had stolen it. Who that person could be was what the farmer wanted to “get at,” as he expressed it. “Until you can get at the thief,” he muttered under his breath, “you are nowhere at all.”
But at present he was without any clue, and, true man of business that he was, he felt altogether at a loose end. Meanwhile, as he was pacing up and down towards the farther edge of the prosperous-looking farmyard, Dan uttered a growl and sprang into the road. The next minute there was a piercing cry, and Farmer Miles, brandishing his long whip, followed the dog. Dan was holding the skirts of a very young girl and shaking them ferociously in his mouth. His eyes glared into the face of the girl, and his whole aspect was that of anger personified. Luckily,Beersheba was not present, or the girl might have had a sorry time of it. With a couple of strides the farmer advanced towards her; dealt some swift lashes with his heavy whip on the dog’s head, which drove him back; then, taking the girl’s small hand, he said to her kindly, “Don’t you be frightened, miss; his bark’s a sight worse nor his bite.”
“Oh, he did terrify me so!” was the answer; “and I’ve been running for such a long time, and I’m very, very tired.”
“Well, miss, I don’t know your name nor anything about you; but this land happens to be private property—belonging to me, and to me alone. Of course, if it weren’t for that I’d have no right to have fierce dogs about ready to molest human beings. It was a lucky thing for you, miss, that I was so close by. And whatever be your name, if I may be so bold as to ask, and where be you going now?”
“My name is Sibyl Ray, and I belong to Haddo Court.”
“Dear, dear, dear! seems to me, somehow, that Haddo Court and Stoke Farm are going to have a right good connection. I don’t complain o’ the butter, and the bread, and the cheese, and the eggs, and the fowls as we sarve to the school; but I never counted on the young ladies taking their abode in my quarters.”
“What do you mean, and who are you?” said Sibyl in great amazement.
“My name, miss, is Farmer Miles; and this house”—he pointed to his dwelling—“is my homestead; and there are two young ladies belonging to your school lying fast asleep at the present moment in my wife’s kitchen, and they has given me a problem to think out. It’s a mighty stiff one, but it means life or death; so of course I have, so to speak, my knife in it, and I’ll get the kernel out afore I’m many hours older.”
Sibyl, who had been very miserable before she started, who had endured her drive with what patience she could,and whose heart was burning with hatred to Fanny and passionate, despairing love for Betty Vivian, was so exhausted now that she very nearly fainted.
The farmer looked at her out of his shrewd eyes. “Being a member o’ the school, Miss Ray,” he said, “you doubtless are acquainted with them particularly charming young ladies, the Misses Vivian?”
“Indeed I know them all, and love them all,” said Sibyl.
“Now, that’s good hearing; for they be a pretty lot, that they be. And as to the elder, I never see’d a face like hers—so wonderful, and with such a light about it; and her courage—bless you, miss! the dogs wouldn’t harmher. It was fawning on her, and licking her hand, and petting her they were. Is it true, miss, that Miss Betty is so mighty bad?”
“It is true,” said Sibyl; “and I wonder——Oh; please don’t leave me standing here alone on the road. I am so miserable and frightened! I wonder if it’s Sylvia and Hester who are in your house?”
“Yes, they be the missies, and dear little things they be.”
“And have they told you anything?” asked Sibyl.
“Well, yes; they have set me a conundrum—a mighty stiff one. It seems that Miss Betty Vivian has lost a parcel, and she be that fretted about it that she’s nigh to death, and the little uns have promised to get it back for her; and, poor children! they’ve set me on the job, and how ever I’m to do it I don’t know.”
“I think perhaps I can help you,” said Sibyl suddenly. “I’ll tell you this much, Farmer Miles. I can get that packet back, and I’d much rather get it back with your help than without it.”
“Shake hands on that, missie. I wouldn’t like to be, so to speak, in a thing, and then cast out o’ it again afore the right moment. But whatever do you mean?”
“You shall know all at the right time,” said Sibyl. “Mrs. Haddo is so unhappy about Betty that she wouldn’tallow any of the upper-school girls to have lessons to-day, so she sent them off to spend the day in London. I happened to be one of them, and was perfectly wretched at having to go; so while I was driving to the railway station in one of the wagonettes I made up my mind. I settled that whatever happened I’d never, never, never endure another night like the last; and I couldn’t go to London and see pictures or museums or whatever places we were to be taken to while Betty was lying at death’s door, and when I knew that it was possible for me to save her. So when we got to the station there was rather a confusion—that is, while the tickets were being bought—and I suddenly slipped away by myself and got outside the station, and ran, and ran, and ran—oh, so fast!—until at last I got quite beyond the town, and then I found myself in the country; and all the time I kept saying, and saying, ‘I will tell. She sha’n’t die; nothing else matters; Betty shall not die.’”
“Then what do you want me to help you for, missie?”
“Because,” said Sibyl, holding out her little hand, “I am very weak and you are very strong, and you will keep me up to it. Please do come with me straight back to the school!”
“Well, there’s a time for all things,” said the farmer; “and I’m willing to give up my arternoon’s work, but I’m by no means willing to give up my midday meal, for we farmers don’t work for nothing—as doubtless you know, missie. So, if you’ll come along o’ me and eat a morsel, we’ll set off afterwards, sure and direct, to Haddo Court; and I’ll keep you up to the mark if you’re likely to fail.”
Sylvia and Hetty had awakened when the farmer brought Sibyl Ray into the pleasant farmhouse kitchen.The twin-boys were absent at school, and only the little twins came down to dinner. The beef, potatoes, dumplings, apple-tart and cream were all A1, and Sibyl was just as glad of the meal as were the two Vivian girls.
The Vivians did not know Sibyl very well, and had not the least idea that she guessed their secret. She rather avoided glancing at them, and was very shy and retiring, and stole up close to the farmer when the dogs were admitted. But Dan and Beersheba knew what was expected of them. Any one in the Stoke Farm kitchen had a right to be there; and were they going to waste their precious time and affection on the sort of girl they would love to bite, when Sylvia and Hetty were present? So they fawned on the twin-girls, taking up a good deal of their attention; and by and by the dinner came to an end.
When it was quite over the farmer got up, wiped his mouth with a big, red-silk handkerchief, and, going up to the Vivian twins, said quietly, “You can go home, whenever you like; and I think the job you have put upon me will be managed. Meanwhile, me and this young party will make off to Haddo Court as fast as we can.”
As this “young party” happened to be Sibyl Ray, the girls looked up in astonishment; but the farmer gave no information of any kind, not even bestowing a wink on his wife, who told the little twins when he had left the kitchen accompanied by Sibyl that she would be ready to walk back with them to the school in about half an hour.
“You need have no frets now, my loves,” she said. “The farmer would never have said words like he’ve spoken to you if he hadn’t got his knife right down deep into the kernel. He’s fond o’ using that expression, dears, when he’s nailed a poacher, and he wouldn’t say no less nor no more for a job like you’ve set him to.”
During their walk the farmer and Sibyl hardly exchanged a word. As they went up the avenue they saw that the place was nearly empty. The day was a fine one; but thegirls of the lower school had one special playground some distance away, and the girls of the upper school were supposed to be in London. Certainly no one expected Sibyl Ray to put in an appearance here at this hour.
As they approached quite close to the mansion, Sibyl turned her very pale face and stole her small hand into that of the farmer. “I am so frightened!” she said; “and I know quite well this is going to ruin me, and I shall have to go back home to be a burden to father, who is very poor, and who thinks so much of my being educated here. But I—I will do it all the same.”
“Of course you will, missie; and poverty don’t matter a mite.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t,” said Sibyl.
“Compared to a light heart, it don’t matter a gossoon, as they say in Ireland,” remarked the farmer.
Sibyl felt suddenly uplifted.
“I’ll see you through, missie,” he added as they came up to the wide front entrance.
A doctor’s carriage was standing there, and it was quite evident that one or two doctors were in the house.
“Oh,” said Sibyl with a gasp, “suppose we are betrayed!”
“No, we won’t be that,” said the farmer.
Sibyl pushed open the door, and then, standing in the hall, she rang a bell. A servant presently appeared.
Before Sibyl could find her voice Farmer Miles said, “Will you have the goodness to find Mrs. Haddo and tell her that I, Farmer Miles of the Stoke Farm, have come here accompanied by one o’ her young ladies, who has something o’ great importance to tell her at once?”
“Perhaps you will both come into Mrs. Haddo’s private sitting-room?” said the girl.
The farmer nodded assent, and he and Sibyl entered. When they were inside the room Sibyl uttered a faint sigh. The farmer took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“What a lot o’ fal-lals, to be sure!” he said, looking round in a by no means appreciative manner.
Sibyl and the farmer had to wait for some little time before Mrs. Haddo made her appearance. When she did so a great change was noticeable in her face; it was exceedingly pale. Her lips had lost their firm, their even noble, expression of self-restraint; they were tremulous, as though she had been suffering terribly. Her eyes were slightly red, as though some of those rare tears which she so seldom shed had visited them. She looked first at Farmer Miles and then in great amazement at Sibyl.
“Why are you here, Sibyl Ray?” she said. “I sent you to London with the other girls of the upper school this morning. What are you doing here?”
“Perhaps I can tell you best, ma’am, if you will permit me to speak,” said the farmer.
“I hope you will be very brief, Farmer Miles. I could not refuse your request, but we are all in great trouble to-day at the school. One of our young ladies—one greatly beloved by us all—is exceedingly, indeed I must add most dangerously, ill.”
“It’s about her we’ve come,” said the farmer.
Here Mrs. Haddo sank into a seat. “Why, what do you know about Miss Betty Vivian?”
“Ah, I met her myself, not once, but twice,” said Miles; “and I love her, too, just as the wife loves her, and the big twins, and the little twins, and the dogs—bless ’em! We all love Miss Betty Vivian. And now, ma’am, I must tell you that Miss Betty’s little sisters came to see the good wife this morning.”
Mrs. Haddo was silent.
“They told their whole story to the good wife. A packet has been lost, and Miss Betty lies at death’s door because o’ the grief o’ that loss. The little uns—bless ’em!—thought that the wife could find the packet. That ain’t in her line; it’s mothering and coddling and loving as is inher line. So she put the job on me; and, to be plain, ma’am, I never were more flabbergasted in the whole o’ my life. For to catch a poacher is one thing, and to catch a lost packet—nobody knowing where it be nor how it were lost—is another.”
“Well, why have you come to me?” said Mrs. Haddo.
“Because, ma’am, I’ve got a clue, and a big one; and this young lady’s the clue.”
“You, Sibyl Ray—you?”
“Yes,” said Sibyl.
“Speak out now, missie; don’t be frightened. There are miles worse things than poverty; there’s disgrace and heart-burnings. Speak you out bold, missie, and don’t lose your courage.”
“I was miserable,” said Sibyl. “I didn’t want to go to town, and when I got to the station I slipped away; and I got into the lane outside Stoke Farm and a dog came out and frightened me, and—and—then this man came—this kind man——”
“Well, go on, Sibyl,” said Mrs. Haddo; “moments are precious just now.”
“I—took the packet,” said Sibyl.
“You—took—the packet?”
“Yes. I don’t want to speak against another. It was my fault—or mostly my fault. I did love Betty, and it didn’t matter at all to me that she was expelled from the Specialities; I should love her just as much if she were expelled from fifty Specialities. But Fanny—she—she—put me against her.”
“Fanny! What Fanny do you mean?”
“Fanny Crawford.”
Mrs. Haddo rose at once and rang her bell. When the servant appeared she said, “Send Miss Crawford here immediately, and don’t mention that any one is in my study. Now, Sibyl, keep the rest of your story until Fanny Crawford is present.”
In about five minutes’ time Fanny appeared. She was very white, and looked rather worn and miserable. “Oh, dear!” she said as she entered, “I am so glad you have sent for me, Mrs. Haddo; and I do trust I shall have a room to myself to-night, for I didn’t sleep at all last night, and——Why, whatever is the matter? Sibyl, what are you doing here? And who—who is that man?”
“Sit down, Fanny—or stand, just as you please,” said Mrs. Haddo; “only have the goodness not to speak until Sibyl has finished her story. Now, Sibyl, go on. You had come to that part where you explained that Fanny put you against Betty Vivian. No, Fanny, you do not go towards the door. Stay quietly where you are.”
Fanny, seeing that all chance of exit was cut off, stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the ground.
“Now, Sibyl, go on.”
“Fanny was very anxious about the packet, and she wanted me to watch,” continued Sibyl, “so that I might discover where Betty had hidden it. I did watch, and I found that Betty had put it under one of the plants of wild-heather in the ‘forest primeval.’ I saw her take it out and look at it and put it back again, and when she was gone I went to the place and took the packet out myself and brought it to Fanny. I don’t know where the packet is now.”
“Fanny, where is the packet?” said Mrs. Haddo.
“Sibyl is talking the wildest nonsense,” said Fanny. “How can you possibly believe her? I know nothing about Betty Vivian or her concerns.”
“Perhaps, miss,” said the farmer, coming forward at that moment, “that pointed thing sticking out o’ your pocket might have something to do with it. You will permit me, miss, seeing that the young lady’s life is trembling in the balance.”
Before either Mrs. Haddo or Fanny could utter a word Farmer Miles had strode across the room, thrust his big,rough hand into Fanny’s neat little pocket, and taken out the brown paper-packet.
“There, now,” he said, “that’s the kernel of the nut. I thought I’d do it somehow. Thank you kindly, ma’am, for listening to me. Miss Sibyl Ray, you may be poor in the future, but at least you’ll have a light heart; and as to the dirty trick you did, I guess you won’t do a second, for you have learned your lesson. I’ll be wishing you good-morning now, ma’am,” he added, turning to Mrs. Haddo, “for I must get back to my work. It’s twelve pounds o’ butter the cook wants sent up without fail to-night, ma’am; and I’m much obliged for the order.”
The farmer left the room. Fanny had flung herself on a chair and covered her face with her hands. Sibyl stood motionless, awaiting Mrs. Haddo’s verdict.
Once again Mrs. Haddo rang the bell. “Send Miss Symes to me,” she said.
Miss Symes appeared.
“The doctor’s last opinion, please, Miss Symes?”
“Dr. Ashley says that Betty is much the same. The question now is how to keep up her strength. He thinks it better to have two specialists from London, as, if she continues in such intense excitement, further complications may arise.”
“Do you know where Betty’s sisters are?” was Mrs. Haddo’s next inquiry.
“I haven’t seen them for some time, but I will find out where they are.”
“As soon as ever you find them, send them straight to me. I shall be here for the present.”
Miss Symes glanced in some wonder from Sibyl to Fanny; then she went out of the room without further comment.
When she was quite alone with the girls Mrs. Haddo said, “Fanny, a fresh bedroom has been prepared for you, and I shall be glad if you will go and spend the rest ofthis day there. I do not feel capable of speaking to you at present. As to you, Sibyl, your conduct has been bad enough; but at the eleventh hour—and, we may hope, in time—you have made restitution. You may, therefore, rejoin the girls of the lower school.”
“Of the lower school?” said Sibyl.
“Yes. Your punishment is that you return to the lower school for at least a year, until you are more capable of guiding your own conduct, and less likely to be influenced by the wicked passions of girls who have had more experience than yourself. You can go to your room also for the present, and to-morrow morning you will resume your duties in the lower school.”
Fanny and Sibyl both turned away, neither of them saying a word to the other. They had scarcely done so before Miss Symes came in, her face flushed with excitement, and accompanied by the twins.
“My dear girls, where have you been?” said Mrs. Haddo.
“With Mrs. Miles,” said Sylvia.
“I cannot blame you, under the circumstances, although you have broken a rule. My dears, thank God for His mercies. Here is the lost packet.”
Sylvia grasped it.
Hester rushed towards Sylvia and laid her hand over her sister’s. “Oh! oh!” she said.
“Now, girls, can I trust you? I was told what took place this morning—how you went to Betty without leave, and promised to return with the packet. Is Betty awake at present, Miss Symes?”
“Yes,” said Miss Symes, “she has been awake for a long time.”
“Will you take the girls up to Betty’s room? Do not go in yourself. Now, girls, I trust to your wisdom, and to your love of Betty, to do this thing very quietly.”
“You may trust us,” said Hetty.
They left the room. They followed Miss Symes upstairs.They entered the beautiful room where Betty was lying, her eyes shining brightly, fever high on her cheeks.
It was Hetty who put the packet into her hand. “Here it is, Betty darling. We said we’d find it for you.”
Then a wonderful thing happened; for Betty looked at the packet, then she smiled, then she raised it to her lips and kissed it, then she put it under her pillow. Finally she said, “Oh, I am sleepy! Oh, I am tired!”
Notwithstanding the fact that the lost packet was restored, Betty’s life hung in the balance for at least another twenty-four hours. During that time she tossed and sighed and groaned. The fever ran high, and her little voice kept on saying, “Oh, that I could find the packet!”
It was in this emergency that Miss Symes came to the rescue. She called Sylvia and Hester to her, and desired Hester to stand at one side of Betty’s little, narrow, white bed, and Sylvia to place herself at the other.
Betty did not seem even to know her sisters. Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks deeply flushed, and there was a look of intense restlessness and great pain in her face. “Oh, that I might find the packet!” she murmured.
“Do what your heart prompts you, Sylvia,” said Miss Symes.
Sylvia immediately pushed her hand under Betty’s pillow, and, taking up the lost packet, took one of the girl’s little, feverish hands and closed her fingers round the brown-paper parcel.
“It is found, Bettina! it is found!” said Sylvia. “Here it is. You need not fret any more.”
“What! what!” said Betty. Into her eyes there crept a new expression, into her voice a new note. “Oh, I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed.
But here Hetty threw in a word of affection and entreaty. “Why, Bettina,” she said, “it is in your hand. Feel it, darling! feel it! We got it back for you, just as we said we would. Feel it, Bettina! feel it!”
Betty felt. Her fingers were half-numbed; but she was able to perceive the difference between the brown paper and the thick, strong cord, and again the difference between the thick cord and the sealing-wax. “How many seals are there?” she asked in a breathless, eager voice, turning and looking full at her sisters.
“Eight in all,” said Sylvia, speaking rapidly: “two in front, two at each side, and two, again, fastening down the naps at the back.”
“I knew there were eight,” said Betty. “Let me feel them.”
Sylvia conducted Betty’s fingers over the unbroken seals.
“Count for me, darling, silly Sylvia!” said Betty.
Sylvia began to count: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.
“It is my lost packet!” said Betty with a cry.
“It is, Betty! it is!”
“And is any one going to take it from me?”
“No one, Betty, ever again.”
“Let me hold it in my hand,” said Betty.
Sister Helen came up with a restorative; and when Betty had taken the nourishing contents of the little, white china cup, she again made use of that extraordinary expression, “Oh, I am so sleepy! Oh, I am tired!”
Still holding the packet in her hand, Betty dropped off into slumber; and when she came to herself the doctors said that the crisis was past.
Betty Vivian recovered very slowly, during which timethe rules of the school were altogether relaxed, not only in her favor, but also in favor of the twins, Sylvia and Hetty. They were allowed to spend some hours every day with Betty, and although they spoke very little, they were able to comfort their sister immensely. At last Betty was well enough to leave her bed and creep to any easy-chair, where she would sit, feeling more dead than alive; and, by slow degrees, the girls of the school whom she loved best came to see her and comfort her and fuss over her. Margaret Grant looked very strong and full of sympathy; Martha West had that delightful voice which could not but attract all who heard her speak. Susie Rushworth, the Bertrams, Olive, and all the other Specialities, with the exception of Fanny, came to visit Betty, who, in her turn, loved to see them, and grew better each day, and stronger, and more inclined to eat the good, nourishing food which was provided for her.
All this time she had never once spoke of Fanny Crawford. The other Speciality girls were rather nervous on this account. They wondered how Betty would feel when she heard what had happened to Fanny; for Fanny, after spending a whole day and night in the small and somewhat dismal bedroom prepared for her by Mrs. Haddo’s orders, refused to appear at prayers the following morning, and, further, requested that her breakfast should be taken up to her.
Betty’s life was still hanging in the balance, although the doctors were not nearly so anxious as they had been the day before. Fanny was biding her time. She knew all the rules of the school, having spent so many years there. She also knew well what desolation awaited her in the future in this bright and pleasant school; for, during that painful day and that terrible night, and this, if possible, more dreadful morning, no one had come near her but the servant who brought her meals, no one had spoken to her. To all appearance she, one of the primefavorites of the school and Sir John Crawford’s only daughter, was forgotten as though she had never existed. To Fanny’s proud heart this sense of desertion was almost intolerable. She could have cried aloud but that she did not dare to give way; she could have set aside Mrs. Haddo’s punishment, but in her heart of hearts she felt convinced that none of the girls would take her part. All the time, however, she was making up her mind. Her nicely assorted garments—her pretty evening frocks, her day-dresses of summer and winter, her underclothing, her jackets, her hats, gloves, and handkerchiefs—had all been conveyed to the small, dull room which she was now occupying. To herself she called it Punishment Chamber, and felt that she could not endure the life there even for another hour.
Being well acquainted with the usual routine of the school, Fanny busied herself immediately after breakfast in packing her different belongings into two neat cane trunks which she had desired a servant to bring to her from the box-room. Having done this, she changed the dress she was wearing for a coat and skirt of neat blue serge and a little cap to match. She wrote out labels at her desk and gummed them on the trunks. She examined the contents of her purse; she had two or three pounds of her own. She could, therefore, do pretty much what she pleased.
But although Fanny Crawford had acted perhaps worse than any other girl had acted in the school before, she scorned to run away. She would go openly; she would defy Mrs. Haddo. Mrs. Haddo could not possibly keep a girl of Fanny’s age—for she would soon be seventeen—against her will. Having packed her trunks, Fanny went downstairs. The rest of the upper school were busy at their lessons. Sibyl Ray, who had returned to the lower school, was of course nowhere in sight. Fanny marched bravely down the corridor, along which she had hurriedyesterday in nameless fear and trepidation. She knocked at Mrs. Haddo’s door. Mrs. Haddo said, “Come in,” and she entered.
“Oh, it’s you, Fanny Crawford! I haven’t sent for you.”
“I know that,” replied Fanny. “But I cannot stay any longer in disgrace in one room. I have had enough of it. I wish to tell you, Mrs. Haddo, that Haddo Court is no longer the place for me. I suppose I ought to repent of what I have done; and, of course, I never for a moment thought that Betty would be so absurd and silly to get an illness which would nearly kill her. As a matter of fact, I do not repent. The wicked person was Betty Vivian. She first stole the packet, and then told a lie about it. I happened to see her steal it, for I was saying at Craigie Muir at the time. When Miss Symes told me that the Vivians were coming to the school I disliked the idea, and said so; but I wouldn’t complain, and my dislike received no attention whatsoever. Betty has great powers of fascination, and she won hearts here at once. She was asked to join the Specialities—an unheard-of-thing for a new girl at the school. I begged and implored of her not to join, referring her to Rule No. I., which prohibits any girl who is in possession of such a secret as Betty had to become a member. She would not listen to me; shewouldjoin. Then she became miserable, and confessed what she had done, but would not carry her confession to its logical conclusion—namely, confession to you and restoration of the lost packet.”
“I wish to interrupt you for a minute here, Fanny,” said Mrs. Haddo. “Since your father left he has sent me several letters of the late Miss Vivian’s to read. In one of them she certainly did allude to a packet which was to be kept safely until Betty was old enough to appreciate it; but in another, which I do not think your father ever read, Miss Vivian said that she had changed her mind,and had put the packet altogether into Betty’s charge. I do not wish to condone Betty’s sins; but her only sin in this affair was the lie she told, which was evidently uttered in a moment of swift temptation. She had a right to the packet, according to this letter of Miss Frances Vivian’s.”
Fanny stood very still. “I didn’t know that,” she replied.
“I dare say you didn’t; but had you treated Betty differently, and been kind to her from the first, she would probably have explained things to you.”
“I never liked her, and I never shall,” said Fanny with a toss of her head. “She may suit you, Mrs. Haddo, but she doesn’t suit me. And I wish to say that I want you to send me, at once, to stay with my aunt Amelia at Brighton until I can hear from my father with regard to my future arrangements. If you don’t send me, I have money in my pocket, and will go in spite of you. I don’t like your school any longer. I did love it, but now I hate it; and it is all—all because of Betty Vivian.”
“Oh, Fanny, what a pity!” said Mrs. Haddo. Tears filled her eyes. But Fanny would not look up.
“May I go?” said Fanny.
“Yes, my dear. Anderson shall take you, and I will write a note to your aunt. Fanny, is there no chance of your turning to our Divine Father to ask Him to forgive you for your sins of cruelty to one unhappy but very splendid girl?”
“Oh, don’t talk to me of her splendor!” said Fanny. “I am sick of it.”
“Very well, I will say no more.”
Mrs. Haddo sank into the nearest chair. After a minute’s pause she turned to her writing-table and wrote a letter. She then rang her bell, and desired Anderson to get ready for a short journey.
About three o’clock that day Fanny, accompanied by Anderson, with her trunks and belongings heaped on topof a station-cab, drove from Haddo Court never to return. There were no girls to say farewell; in fact, not one of her friends even knew of her departure until Mrs. Haddo mentioned it on the following morning.
“Fanny did right to go,” she said. “And now we will try to live down all that has been so painful, and turn our faces once again towards the light.”
Betty recovered all in good time; but it was not until Christmas had long passed that she first asked for Fanny Crawford. When she heard that Fanny had gone, a queer look—half of pleasure, half of pain—flitted across her little face.
“You’re glad, aren’t you? You’re very, very glad, Bettina?” whispered Sylvia in her sister’s ear.
“No, I am not glad,” replied Betty. “If I had known she was going I might have spoken to her just once. As it is, I am sorry.”
“Oh Bettina, why?”
“Because she has lost the influence of so noble a woman as dear Mrs. Haddo, and of so faithful a friend as Margaret Grant, and of so dear a girl as Martha West. Oh, why did I ever come here to upset things? And why did I ever tell that wicked, wicked lie?”
“You have repented now, poor darling, if any one ever did!” said both the twins.
As they spoke Mrs. Haddo entered the room. “Betty,” she said, “I wish to tell you something. You certainly did exceedingly wrong when you told Sir John Crawford that you knew nothing of the packet. But I know you did not steal it, dear, for I hold a letter in my hand from your aunt, in which she told Sir John that she had given the packet absolutely into your care. Sir John could never have read that letter; but I have read it, dear, and I have written to him on the subject.”
“Then I may keep the packet?” asked Betty in a very low voice.
“Yes, Betty.”
“And it will read me a lesson,” said Betty. “Oh, thank you! thank you!” Then she sprang to her feet and kissed Mrs. Haddo’s white hands first, and then pressed a light kiss on that good lady’s beautiful lips. “God will help me to do better in the future,” she added.
And she was helped.
TheGirl ScoutsSeriesBY EDITH LAVELLA new copyright series of Girl Scouts stories byan author of wide experience in Scouts’ craft, asDirector of Girl Scouts of Philadelphia.Clothbound, with Attractive Color Designs.PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH.THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOLTHE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMPTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ GOOD TURNTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ CANOE TRIPTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ RIVALS
TheGirl ScoutsSeries
BY EDITH LAVELL
A new copyright series of Girl Scouts stories byan author of wide experience in Scouts’ craft, asDirector of Girl Scouts of Philadelphia.
Clothbound, with Attractive Color Designs.
PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH.
THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOLTHE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMPTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ GOOD TURNTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ CANOE TRIPTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ RIVALS
THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOLTHE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMPTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ GOOD TURNTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ CANOE TRIPTHE GIRL SCOUTS’ RIVALS
TheCamp FireGirls SeriesBy HILDEGARD G. FREYA Series of Outdoor Stories for Girls 12 to 16 Years.All Cloth BoundCopyright TitlesPRICE, 65 CENTS EACHTHE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE MAINE WOODS; or, The Winnebagos go Camping.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SCHOOL; or, The Wohelo Weavers.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT ONOWAY HOUSE; or, The Magic Garden.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS GO MOTORING; or, Along the Road That Leads the Way.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS’ LARKS AND PRANKS; or, The House of the Open Door.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON ELLEN’S ISLE; or, The Trail of the Seven Cedars.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON THE OPEN ROAD; or, Glorify Work.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS DO THEIR BIT; or, Over the Top with the Winnebagos.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS SOLVE A MYSTERY; or, The Christmas Adventure at Carver House.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT CAMP KEEWAYDIN; or, Down Paddles.
TheCamp FireGirls Series
By HILDEGARD G. FREY
A Series of Outdoor Stories for Girls 12 to 16 Years.
All Cloth Bound
Copyright Titles
PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE MAINE WOODS; or, The Winnebagos go Camping.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SCHOOL; or, The Wohelo Weavers.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT ONOWAY HOUSE; or, The Magic Garden.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS GO MOTORING; or, Along the Road That Leads the Way.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS’ LARKS AND PRANKS; or, The House of the Open Door.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON ELLEN’S ISLE; or, The Trail of the Seven Cedars.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON THE OPEN ROAD; or, Glorify Work.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS DO THEIR BIT; or, Over the Top with the Winnebagos.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS SOLVE A MYSTERY; or, The Christmas Adventure at Carver House.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT CAMP KEEWAYDIN; or, Down Paddles.
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE MAINE WOODS; or, The Winnebagos go Camping.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SCHOOL; or, The Wohelo Weavers.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT ONOWAY HOUSE; or, The Magic Garden.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS GO MOTORING; or, Along the Road That Leads the Way.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS’ LARKS AND PRANKS; or, The House of the Open Door.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON ELLEN’S ISLE; or, The Trail of the Seven Cedars.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON THE OPEN ROAD; or, Glorify Work.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS DO THEIR BIT; or, Over the Top with the Winnebagos.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS SOLVE A MYSTERY; or, The Christmas Adventure at Carver House.THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT CAMP KEEWAYDIN; or, Down Paddles.