“Help! Help! I’m dr—”
The cry died in a gurgle and Dorothy sprang to her feet in terror. She had warned Gwendolyn not to take that high seat so close to that slippery rock, from beneath which the cascade began its downward flow.
“If you fall, it will be straight into the pool. Do be careful, Gwen, how you move.”
But the warning had been useless—Gwendolyn was already in the pool.
“I’m going to choose Queen Bess! I’ve made a lovely ruff, stands away up above my head. And Mrs. Archibald, the matron, has bought me four yards of chintz that might be brocade—if it was!” said Florita Sheraton, from the gymnasium floor, hugging her arms for warmth.
“Four yards! That’ll never go around you, Fatty!” declared Fanny Dimock, with playful frankness.
“Well, it’ll have to go as far as it may, then. It cost twenty cents. That left five only for the white and gilt paper for my ruff and crown.”
“Was Queen Elizabeth fat?” asked Dorothy, from her now favorite perch upon the high wooden horse.
“What does that matter, whether she were or not? The plot is to act like a Queen when once you get her clothes on,” observed Winifred, judicially. “I wonder if you can do that, Flo. Or if it needs another yard of cloth to make you real stately—she ought to have a train, oughtn’tshe—I might lend you another sixpence. If Miss Muriel would let me.”
“Don’t ask for it, Win. You’ve done so splendidly ever since—”
“That time I didn’t! Well, I’d rather not ask for it. Twenty-five cents was the limit she set.”
“Wants to stimulate our ingenuity, maybe, to see how well we can dress on twenty-five cents a week!” laughed Ernesta Smith, who had no ingenuity at all. “If it weren’t for Dolly here, I’d have to give it up, but she’s fixed me a lovely, spooky rig that’ll just make you all goose-fleshy.”
“What is it? Tell,” begged the others, but Ernesta shook her head. “No, indeedy! It’s the chance of my life to create an impression and I shan’t spoil it beforehand. It’ll be all the more stunning because I’m such a bean-pole. Dorothy says that Florrie and I must walk together in the parade.”
“Oh! I hope it will be a grand success!” cried Winifred, seizing Bessie Walters and going through a lively calisthenic exercise with her. “We’ve always wanted to have a Hallowe’en Party, but the faculty have never before said yes. It’s all Dorothy’s doings that we have it now.”
A shadow fell over Dolly’s bright face. It was quite true that she had suggested this little festivity to the good Bishop. She had told him other thingsas well which hurt him to hear and made him the more willing to consent to any bit of gayety she might propose. She had said:
“There is somebody in this school that doesn’t like me. Yes, dear Bishop, it’s true; though I don’t know who and I’ve tried to be friendly to everybody. That is to all I know. The high-up Form girls don’t appear to see me at all, though they’re friendly enough with lots of the other younger ones. I heard Edna Ross-Ross saying to another that all the strange, horrid things that had happened at Oak Knowe this autumn began with my coming. She’d been told that I was a charity scholar, belonging to one of the servants. She didn’t object to charity girls, so long as she knew they were ofgoodfamily, but she drew the line atservants’families. She said that Gwendolyn had heard you, yourself, tell Miss Tross-Kingdon that I was mischievous and she must look out for me.”
“My dear, my dear! Surely no fair-minded girl could have so misunderstood me, even admitting that I did say that—which I fail to remember. As to that silly notion about the ‘haunting’ business, Betty Calvert’s niece should be able to laugh at that. Absurd, absurd! Now tell me again what your fancy is about this Hallowe’en Party.”
“Why, sir, things can’t be done without folks do them, can they?”
“That’s a poser; but I’ll grant your premises. Proceed with the argument,” answered the old gentleman, merrily.
“Well, I thought, somehow, that if everybody was allowed to dress in character and wear some sort of a mask, the one who had played such pranks and frightened Grace and the maids might be found out. If anybody in this house owns such a mask as that horrid one and is mean enough to scare little girls, he or she wouldn’t lose so good a chance of scaring a lot more. Don’t you think so? And—and—there’s something else I ought to tell, but am afraid. Miss Muriel gets so stern every time the thing is mentioned that I put it off and off. I can tell you though, if you wish.”
“Certainly, I wish you would.”
The gentleman’s face had grown as serious now, and almost as stern, as the Lady Principal’s at similar times; and Dorothy gave a sigh to bolster her own courage as she gravely announced:
“When I took out my white shoes to wear them last evening, there was a skull and cross-bones on each one, done with red paint: and the tube of vermilion had been taken from my own oil color box. Now—what do you think of that?”
Her listener pursed his lips in a silent whistle, which indicated great amazement in a man like him, but he said nothing. Only, for a moment he drewthe girl to him and looked searchingly into her brown eyes. But they looked back at him with a clear, straightforward gaze that pleased him and made him exclaim:
“Well, little Betty—whom you always seem to me—we’re in a scrape worthy of old Bellevieu. We’ve got to get out of it, somehow. You try your scheme of playing masked detective first. If you fail in proving our innocence and some other youngster’s roguery, I’ll tackle the matter myself. For this nonsense is hurtful to Oak Knowe. That I am compelled to admit. ‘Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth.’ A miserable rumor started has wide-spread effect. I could preach you a sermon on that topic, but I won’t. Run along back to your mates and try it. Just whisper ‘Hallowe’en Party’ to any one of them and see if every girl at Oak Knowe doesn’t know beforehand that after chapel, to-night, the Lady Principal will announce this intended event. Now, good day, my dear ‘Betty,’ and for the present, to oblige me, just put those decorated shoes out of sight.”
This talk had been two days before: and with the Lady Principal’s announcement of the affair had been coupled the decision:
“Those of you young ladies that have no costume suitable may expend their week’s allowance in material for one. Of course, this restricts theexpense to utmost simplicity. No one may run in debt, nor borrow more than suggestions from her neighbors. Under these conditions I hope you will have the happy time you anticipate.”
So they were dismissed in gay spirits, to gather in groups everywhere to discuss costumes and the possibility of evolving a fetching one at the modest cost of a quarter dollar. By the afternoon following, most of the preparations had been made. Some of the maids had lent a hand to the sewing and the good-natured matron had planned and purchased and cut till her arms ached. But she had entered into the spirit of the occasion as heartily as any girl of them all; and the sixth and seventh Form students, who rather fancied themselves too grown-up for such frivolity, had willingly helped the preparations of the lower school pupils.
Only one who might have enjoyed the fun was out of it. Gwendolyn was in the hospital, in the furthest west wing: for the time being a nervous and physical wreck from her experience at the Maiden’s Bath. Even yet nobody dared speak to her of that terrible time, for it made her so hysterical; and for some reason she shrank from Dorothy’s visits of inquiry and sympathy more than from any other’s. But this seemed ungrateful to Lady Jane, her mother, now in residence at the school to care for and be near her daughter. Shedetermined this “nonsense” must be overcome and had especially begged Dolly to come to the sick room, dressed for the party, and to relate in detail all that had happened on that dreadful day.
So Dorothy had slipped away from her mates, to oblige Lady Jane, but dreading to meet the girl she had saved, yet who still seemed to dislike her. She wore her gipsy costume of scarlet, a little costume that she had worn at home at a similar party, and a dainty scarlet mask would be added later on. She looked so graceful and winsome, as she tapped at the door, that Lady Jane exclaimed as she admitted her:
“Why, you darling! What a picture you have made of yourself! I must give you a good kiss—two of them! One for myself and Gwen and one for the Aunt Betty you love.”
Then the lady led her in to the low chair beside Gwen’s bed, with a tenderness so motherly that Dorothy lost all feeling of awkwardness with the sick girl.
“Now, my child, I must hear every detail of that afternoon. My darling daughter is really much better. I want her to get over this dread of what is past, and safely so. I’m sure your story of the matter will help her to think of it calmly.”
She waited for Dorothy to begin, and at last shedid, making as light of the affair as of an ordinary playground happening.
“Why, it wasn’t anything. Really, it wasn’t, except that Gwen took such a cold and grieved so because other folks had to find where the hidden cascade was. She just got so eager with her drawing that she didn’t notice how close she got to the edge of the rock. If I had stayed awake, instead of going to sleep, I should have seen and caught her before she slipped. I can’t forgive myself for that.”
The Lady Jane shook a protesting head.
“That was no fault in you, Dorothy. Go on.”
“When I waked up, she was in the water, and she didn’t understand how to get out. She couldn’t swim, you know, but I can. So, course, I just jumped in and caught her. There was a big branch bent down low and I caught hold of that. She caught hold of me, but not both my arms, and so—so—I could pull us both out.”
Dorothy did not add that her arm had been so strained she could not yet use it without pain.
“Oh! thank God for you, my dear!” cried the mother, laying her hand upon Gwendolyn’s shoulder, who had turned toward the wall and lay with her face hidden. “And after that? Somebody said you stripped off your own jacket and wrapped it around her.”
“It wasn’t as nice as hers, but you see she was cold, and I thought she wouldn’t mind for once. I borrowed her bathrobe once and she didn’t like it, and now she’d borrowed my jacket and didn’t like that, I suppose.”
“Like it! Doubtless it helped to save her life, too, or her from pneumonia. Oh! if you hadn’t been there! If—” sobbed the mother.
“But there wasn’t any ‘if,’ Lady Jane; ’cause if I hadn’t seen the falls and made her see them, too, she wouldn’t have been near hand. If she’d gone with the girl she wanted to, nothing at all would have happened. Some way it got mixed up so she had to walk with me and that’s all. Only once we got out of the water onto the ground, I started yelling, and I must have done it terrible loud. Else Mr. Hugh wouldn’t have heard me and followed my yells. He’d gone long past us, hunting with his gun, and he heard me and came hurrying to where the sound was. So he just put his coat around her and made her get up and walk. He had to speak to her real cross before she would, she was so dazed and mis’able. But she did at last, and he knew all those woods by heart. And the directions of them, which way was north, or south, or all ways.
“It was a right smart road he took for roughness, so that sometimes we girls stumbled and fell,but he wouldn’t stop. He kept telling us that, and saying: ‘Only a little further now!’ though it did seem to the end of the world. And by and by we came out of the woods to a level road, and after a time to a little farmhouse. Mr. Hugh made the farmer hitch up his horse mighty quick and wrap us in blankets and drove us home—fast as fast. And, that’s all. I’m sorry Gwendolyn took such a cold and I hope when she gets well she’ll forgive me for going to sleep that time. And, please, Lady Jane, may I go now? Some of the girls are waiting for me, ’cause they want me in the parade.”
“Surely, my dear: and thank you for telling me so long a story. I wanted it at first hands and I wanted Gwendolyn to hear it, too. Good night and a happy, happy evening. It’s really your own party, I hear; begged by yourself from the Bishop for your schoolmates’ pleasure. I trust the lion’s share of that pleasure may be your own.”
As Dorothy left the room, with her graceful farewell curtsey, the girl on the bed turned back toward her mother and lifted a tear-wet face.
“Why, Gwen, dearest, surely she didn’t make you nervous again, did she? She described your accident so simply and in such a matter of course way. She seemed to blame the whole matter on herself; first her discovery of the waterfall, then her falling asleep. She is a brave, unselfish girl.Hoping you ‘would forgive’ her—for saving your life!”
“Oh, mother, don’t! You can’t guess how that hurts me. ‘Forgive her’! Can she ever in this world forgive me!” And again the invalid’s face was hidden in the covers, while her body shook with sobs; that convinced Lady Jane that nobody, not even her anxious self, knew how seriously ill her daughter was.
“My child, my child, don’t grieve so! It is all past and gone. I made a mistake in forcing you to meet the companion of your disaster and hearing the story from her, but please do forget it for my sake. You are well—or soon will be; and the sooner you gain some strength, you’ll be as happy as ever.”
“I shall never be happy again—never. I want to go away from here. I never want to see Oak Knowe again!” wailed Gwendolyn with fresh tears.
“Go away? Why, darling, you have always been happier here than in any other place. At home you complain of your brothers, and you think my home rules harder than the Lady Principal’s. Besides, I’ve just settled the boys at school and with you here, I felt free to make all my plans for a winter abroad. Don’t be nonsensical. Don’t spoil everything by foolishness concerning an accident thatended so well. I don’t understand you, dearest, I certainly do not.”
Assembly Hall had been cleared for the entertainment. Most of the chairs had been removed, only a row of them being left around the walls for the benefit of the invited guests. These were the friends and patrons of the school from the near by city and from the country houses round about.
Conspicuous among these was old John Gilpin in his Sunday suit, his long beard brushed till each hair hung smooth and separate, his bald head polished till it shone, and himself the most ill at ease of all the company. Beside him sat the little widow, Robin’s mother; without whom, John had declared, he would “not stir hand nor hoof” toward any such frivolity, and the good Dame abetting him in the matter. She had said:
“No, Mrs. Locke, no more he shall. I can’t go, it’s bread-settin’ night, and with my being so unwieldy and awkward like—I’d ruther by far stay home. Robin will be all right. The dear lad’s become the very apple of my eye and I e’enamost dread his gettin’ well enough to go to work again. A bit of nonsense, like this of Dorothy’s gettin’-up, ’ll do you more good nor medicine. I’ve said my say and leave it said. If John could go in his clean smock, he’d be all right, even to face that LadyPrincipal that caught him cavortin’ like a silly calf. But ’twould be an obligement to me if you’d go along and keep him in countenance.”
Of course, Mrs. Locke could do no less for a neighbor who had so befriended her and Robin: so here she was, looking as much the lady in her cheap black gown as any richer woman there. Also, so absorbed she was in keeping old John from trying to “cut and run,” or doing anything else that would have mortified his wife.
The Lady Principal had herself hesitated somewhat before the cottagers were invited, fearing their presence would be offensive to more aristocratic guests, but the good Bishop had heartily endorsed Dorothy’s plea for them and she accepted his decision.
In any case, she need not have feared. For suddenly there sounded from the distance the wailing of a violin, so weird and suggestive of uncanny things, that all talking ceased and all eyes turned toward the wide entrance doors, through which the masqueraders must come. Everything within the great room had been arranged with due attention to “effect.” In its center a great “witches’ caldron” hung suspended from three poles, and a lantern hung above it, where the bobbing for apples would take place. Dishes of salt, witch-cakes of meal, jack-o’-lanterns dimly lighted, odors of brimstone,daubs of phosphorus here and there—in fact, everything that the imaginations of the maskers could conceive, or reading suggest as fit for Hallowe’en, had been prepared.
The doleful music drew nearer and nearer and as the lights in the Hall went out, leaving only the pale glimmer of the lanterns, even the most indifferent guests felt a little thrill run through their nerves. Then the doors slowly opened and there came through them a ghostly company that seemed endless. From head to foot each “ghost” was draped in white, even the extended hand which held a lighted taper was gloved in white, and the whole procession moved slowly to the dirge which the unseen musicians played.
After a circuit of the great room, they began a curious dance which, in reality, was a calisthenic movement familiar to the everyday life of these young actors, but, as now performed, seemed weird and nerve-trying even to themselves. Its effect upon others was even more powerful and upon John Gilpin, to send him into a shivering fit that alarmed Mrs. Locke.
“Why, Mr. Gilpin, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”
“Seems if—seems if—my last hour’s come! Needn’t tell me—them’s—just—just plain schoolgirls! They—they’re spooks right out the graveyard,sure as preachin’ and I wish—I hadn’t come! And there’s no end of ’em! And it means—somethin’ terr’ble! I wish—do you suppose—Ain’t there a winder some’ers nigh? Is this Hall high up? Could I—could I climb out it?”
The poor little widow was growing very nervous herself. Her companion’s positive terror was infecting her and she felt that if this were her promised “fun” she’d had quite enough of it, and would be as glad as he to desert the gathering.
Suddenly the movement changed. The slowly circling ghosts fell into step with the altered music, which, still a wailing minor, grew fast and faster, until with a crash its mad measure ended. At that instant, and before the lights were turned on, came another most peculiar sound. It was like the patter of small hoofs, the “ih-ih-ihing” of some terrified beast; and all ears were strained to listen while through those open doors came bounding and leaping, as if to escape its own self—What?
From her perch on Dr. Winston’s knees, Miss Millikins-Pillikins identified it as:
“The debbil! The debbil!”
Old John sprang to his feet and shrieked, while, as if attracted by his cry, the horrible object made straight for him and with one vicious thrust of its dreadful head knocked him down.
The lights flashed out. The ghostly wrappings fell from the figures which had been halted by the sudden apparition that had selected poor John Gilpin as its victim, though, in knocking him down it had knocked common sense back into his head. For as he lay sprawled on the floor the thrusts of that demoniac head continued and now, instead of frightening, angered him. For there was something familiar in the action of his assailant. Recovering his breath, he sat up and seized the horns that were prodding his Sunday suit, and yelled:
“Quit that, Baal, you old rascal! Dressin’ up like the Old Boy, be ye? Well, you never could ha’ picked out a closer fit! But I’ll strip ye bare—you cantankerous old goat, you Baal!”
Away flew the mask of the evil spirit which some ingenious hand had fastened to the animal’s head, and up rose such a shout of laughter as made the great room ring. The recent “ghosts” swarmed about the pair, still in masks and costumes, and a lively chase of Baal followed.
The goat had broken away from the irate old man, as soon as might be, and John had risen stiffly to his feet. But his bashfulness was past. Also, his lameness was again forgotten, as one masquerader after another whirled about him, catching his coat skirts or his arm and laughingly daring him:
“Guess who I am!”
He didn’t even try, but entered into the fun with as great zest as any youngster present, and it must be admitted, making a greater noise than any. Around and around the great hall sped the goat, somebody having mischievously closed the doors to prevent its escape; and across and about chased the merrymakers, tossing off their masks to see and careless now who guessed their identity.
“Baal!” “Baal here!” “Who owns him? Where did he come from?” “What makes him so slippery? I wonder if he’s been greased!”
At last answered the farmer:
“I guess I could tell you who owns him, but I’d better not. I don’t want to get nobody into trouble, much as he deserves it.”
“‘He?’ Is it a ‘he’ then and not one of the girls?” demanded Winifred.
But he did not inform her, merely asking when it would be time to bob for apples.
“Because I know they’re prime. They come outDame’s choisest bar’l. Grew on a tree she’ll let nobody touch, not even me.”
“Apples! Apples! My turn first!” cried Florita Sheraton, stooping her fat body above the “caldron” into which some of the fruit had been tossed. But she failed, of course, her frantic efforts to plant her white teeth in any one of the apples resulting only in the wetting of her paper crown and ruff, as well as the ripping of her hastily made “robe.” Then the others crowded around the great kettle, good naturedly pushing first comers aside while but a few succeeded in obtaining a prize. Old John was one of these; so gay and lively that the audience found him the most amusing feature of the entertainment.
Till finally Mrs. Locke gained courage to cross to his side and whisper something in his ear; at which he looked, abashed and with a furtive glance in the direction of the Lady Principal, he murmured:
“Right you be. I ’low I’ve forgot myself and I’m afraid she’d blush to see me so cuttin’ up again. And too, I clean forgot that bag! I’ll step-an’-fetch it right away.”
With his disappearance half the noise and nonsense ended, but more than satisfaction greeted his return, with Jack, the boot-boy, in close attendance. The latter bore in each hand a jug of freshly madesweet cider but his expression was not a happy one, and he kept a watchful eye upon the old man he followed. The latter carried two baskets; one heavy with well cracked nuts, the other as light with its heap of white popped corn. Bowing low to the Lady Principal he remarked:
“With your permission, Ma’am;” then set the articles down beside the “caldron,” clapping his hands to attract the schoolgirls’ attention and bid them gather around his “treat” to enjoy it. Then, stumbling over a fallen mask, he sternly ordered Jack:
“Get to work and clear these things up, and don’t you forget to save Baal’s, for, likely, ’twill be needed again.”
At which the boot-boy’s face turned crimson, though that might have come from stooping.
Nobody waited a second invitation to enjoy the good things that John’s thoughtfulness had provided; but, sitting on the floor around his baskets, they made him act the host in dispensing fair portions to all, a maid having quickly brought plates, nutpicks and cups for their service.
After the feast followed games and dances galore, till the hour grew late for schoolgirls, and the Bishop begged:
“Before we part, my children, please give us a little music. A song from the Minims, a bit fromthe Sevenths on the piano, and a violin melody from our girl from the South. For it is she, really, who is responsible for this delightful party. Now she has coaxed us into trying it once, I propose that we make Hallowe’en an annual junketing affair, and—All in favor of so doing say ‘Aye.’”
After which the “Ayes” and hand claps were so deafening, that the good man bowed his head as if before a storm. Then the room quieted and the music followed; but when it came to Dorothy’s turn she was nowhere to be seen. Girlish cries for “Queenie!” “Miss Dixie!” “Dolly! Dolly Doodles!” “Miss Calvert to the front!” failed to bring her.
“Gone to ‘step-an’-fetch’ her fiddle—or Mr. Gilpin’s, maybe!” suggested Winifred, with a mischievous glance at the old man who sat on the floor in the midst of the girls, gay now as any of them and still urging them to take “just a han’ful more” of the nuts he had been at such pains to crack for them.
But neither Dorothy nor “fiddle” appeared; and the festivities came to a close without her.
“Queer where Queenie went to!” said Florita, walking along the hall toward her dormitory, “and as queer, too, where that goat came from.”
“Seemed to be an old acquaintance of thefarmer’s, didn’t it? He called it ‘Baal,’ as if that was its name; and wasn’t it too funny for words? to see him chasing after it, catching it and letting it slip away so, till Jack caught it and led it away. From the way he acted I believehewas the one who owns it and rigged it up so,” said Ernesta, beside her.
“Well, no matter. I’m so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open! But what a glorious time we’ve had; and what a mess Assembly Hall is in.”
“Who cares? We’re had the fun and now Jack and the scullery boy will have to put it in order for us. Matron’ll see to that. Good night.”
They parted, each entering her own cubicle and each wondering somewhat why Dorothy did not come to hers. Commonly she was the most prompt of all in retiring and this was long past the usual hour. Could they have seen her at that moment their surprise would have been even greater.
Long before, while the feast was at its height, the girl had quietly slipped away.
Despite the fun she had so heartily enjoyed, thoughts of the visit to Gwendolyn’s sick room, which she had made just before it, kept coming into her mind: and her thoughts running thus:
“Gwen was ill, she really was, although Lady Jane seemed to think her only whimsical. Shelooked so unhappy and maybe partly because she couldn’t be in this first Hallowe’en party. It was too bad. I felt as if she must come and when I said so to Winnie she just laughed and answered: ‘Serves her right. Gwendolyn has always felt herself the top of the heap, that nothing could go on just right if she didn’t boss the job. Now she’ll find out that a little “Commoner” like you can do what no “Peer” ever did. Don’t go worrying over that girl, Queen Baltimore. A lesson or two like this will do her good. She’d be as nice as anybody if it wasn’t for her wretched stuck-up-ness. Miss Muriel says it’s no harm to be proud if it’s pride of the right sort. But pride of rank—Huh! How can anybody help where they’re born or who their parents are? Don’t you be silly, too, Dorothy Calvert, and pity somebody who’d resent the pity. I never knew a girl like you. You make me provoked. Never have a really, truly good time because you happen to know of somebody else that isn’t having it. I say again: If the Honorable Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard feels bad because she isn’t in this racket I’m downright glad of it. She has spoiled lots of good times for other girls and ‘turn about’s fair play.’”
“Now, Winnie dear, your ‘bark is worse than your bite’ if I can quote maxims, too. In your heart, down deep, you’re just as sorry forpoor Gwen as I am. Only you won’t admit it.”
“Well, if you think so, all right. You’re a stubborn little thing and once you take a notion into your brain nobody can take it out. ‘Where are you going, my pretty maid? I’m going a studying, sir, she said;’” and tossing an airy kiss in Dorothy’s direction, ran swiftly away.
Yet events proved that, as Winifred had argued, Dorothy’s opinion did not alter. Neither could she be sorry for anyone without trying to help them in some way.
The simple country treat of nuts, popped corn, and cider had proved enjoyable to other schoolmates—why shouldn’t it to Gwendolyn? She’d try it, anyway. So, unnoticed by those around her, Dolly heaped her own plate with the good things, placing a tumbler of cider in the middle and hurried away, or rather glided away, so gently she moved until she reached the doorway. There she ran as swiftly down the long hall toward the west wing and Gwendolyn’s room in it.
Tapping at the door Lady Jane soon opened it, but with finger on lip requesting silence. But she smiled as she recognized who stood there and at the plate of goodies Dorothy had brought. Then she gently drew her in, nodding toward the cot where her daughter seemed asleep.
She was not, however, but had been lying still,thinking of many things and among them her present visitor. She was not surprised to see her and this time was not pained. It seemed to the imaginative invalid that her own thoughts had compelled Dorothy to come, in response to them.
“I’m awake, Mamma. You needn’t keep so quiet.”
“Are you, dearest? Well, that’s good; for here has come our little maid with something tempting for your appetite. A share of the Hallowe’en treat, is it, Dorothy?”
“Yes, Lady Jane, and it’s something different from what we often have. The farmer, Mr. Gilpin, brought it for us girls and I couldn’t bear—I mean I thought Gwendolyn should have—might like, her share, even if—ifIbrought it. I’m sorry the plate is a cracked one, but you see there were so many needed and the maids brought what they could find handiest, I suppose. But—the glass of cider is all right. That’s from the regular table and—and it’s really very sweet and nice.”
Now that she had come poor Dorothy wished that she hadn’t. Lady Jane seemed pleased enough and had promptly turned on a stronger light which clearly showed the face of the girl on the bed. She could talk readily enough to the mother but whenever she glanced toward Gwendolyn her tongue faltered and hesitated woefully. It seemedas if the sick girl’s eyes were still hard and forbidding and their steady stare made her uncomfortable. So she did not speak to the invalid and was promptly retreating when Gwendolyn suddenly asked, yet with apparent effort:
“Mamma, will you please go away for a few minutes? I’ve—I’ve got to speak to Dorothy—alone.”
“Why, certainly, dearest, if you think you’re strong enough. But wouldn’t you better wait another day? Wouldn’t I be able to talk for you?”
“No, no. Oh! no, no. Nobody but I can—Please go—go quick!”
“‘Stand not upon the order of your going but go at once!’” quoted Lady Jane, jestingly.
But she failed to make her daughter smile and went away, warning:
“Don’t talk of that accident again to-night, girls.”
“That’s exactly what I must talk about, Mamma, but you mustn’t care.”
Lady Jane’s heart was anxious as she closed the door behind her and she would have been amazed had she heard Gwendolyn’s exclamation:
“I’ve been a wicked girl! Oh, Dorothy! I’ve been so mean to you! And all the time you show me kindness. Are you trying to ‘heap coals’ on my head?”
“‘Heap coals?’” echoed Dolly, at first not comprehending; then she laughed. “I couldn’t do that. I have none to ‘heap’ and I’d be horrid if I tried. What do you mean?”
“It began the night you came. I made up things about you in my mind and then told them to our ‘set’ for facts. I’d—I’d had trouble with the ‘set’ because they would not remember about—about keeping ourselves apart from those who hadn’t titles. I felt we ought to remember; that if our England had made ‘classes’ we ought to help her, loyally. That was the first feeling, way down deep. Then—then I don’t get liked as I want to be, because I can’t help knowing things about other girls and if they break the rules I felt I ought to tell the teachers. Somehow, even they don’t like that; for the Lady Principal about as plain as called me ‘tale-bearer.’ I hate—oh! I do hate to tell you all this! But I can’t help it. Something inside me makes me, but I’m so miserable!”
She looked the fact she stated and Dorothy’s sympathy was won, so that she begged:
“Don’t do it, then. Just get well and—and carry no more tales and you’ll be happy right away.”
“It’s easy to talk—for you, maybe. For me, I’d almost rather die than own I’ve been at fault—ifit wasn’t for that horrid, sick sort of feeling inside me.”
In spite of herself the listener laughed, for Gwendolyn had laid her hands upon her stomach as if locating the seat of her misery. She asked merrily:
“Is it there we keep our consciences? I never knew before and am glad to find out.”
But Gwendolyn didn’t laugh. She was an odd sort of girl, and always desperately earnest in whatever she undertook. She had made up her mind she must confess to the “Commoner” the things she had done against her; she was sincerely sorry for them now, but she couldn’t make that confession gracefully. She caught her breath as if before a plunge into cold water and then blurted out:
“I told ‘our set’ that you were Dawkins’s niece! I said you were a disgrace to the school and one of us would have to leave it. But Mamma wouldn’t takemeand I couldn’t makeyougo. I got mad and jealous. Everybody liked you, except the girls I’d influenced. The Bishop petted you—he never notices me. Miss Tross-Kingdon treats you almost as lovingly as she does Millikins-Pillikins. All the servants smile on you and nobody is afraid of you as everybody is of me. Dawkins, and sometimes even Mamma, accuses me of a‘sharp tongue’ that makes enemies. But, somehow, I can’t help it. And the worst is—one can’t get back the things one has said and done, no matter how she tries. Then you went and saved my life!”
At this, the strange girl covered her face and began to cry, while Dorothy stared at her, too surprised to speak. Until the tears changed to sobs and Gwendolyn shook with the stress of her emotion. Then, fearing serious results, Dorothy forgot everything except that here was someone in distress which she must soothe. Down on her knees she went, flung her arms around the shaking shoulders, and pleaded:
“Well, you poor dear, can’t you be glad of that? Even if you can never like me isn’t it good to be alive? Aren’t you grateful that somebody who could swim, even poor I, was at the pool to help you out of it that day? Forget it, do forget it, and get well and happy right away. I’ll keep away from you as far as I can and you must forgive me for coming here again just now.”
“Forgive you? Forgive you! Oh! Dorothy Calvert, can you, will you ever forgive me? After all my meanness to you, could you make yourself like me just a little?”
Gwendolyn’s own arms had now closed in eager entreaty about the girl she had injured. Her pridewas humbled at last and completely. But there was no need of further speech between them. They clung together in their suddenly awakened affection, at peace and so happy that neither felt it possible they had ever been at odds.
When, at last, Dorothy drew back and rose, Gwen still clung to her hand, and penitently said:
“But that isn’t all. There’s a lot more to tell that, maybe, will make you despise me worse than ever. I’ve done—”
“No matter what, dearest. You’ve talked quite enough for to-night and Dorothy should be in bed. Bid one another good night, my dears, and meet again to-morrow;” interrupted Lady Jane, who had quietly returned.
So Dorothy departed, and with a happier heart than she had had since her coming to Oak Knowe; for now there was nobody there with whom she was at discord.
But—was there not?
Gayly tripping down the long corridor, humming a merry air and hoping that she hadn’t yet broken the retiring-rule, she stopped short on the way. Something or somebody was far ahead of her, moving with utmost caution against noise, yet himself, or itself, making a peculiar rat-a-tat-tat upon the polished boards.
Instantly Dorothy hushed her light song andslackened her steps. The passage was dimly lighted for it was rarely used, leading as it did to the distant servants’ quarters and ending in a great drying-room above the laundry. Even this drying-room was almost given up to the storage of trunks and other things, the laundry itself being more convenient for all its requirements.
Rumors came back to her of the burglaries which the kitchen-folk had declared had been frequent of late, none more serious than the loss of a dinner provided and the strange rifling of safes and cupboard. Such had happened weeks before, then apparently ceased; but they had begun again of late; with added rumors of strange noises heard at night, and in the quieter hours of the day.
The faculty had tried to keep these fresh rumors from the pupils’ ears, but they had leaked out. Yet no real investigation had been made. It was a busy household, both above and below stairs; and as is usual, what is “everybody’s business is nobody’s” and things were left to run their course.
But now, was the burglar real? And had Dorothy come suddenly upon his track? If she only could find out!
Without fear of consequences to herself and forgetful of that retiring-rule she tip-toed noiselessly in the wake of whatever was in advance, and so came at last to the door of the drying-room. Itstood ajar and whatever had preceded her passed beyond it as the girl came to it.
She also entered, curiosity setting every nerve a-tingle, yet she still unafraid. Stepping behind the open door she waited what next, and trying to accustom her eyes to the absolute darkness of the place. The long row of windows on the outer wall were covered by wooden shutters, as she had noticed from the ground, and with them closed the only light which could enter came through a small scuttle, or skylight in the center of the ceiling.
From her retreat behind the door she listened breathlessly. The rat-a-tat-tat had died away in the distance, whither she now dared not follow because of the darkness; and presently she heard a noise like the slipping of boards in a cattle shed.
Then footsteps returning, swiftly and softly, as of one in bare or stockinged feet. There was a rush past her, the door to which she clung was snatched from her and shut with a bang. This sound went through her with a thrill, and vividly there arose the memory of a night long past when she had been imprisoned in an empty barn, by the wild freak of an old acquaintance of the mountain, and half-witted Peter Piper for sole companion. Then swiftly she felt her way back along the door till her hand was on its lock—which she could not move. Here was a situation suitable, indeed, for any Hallowe’en!
It was long past the hour when, on ordinary nights, Oak Knowe would have been in darkness, relieved only by a glimmer here and there, at the head of some stairway, and in absolute stillness.
But the Hallowe’en party had made everything give way and the servants were up late, putting the great Assembly Hall into the spotless order required for the routine of the next day.
Nut shells and scattered pop corn, apple-skins that had been tossed over the merrymakers’ shoulders to see what initial might be formed, broken masks that had been discarded, fragments of the flimsy costumes, splashes of spilled cider, scattered crumbs and misplaced furniture, made Dawkins and her aids lift hands in dismay as, armed with brooms and scrubbing brushes they came to “clear up.”
“Clear up, indeed! Never was such a mess as this since ever I set foot at Oak Knowe. After the sweepin’ the scrubbin’; and after the scrubbin’ the polishin’, and the chair fetchin’ and—my heart! ’Tis the dear bit lassie she is, but may Ibe further afore Dorothy Dixie gets up another Hallowe’en prank!” grumbled Dawkins, yet with a tender smile on her lips, remembering the thousand and one trifles which the willing girl had done for her.
For Dawkins was growing old. Under her maid’s cap the hair was thin and gray, and stooping to pick up things the girls had carelessly thrown down was no longer an easy task.
The rules against carelessness were stringent enough and fairly well obeyed, yet among three hundred lively girls some rules were bound to be ignored. But from the first, as soon as she understood them, Dorothy had been obedient to all these rules; and it was Dawkins’s pride, when showing visitors through the building to point to Dolly’s cubicle as a model. Here was never an article left out of place; because not only school regulations but real affection for the maid, who had been her first friend at Oak Knowe, made Dorothy “take care.”
Then busy at their tasks, the workers talked of the evening’s events and laughingly recalled the incident of the goat, which they had witnessed from the upper gallery; a place prepared for them by the good Bishop’s orders, that nobody at his great school should be prohibited from enjoying a sight of the pupils’ frequent entertainments.
“But sure, ’tis that lad, Jack, which frets me as one not belongin’ to Oak Knowe,” said Dora, with conviction.
“Not belonging? Why, woman alive, he’s been here longer nor yourself. ’Twas his mother that’s gone, was cook here before thechefand pity for his orphaned state the reason he’s stayed since. But I own ye, he’s not been bettered by his summers off, when the school’s not keepin’ and him let work for any farmer round. I note he’s a bit more prankish an’ disobliging, every fall when he comes back. For some curious reason—I can’t dream what—he’s been terrible chummy with Miss Gwendolyn. Don’t that beat all?” said Dawkins whirling her brush.
“I don’t know—I don’t really know as ’tis. He’s forever drawing pictures round of every created thing, and she’s come across him doin’ it. She’s that crazy for drawing herself that she’s likely took an int’rest in him. I heard her puttin’ notions in his head, once, tellin’ him how ’t some the greatest painters ever lived had been born just peasants like him.”
“Huh! Was that what made him so top-lofty and up-steppin’? When I told him he didn’t half clean the young ladies’ shoes, tossin’ his head like the simpleton he is, and saucin’ back as how he wouldn’t be a boot-boy all his life. I’d find out onethese days whom I’d been tongue-lashin’ so long and’d be ashamed to look him in the face. Huh!” added another maid.
“Well, why bother with such as him, when we’ve all this to finish, and me to go yet to my dormitory to see if all’s right with my young ladies,” answered Dawkins and silence fell, till the task was done and the great room in the perfect order required for the morning.
Then away to her task above hurried good Dawkins and coming to Dorothy’s cubicle found its bed still untouched and its light brightly burning. The maid stared and gasped. What did this mean? Had harm befallen her favorite?
Then she smiled at her own fears. Of course, Dorothy was in the room with little Grace, where the cot once prepared for her still remained because the child had so begged; in “hopes I’ll be sick some more and Dolly’ll come again.” So Dawkins turned off the light and hurried to her reclining chair in the outer hall, where she usually spent the hours of her watch.
But no sooner had she settled herself there than all her uneasiness returned. Twisting and turning on her cushions she fretted:
“I don’t see what’s got into this chair, the night! Seems if I can’t get a comfortable spot in it anywhere. Maybe, it’s ’cause I’m extra tired. Hallowe’enpranks are fun for the time but there’s a deal hard work goes along with ’em. Or any other company fixings, for that matter. I wonder was the little Grace scared again, by that ridic’lous goat? Is that why Dorothy went with her? Where’d the beast come from, anyway? And who invited it to the masquerade? Not the good Bishop, I’ll be bound. Now, what does make me so uneasy! Sure there’s nought wrong with dear little Dixie. How could there be under this safe roof?”
But the longer Dawkins pondered the matter the more restless she grew; till, at last, she felt she must satisfy her mind, even at the cost of disturbing the Lady Principal; and a moment later tapped at her door, asking softly:
“Are you awake, Miss Muriel? It’s Dawkins.”
“Yes, Dawkins, come in. I’ve not been able to sleep yet. I suppose the evening’s care and excitement has tired me too much. What is it you want? Anything wrong in the dormitory?”
“Well, not to say wrong—or so I hope. I just stepped here to ask is Miss Dorothy Calvert staying the night?”
“Staying with Grace? No, indeed, the child has been asleep for hours: perfectly satisfied now that I and so many others have seen the apparition she had, and so proved her the truthful little creature she’d always been.”
That seemed a very long answer to impatient Dawkins and she clipped it short by asking:
“Then, Ma’am, where do you suppose she is?”
“What? Do you mean that she isn’t in her own place?”
“No, Ma’am, nor sign of her; and it’s terr’ble strange, ’pears to me. I don’t like the look of it, Ma’am, I do not.”
“Pooh! don’t make a mystery out of it, my good woman!” replied Miss Tross-Kingdon, yet with a curious flutter in her usually stern voice. Then she considered the matter for a moment, finally directing:
“Go to the hospital wing and ask if she’s there with Gwendolyn. She’s been so sorry for the girl and I noticed her slipping out of Assembly with a plate full of the things Mr. Gilpin brought. I don’t remember her coming back, but she was certainly absent when her violin was asked for. Doubtless, you’ll find her there, but be careful not to rouse any of the young ladies. Then come back and report.”
Dawkins tip-toed away, glad that she had told her anxiety to her mistress. But she was back from her errand before it seemed possible she could be, her face white and her limbs trembling with fear of—she knew not what!
“If it was any girl but her, Ma’am! That keeps the rules better nor any other here!”
“Hush, good Dawkins. She’s all right somewhere, as we shall soon discover. We’ll go below and look in all the rooms, in case she might be ill, or locked in some of them.”
“Yes, yes, Ma’am, we’ll look. Ill she might really be after all them nuts an’ trash, but locked in she can’t be, since never a lock is turned in this whole house. Sure the Bishop wouldn’t so permit, seeing that if it fired any time them that was locked up could not so easy get out. And me the last one down, to leave all in the good order you like.”
“Step softly still, Dawkins. It would take very little to start a panic among our many girls should they hear that anything was amiss.”
Each took a candle from the rack in the hall and by the soft light of these began their search below, not daring to flash on the electric lights whose brilliance might possibly arouse the sleepers in the house. Dawkins observed that the Lady Principal, walking ahead, was shaking, either with cold or nervousness, and, as for herself, her teeth were fairly chattering.
Of course their search proved useless. Nowhere in any of those first floor rooms was any trace of the missing girl. Even closets were examined whileDawkins peered behind the furniture and curtains, her heart growing heavier each moment.
Neither mistress nor maid spoke now, though the former led the way upwards again and silently inspected the dormitories on each floor. Also, she looked into each private room of the older and wealthier pupils, but the result was the same—Dorothy had as completely disappeared as if she had been bodily swallowed up.
Then the aid of the other maids and, even of a few teachers was secured, although that the school work might go on regularly the next day, not many of these latter were disturbed.
At daybreak, when the servants began to gather in the great kitchen, each to begin his daily tasks, the Lady Principal surprised them by her appearance among them. In the briefest and quietest manner possible she told them what had happened and begged their help in the search.
But she was unprepared for the result. A housemaid threw up her hands in wild excitement, crying: “’Tis ten long years I’ve served Oak Knowe but my day is past! Her that went some syne was the wise one. I’ll not tarry longer to risk the health o’ me soul in a house that’s haunted by imps!”
“Nor me! Him that’s snatched off to his wicked place the sweet, purty gell, of the willin’ word an’ friendly smile, ’ll no long spare such as me! A finecollectin’ ground for the Evil One is so big a school as this. I’m leavin’ the dustin’ to such as can do it, but I’m off, Ma’am, and better times for ye, I’m sure!” cried another superstitious creature.
This was plain mutiny. For a moment the lady’s heart sank at the prospect before her, for the panic would spread if not instantly quelled, and there were three hundred hungry girls awaiting breakfast—and breakfast but one feature of the case. Should these servants leave, to spread their untrue tales, new ones would be almost impossible to obtain. Then, summoning her authority, she demanded:
“Silence and attention from all of you. I shall telephone for the constabulary, and any person who leaves Oak Knowe before Miss Calvert is found will leave it for the lock-up. The housemaids are excused from ordinary duties and are to assist thechefin preparing breakfast. The rest of you, who have retained your common sense, are to spread yourselves about the house and grounds, and through every outbuilding till some one of you shall find the girl you all have loved. Leave before then? I am ashamed of your hard hearts.”
With stately dignity the mistress left the kitchen and a much subdued force of helpers behind her. That threat of “the constabulary” was an argument not to be defied.
“Worst of it is, she meant it. Lady Principalnever says a thing she doesn’t mean. So—Well, I suppose I’ll have to stay, then, for who wants to get took up? But it’s hard on a workin’ woman ’t she can’t do as she likes,” muttered the first deserter and set about her duties. Also, as did she so did the others.
Meanwhile how had the night passed with the imprisoned Dorothy? At first with greater anger than fear; anger against the unknown person who had shut that door upon her. Then she thought:
“But of course he didn’t know, whoever it was. I’m sure it was a man or boy, afraid, maybe, to make a noise account of its being late. Yet what a fix I’m in! Nobody will know or come to let me out till Dawkins goes her rounds and that’ll be very, very late, on account of her clearing up the mess we made down in Assembly. My! what a fine time we had! And how perfectly grand that Gwendolyn and I should be friends at last. She kissed me. Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard kissed me! It’s worth even being shut up here alone, behind that spring-locked door, just to be friends. I’m so sleepy. I wish I could find something to put around me and I’d lie right down on this floor and take a nap till somebody lets me out.”
Then she remembered that once she had heard Dawkins telling another maid that there were“plenty more blankets in the old drying-room if her ‘beds’ needed ’em;” and maybe she could find some if she tried.
“This is the very darkest place could ever be, seems if! ouch! that hurt!” said the prisoner aloud, to bolster her own courage, and as she stumbled against a trunk that bruised her ankle. “I’ll take more care.”
So she did: reasoning that people generally piled things against a wall, that is, in such a place, for greater convenience. With outstretched hands she felt her way and at last was rewarded by finding the blankets she sought. Here, too, were folded several cots, that were needed at times, like Commencement, when many strangers were at Oak Knowe. But she didn’t trouble to set up one of these, even if she could have done so in that gloom. But a blanket she could manage, and beside the cots she could feel a heap of them. In a very few minutes she had pulled down several of these and spread them on the floor; and a little later had wrapped them about her and was sound asleep—“as a bug in a rug, like Dawkins says,” her last, untroubled thought. So, though a prisoner, for many hours she slumbered peacefully.
Down in the breakfast-room matters went on as usual. Or if many of the girls and a few of thepupils seemed unduly sleepy, that was natural enough, considering the frivolities and late hours of the night before.
Even the Lady Principal, sitting calmly in her accustomed place, looked very pale and tired; and Winifred, observing this, whispered to her neighbor:
“I don’t believe we’ll get another party very soon. Just look at Miss Tross-Kingdon. She’s as white as a ghost and so nervous she can hardly sit still. I never saw her that way before. The way she keeps glancing toward the doors, half-scared every time she hears a noise, is queer. I wonder if she’s expecting somebody!”
“Likely somebody’s late and she’s waiting to say: ‘Miss’—whoever it is—‘your excuse, please?’ I wonder who ’twill be! and say, look at the Aldrich ten—can you see Dorothy?”
Winifred glanced around and answered, with real surprise: “Why, she’s absent! If it were I nobody’d be astonished, ’cause I always have the same excuse: ‘Overslept.’ But Dolly? Oh! I hope she isn’t sick!”
And immediately the meal was over, Winifred hurried to the Lady Principal and asked:
“Please, Miss Muriel, can you tell me, is Dorothy Calvert ill?”
“Excuse me, Winifred, I am extremely busy,”returned Miss Tross-Kingdon, and hurried away as if she were afraid of being questioned further.
Naturally, Winifred was surprised, for despite her sternness the Lady Principal was invariably courteous; and putting “two and two together” she decided that Dorothy was in trouble of some sort and began a systematic inquiry of all she met concerning her. But nobody had seen the girl or knew anything about her; yet the questioner’s anxiety promptly influenced others and by the time school session was called there was a wide-spread belief that some dreadful thing had befallen the southerner, and small attention was paid to lessons.
It was not until the middle of the morning that Jack-boot-boy appeared in the kitchen, from his room in an outside building, where the men servants slept. He was greeted by reproofs for his tardiness and the news of Dorothy’s disappearance.
“Lost? Lost, you say? How can she be right here in this house? Why, I saw her around all evening. It was her own party, wasn’t it? or hers was the first notion of it. Huh! That’s the queerest! S’pose the faculty’ll offer a reward? Jiminy cricket! Wish they would! I bet I’d find her. Why, sir, I’d make a first rate detective, I would. I’ve been readin’ up on that thing an’ I don’t knowbut it would pay me better’n paintin’, even if I am a ‘born artist,’ as Miss Gwendolyn says.”
“Born nincompoop! That’s what you are, and the all-conceitedest lazybones ’t ever trod shoe leather! Dragging out of bed this time o’ day, and not a shoe cleaned—in my dormitory, anyway!” retorted Dawkins, in disgust.
“Huh! old woman, what’s the matter with you? And why ain’t youinbed, ’stead of out of it? I thought all you night-owls went to bed when the rest of us got up. You need sleep, you do, for I never knowed you crosser’n you be now—which is sayin’ consid’able!”
Dawkins was cross, there was no denying that, for her nerves were sadly shaken by her fears for the girl she had learned to love so dearly.
“You get about your business, boy, at once; without tarryin’ to pass remarks upon your betters;” and she made a vicious dash toward him as if to strike him. He knew this was only pretence, and sidled toward her, mockingly, then, as she raised her hand again—this time with more decision—he cowered aside and made a rush out of the kitchen.
“Well, that’s odd! The first time I ever knew that boy to turn down his breakfast!” remarked thechef, pointing to a heaped up plate at the back of the range. “Well, I shan’t keep it any longer.He’ll have the better appetite for dinner, ha, ha!”
Jack’s unusual indifference to good food was due to a sound he had overheard. It came from somewhere above and passed unnoticed by all but him, but set him running to a distant stairway which led from “the old laundry” to the drying-loft above: and a sigh of satisfaction escaped him as he saw that the door of this was shut.
“Lucky for me, that is! I was afraid they’d been looking here for that Calvert girl, but they haven’t, ’cause the lock ain’t broke and the key’s in my pocket,” said he, in a habit he had of talking to himself.
The noise beyond the door increased, and worried him, and he hurriedly sought the key where he usually carried it. The door could be, and had been, closed by a spring, but it needed that key to open it, as he had boastingly remembered. Unhappy lad! In not one of his many and ragged pockets could that key now be found! While in the great room beyond the noise grew loud, and louder, with each passing second and surely would soon be heard by all the house. Under the circumstances nobody would hesitate to break that hateful lock to learn the racket’s cause; yet what would happen to him when this was discovered?
What, indeed! Yet, strangely enough, in all his trepidation there was no thought of Dorothy.