CHAPTER XI."A NICE ENOUGH LITTLE DOG, AS DOGS GO.""Is there anything else you're wanting, Miss Monica?"And Mary Ann, who had been for the last half-hour engaged in arranging everything for the comfort and convenience of her young mistress, paused as she reached the door of the apartment, half-schoolroom, half-boudoir, which Monica called her "prison-house," and looked towards the occupant of a low couch that had been drawn up to the open window."Oh, yes, you might put those books where I can reach them," and Monica indicated a pile of library books which were lying on a low bookcase in a corner of the room. The maid obeyed, and placed them on a table by Monica's side, on which she kept the various things with which she vainly endeavoured to while away the tedium of the long, long days."Are you sure there's nothing else, miss?""I don't think there is, thanks." And the housemaid was just departing, when she was recalled by the sound of her name."Oh, Mary Ann!""Yes, miss?""Which is your evening out?""Fridays, Miss Monica," said the girl, astonishment expressed in both face and voice. Whatever could be coming to their young lady? Never before had she taken the slightest interest in the outings of her grandmother's domestics!"Let me see, to-day is Friday," mused Monica, "could you do an errand for me while you are out this evening, Mary Ann?""Well, miss, it all depends," replied the under-housemaid, cautiously. "Where would it be, miss?""Oh, it's only to take back these books and get me some fresh ones from Bell's Library," said Monica. "Are you fond of reading, Mary Ann?""La, yes, miss," admitted the girl with a giggle. "Cook says I get right down wropt up in my book, and they have to shake me sometimes, when I'm sittin' readin' in the kitchen of a evening, for I never 'ears no one a-speakin' when I'm deep in my story.""Well, I daresay I could lend you a book, now and again," said Monica graciously. "And you think you could go to Bell's this evening?""Why, yes, Miss Monica, I'll go with pleasure," said the girl, delighted at the prospect of the loan of some books. "Me and Jim (that's my young man, miss," she explained with a simper and a blush) "we generally strolls down High Street, and I can easy pop in and get 'em.""Well, here is a list of half a dozen," said Monica, handing her a paper. "Ask them to give you any three that are in, and tell them who they're for.""Very good, Miss Monica," and Mary Ann finally departed.Left to herself, Monica began to wonder how she should pass the weary hours of that hot June day."I wish Olive hadn't been yesterday, now," she mused; "because there is not the faintest chance of her coming over again to-day; she said she would come to-morrow if she could. Oh, dear! I do think some of the girls might come. I'd rather have Elsa, or even that little Amethyst Drury, than nothing but my own company all day long. I do wish I could have a dog, it would not be so sickeningly dull then." And she heaved a weary sigh of discontent. "What a nuisance this horrid sprain is! You simply can't do anything but read, when you can't move your leg, and I hate needlework. I'm glad I thought of getting Mary Ann to go for some fresh books. Heigho! I wish I hadn't hurried so over the last one yesterday, I should have had some left to read now, but it was so fascinating I couldn't leave off once I began."At that moment a footfall was heard on the richly carpeted stairway, and Mrs. Beauchamp opened the door. Monica looked up in astonishment; it was quite an hour earlier than her grandmother usually paid her morning visit."Good morning, Monica," she said, as she bent and just touched the girl's forehead with cold, undemonstrative lips, "I hope your ankle is going on well.""Oh, I suppose it is, but I wish it had never been ill," replied Monica with grim humour. "I'm sick of lying here.""You have only yourself to blame," was the old lady's unconsoling reply; "if you had not been disobedient, all this would have been avoided." And she waved her slender white hand expressively towards Monica's injured limb.With a pout, Monica looked out of the window, muttering something about "the same old tale."Her grandmother, who was slightly deaf, did not catch the words, but she saw the gesture, and drew her own conclusions. With a sigh, Mrs. Beauchamp wished, for the hundredth time, that she had never undertaken the charge of this troublesome granddaughter; her coming into the prim household had made an end of all its restful quiet, and she never seemed free from anxiety about her. And yet--Conrad had intreated her so earnestly to have his only and much-loved child, and at the time she had seemed tractable enough. But oh! how greatly Monica had altered in eighteen short months; perhaps she had had mistaken ideas about her upbringing; perhaps, if she had been a little less strict in minor matters, things might have gone more smoothly; perhaps old Dr. Marley was right when he said: "It is easier to lead than to drive young people."With these thoughts in her mind, the old lady made a proposition that nearly took Monica's breath away; so unexpected was it."I have been thinking that perhaps you might have a small dog of some kind, Monica; it would be company for you while you are laid up.""Oh, grandmother!" was all the girl could find to say; but the look of intense pleasure which irradiated her whole face, entirely transforming it, was sufficient reward to Mrs. Beauchamp for the very real concession she was making; for, of all things, a mischievous, gambolling dogindoors, who would be sure to bark or whine just when she was having a little nap, was one that she objected to most."Of course, it must be a very nice quiet one, Monica, small and well-trained. Perhaps Richards might hear of one somewhere.""Oh! grandmother, do you remember that day you decided I was to go to school?" Monica questioned, eagerly; "because Tom had just been telling me about a jolly little wire-haired terrier his father wanted a home for, when you sent for me.""I do remember something of the sort, Monica," said the old lady, "but even if the dog were still to be had, it might not be just what we want.""Well, I do wish you would send round to the stables and ask, grandmother," said Monica, coaxingly "because we could have him at once, I expect. We might have to wait ever so long before Richards came across one, he is so dreadfully slow. And itisso dull up here, all alone.""Well, I will see what can be done."And the old lady departed, a comfortable feeling of having given pleasure warming her cold, reserved heart; while Monica reiterated again and again, in words which jarred terribly on her aristocratic nerves: "It's most awfully kind of you, grandmother! Itwillbe jolly to have a dog of my own."To say that Monica waited patiently for results would be untrue. She was far too excited and eager about the matter to do that; but as she was alone, except for a flying visit from Barnes, who brought her some lunch, and as she could not move her leg, her impatience had a salutary amount of check. She could not think how it was her grandmother had ever brought her mind to think of such a thing, knowing well how keenly she objected to animals indoors; it puzzled her a good deal, especially after her disobedience earlier in the week. And Monica grew quite repentant for her misdeeds, as she considered the unexpected favour she was being granted.An hour or so later a peculiar scratching noise along the corridor outside made Monica listen intently, and a second after there came a hesitating knock at the door."Come in," cried Monica, who was all excitement; and the door opened to admit Tom, the little stable-boy, who was leading the cutest looking wire-haired terrier imaginable, and was closely followed by Barnes."Oh, you darling!" cried Monica, who was infatuated with the dog at first sight; "do bring him close, Tom.""Yes, miss," said Tom, with alacrity, pulling his forelock, and grinning all over his bright little face, as he clutched hold of the bit of strap that did duty for a collar, and dragged the terrier up to Monica's couch. "I hope you're better, miss," he ventured to say shyly, for Barnes, of whom he stood greatly in awe, was looking severely at him, and he had been bidden "to mind his behaviour.""Oh, yes," said Monica, carelessly; she had no thoughts to spare on herself just then. "What's his name, Tom? Do put him up beside me.""Be careful, now," said Barnes, a trifle sharply; she was not best pleased at this introduction into the household. "Remember your leg, Miss Monica.""All right, Barnes, don't fidget! See, he's as quiet as possible. Good boy, dear old fellow!" and Monica stroked the ginger coloured head, and looked into the liquid brown eyes which had a wistful expression in them. He pricked up his ears at the tones of endearment, and licked her hands in response."'E 'ave took to you, an' no mistake, miss," said Tom, with huge delight. "Jack 'e 'ave been called, miss," he added, in answer to Monica's query, "but you'll find 'im a grander name, miss, now.""No, I think Jack will do very well," said Monica, and the little dog, who knew by her fondling that he was being loved and made much of, gave a little grunt of satisfaction, and curled himself round on the couch beside his new mistress."Isn't he sweet, Barnes?""Oh, he's a nice enough little dog, as dogs go, Miss Monica, but I have no particular fancy for them," was the maid's somewhat grudging reply. And then she added: "Now then, my boy, you'd better be off to your work again.""Yes'm. Good mornin', miss," stammered Tom, in confusion, for Barnes' repelling tones made him feel as if he had done something wrong."Oh, good-bye, Tom. I'm awfully glad to have Jack," said Monica, with a bright smile, which made the little lad feel at ease again, and remained in his memory for many a day. "I shall be coming out on the lawn in a few days' time, and then you must come round and see him."The little newcomer proved an endless source of pleasure and amusement to Monica; he had such quaint ways, and made himself thoroughly happy and contented in his new home. Even Mrs. Beauchamp was obliged to confess that he was no trouble; he spent hours curled up on the rug which was thrown over Monica's knees, as if he had been accustomed to an invalid mistress all his life."You wait until this tiresome sprain is well," Monica would often say to him, "and then you shall have a very different existence, Jack."The old doctor made great friends with him when he came to see his patient the next morning, and went off chuckling with pleasure over the result of his plain-speaking to Mrs. Beauchamp, a few days before."She'll get on fast enough now," he said to himself, as he trotted down the drive; "young folk want young things about them, and up there," with a suggestive glance backward at the stately residence he had just left, "they are all as old as Methuselah. She looked a totally different being this morning, from the sulky, discontented girl I saw last time. But I don't deny she's a handful--takes after her mother, I suppose. Conrad was as nice a fellow as ever breathed, but I never had much of a fancy for his wife, poor thing; she was too much of a woman of the world for old Henry Marley. But there, he isn't, by any means, all he ought to be." And the dear old doctor sighed as he realised how far short he was of being a true copy of the Great Example.The doctor had not long left, when a footman called at Carson Rise, with a basket containing some magnificent peaches and hot-house flowers, "with Mrs. Howell's compliments, and she would be glad to know how the young lady was."Mrs. Beauchamp was out for a drive, so the parlourmaid came up to Monica for a message."Oh, Harriet, how lovely!" cried the girl; "do take them out carefully while I write a little note to send back. How very kind of Mrs. Howell.""The same lady has sent every day to enquire for you, miss," said the maid, who was very much impressed by the grandeur of the Howell livery, and the importance of the individual who wore it."Has she really? No one has mentioned it before," said Monica; "I ought to have been told." And there was a suggestion of displeasure in her tones."Mrs. Beauchamp knew, miss, of course, and so did Barnes," Harriet hastened to say, in defence of herself."Very well, Harriet, it was not your fault," said Monica, and she busied herself in writing a little girlish note of thanks, which brought tears of pleasure and gratification to the eyes of the good-natured, motherly woman who received it, and then slipped it into her pocket for fear her tyrannical young daughter should come across it, and make fun of it. For Lily Howell had not yet grown reconciled to the idea of "thatMonica Beauchamp" getting into her home, and prying into everything, and then going off to make fun of all the mistakes she knew her mother must have made.There had been a great scene upon her return home, on the Monday evening, and she had exclaimed long and loudly against the fate which had allowed such an unfortunate thing to come to pass.Mrs. Howell, instead of severely reprimanding her daughter for being so insulting and rude, had wept feebly, and bowed beneath the angry girl's storm of words; but in her heart she treasured the remembrance of the kind words and very real gratitude of a daughter of the aristocracy to a poor, common-place woman, such as she was allowed no opportunity of forgetting that she, Caroline Howell, was.CHAPTER XII."A HUNGRY FEELING IN MY BRAIN.""What do you think of this?" said Monica, that same Saturday afternoon, as she pointed to Jack, who was lying curled up on her rug.And Olive was astounded, as her friend knew she would be, at such an unexpected sight."Oh! isn't he a dear fellow?" she cried, rapturously, patting his head, and playing with his well-shaped ears, as Jack first sniffed enquiringly at the boots and dress of his young mistress's friend, and then, with a wag of his stumpy bit of tail, sat down on the floor at her feet, and rested his head against her knees. "He is going to like me at once.""Of course, he is," said Monica; "it will be Jack's business to like all my friends and hate all my enemies.""Oh, Monica, I don't think you've got any enemies!""Haven't I?" enquired Monica quizzically; "what about Lily Howell?""Oh, I forgot her," replied the other merrily; "and yet I ought not to have, for she's been in such a temper all the week. She's tried every way she can to get Elsa and me into trouble, and when she finds she can't manage it, she's in a worse tantrum than ever. I can't think why she's in such a mood," continued Olive, meditatively, "unless it is----""Oh, I expect she's huffy because Mr. Howell took me into his house," interrupted Monica, "and she wasn't at home to see all that went on. But I don't care a straw for her, or what she thinks; she's too common and vulgar to think about. Now her mother is the dearest old creature," she went on, in quite a different tone; "she was as kind and nice as possible. And Harriet tells me she's sent every day to ask how I am, and it was she who sent those lovely peaches and flowers. Do have a peach, Olive; they're awfully nice."And Monica, taking one herself, pushed the plate containing them nearer to her friend."How nice of her!" said Olive, taking a bite of the luscious fruit, while Jack looked up to ascertain whether she was eating anything that he could share. "No, you won't like this, old boy," she said, with a merry laugh."He can beg beautifully," said Monica. "When we've eaten these, I'll put him through all his tricks."A merry quarter of an hour passed in watching Jack beg, and "trust for it," and "die," and "give three cheers for the king." Then, when he was tired, and lay curled up asleep on Monica's couch again, the two girls had a thorough good chat about everything dear to their school-girl hearts, until a clock striking the hour of four warned Olive that she must be going.Monica begged her to stay to tea with her, saying: "Grandmother quite expects you to."But, much as Olive would have liked it, she was obliged to refuse, as she had promised her mother to meet Kathleen and the children at a quarter past, at a certain place, so as to walk home together."Oh, there's heaps more I wanted to ask," said Monica. "I never dreamt but that you would stay to tea. What did Fräulein say to my being away yesterday? There will be no chance now of my coming out top in German, and that's the only thing I had a shadow of a chance about." And Monica looked rueful."Oh, she was very sorry about your ankle. She had heard from the other mistresses, I expect, for when I tried to explain she said: 'No, yes, but that is ver' sad!' in her broken English. You know how she says it; I can't imitate her properly," said Olive. "But, I say, Monica, you won't be away long, will you? Surely not three weeks?" And Olive's bright face assumed a dismal expression at the thought of being so long without her friend."Dr. Marley said this morning it might be better before then, but not fit for school. It is a bore; I wish that old bicycle was further." And the girl groaned."So do I," acquiesced Olive sympathetically; neither of them apparently taking into consideration that the bicycle was quite the least guilty of everything and everybody concerned."Well, I must go now, but I'll come over as often as I can next week.""Not to-morrow?""Why, that's Sunday!" said Olive, in astonishment."What of that?" queried Monica."Why, there's no time on Sundays: we go to church twice, and to Miss Grant's class in the afternoon. Besides, mother doesn't let us go for walks on Sundays.""What a funny idea! I never go, because there's nothing to go for; but I don't think grandmother would mind. She dozes all the afternoon, and I read. Oh, that reminds me: here is the book I promised to lend you, Olive," and she drew it from under her cushions."'A Cruel Fate';" Olive read the title aloud, and glanced at the closely printed pages. "It doesn't lookveryinteresting, Monica.""Oh, it is, awfully. You can't think how it fascinated me.""I'm sure mother would not think it was a nice book," she said doubtfully."Oh, fiddlesticks!" was Monica's rather rude reply. "You take it home and read it on the quiet, and if you don't want to borrow some more next time you come, I shall be very much mistaken. Your mother can't expect to keep you tied to her apron-strings always." And there was again that suggestion of a sneer underlying the words which Olive could not stand.A girl with higher principles would have said: "No, thank you, Monica; I would rather not have anything to do with it." And if Olive Franklyn had had the courage to refuse the evil that afternoon, she would have saved herself much sorrow. But she weakly gave in, and slipped the book into her string-bag, well knowing that she was flatly disobeying her mother's commands.Poor Olive! She carried more away with her from Carson Rise than the novel; already the poison was beginning its deadly work. How could she manage so that not even Elsa should know she had it in her possession? She was very differently situated from Monica: in their large family they had no secret drawers or private hiding-places, everything was common property, and she could depend on nowhere being absolutely safe.She was so deep in thought about it, that she almost ran into Kathleen and the children before she knew they were approaching her, and she was so preoccupied during the walk home that Kathleen teased her about having left her tongue at Carson Rise. She pulled herself together then, but alas! the same complaint became an habitual one, as time went on and Olive Franklyn, careless, light-hearted, and fun-loving, but hitherto always open and frank, became moody, abstracted, peevish, and discontented.That first book was but the forerunner of many more; she became absolutely possessed by an insatiable thirst for novel-reading. Indeed, the girl became so engrossed in them that ordinary, everyday life had no attraction for her, the distorted views of life which the novels gave her totally unfitting her for both school and home associations.Lois and Kathleen noticed the change in their young sister and puzzled over it, but their mother put it down to Monica being laid up."See how anxious she is to go over to see her friend as often as possible," said Mrs. Franklyn; "it is evident that they are very fond of one another, and she misses her companionship. It will be all right when Monica gets back to school; Olive will be her usual happy, contented self again then."And as they had no inkling of the land of unrealities in which the girl was living, her sisters accepted the mother's verdict, and good-naturedly made it possible for Olive to go over to Carson Rise quite frequently, little dreaming that, each time she went, fresh fuel was added to the flame.Monica, who, at first, had smiled with satisfaction when she found her prediction come true, began to be a little alarmed as time went on and Olive kept continually asking for a fresh book. She was rather a slow reader herself, but Olive seemed literally to devour them."Howdoyou manage to find time to read such a lot?" she said incredulously one Monday afternoon, when they were sitting in a rustic summer-house, in a shady corner of the sheltered garden, and Olive had admitted that she had already finished a three-volume novel that she had taken home only the Saturday before. "I can't think how you do it!""I can't leave off," said Olive. "As it happens, Elsa is grinding hard for her music exam., so she spends hours in the drawing-room practising, and that leaves me the 'den' pretty much to myself. But if she weren't, I should justhaveto make opportunities somehow, for I am perfectly wretched when I can't have a read.""But I thought your people objected to novel-reading. Do none of them ever catch you at it? and how do you manage to do your home-work?" said Monica, still incredulous."No, they haven't yet; but I live in dread of discovery every day," confessed her friend. "As to lessons, I manage to scrape along somehow.""Well, I'm almost sorry I ever lent you a book," said Monica, who could detect a subtle difference in Olive, and felt uneasy."Oh, Monica, how often and often I've wished that I'd never borrowed that first one!" said the poor infatuated girl; "and, sometimes, I think I'll never touch a novel again. But I always have to; I can't seem to live without reading them now. There's a hungry feeling in my brain. I can't explain what I mean, but it feels quite empty, somehow, until I have a good read, and then I feel better. Don't you ever get sensations like that?" and the poor child looked pitifully at her companion."No, I can't say I do," admitted Monica; "and I hope I never shall. I like reading, certainly, and there is more excitement in a regular novel than there is in ordinary little goody-goody books. But I'm not so keen on them as I was; they're rather horrid sometimes. But I think you'd better give them up, Olive.""Oh, I can't, Monica!""Well, I really don't think I shall lend you any more."But Olive pleaded so pitifully for just one, that Monica reluctantly gave in, saying: "That's the only one I've got that you haven't had, so you must make the most of it. I'm not sure that I'm going to have any more.""Oh, Monica,do, to please me!" pleaded Olive. "I'm not at all sure. By the way, did, you bring back those you've finished, because they must go to the library.""No, I couldn't; they would have made rather a large parcel, and I had no way of hiding it, especially as Elsa and Paddy came half-way with me.""Well, take good care no one spies them," cautioned Monica. "I don't want to have the credit of leading you astray."And Olive promised to be careful, as indeed she always was. As a matter of fact, not the least of the sins to be laid at the door of her novel-reading on the sly was the deceit she had to practise in order to hide the books.Three weeks had already sped since the half-term holiday, and still Monica could scarcely bear to stand on her ankle, so severe had been the sprain. There was little likelihood of her being back at school for quite another week or ten days; indeed, Mrs. Beauchamp had hinted that it seemed hardly worth while for her to go again that term, at all. But the kindly old doctor, seeing that Monica's heart was set upon it, had said: "Oh, yes, it will do her good to rub up against the other girls for a week or two. The holidays will be quite long enough, seven weeks or more." And so it was settled that, as soon as the ankle was really to be depended upon, Monica should go back to finish out the term.She was thinking of it a few days later, as she kept her grandmother company in the drawing-room after tea. The old lady had seemed much less stiff lately, and Monica had begun to think that she might grow fond of her in time. She was so kind, too, about Jack, who was allowed to be wherever his mistress was, even in the drawing-room; certainly he was a particularly good dog. He was lying on the hearth-rug now, fast asleep, while Mrs. Beauchamp was knitting some fleecy wool into a wrap; and Monica, who was no longer compelled to keep her leg up, so long as she did not walk on it much, was lazily, and by no means elegantly, lounging in the depths of an easy chair.Suddenly Jack pricked up his ears, and gave a short, sharp little bark, there was the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and the next minute "Miss Franklyn" was announced.Mrs. Beauchamp greeted the visitor cordially. She had met Lois once before and had been prepossessed by the gentle tones and ladylike bearing of the doctor's eldest daughter.Monica jumped up hastily, with a pleased exclamation, but she soon saw that something was wrong. There was a stern expression about Lois' lips which was not habitual to her, and she had brought a parcel, which Monica could see only too well contained books.She scarcely responded to Monica's, "How do you do, Miss Franklyn?" but turned to Mrs. Beauchamp and began to explain her errand without delay."I am very sorry to have to draw your attention to these books, Mrs. Beauchamp," she said, laying a three-volume novel and another library book on an octagonal table beside her. "It seems that for some weeks--all the time your granddaughter has been laid up, at any rate--she has been lending Olive books of this description. I do not know whether Monica has your permission to read them, but it has been one of my dear mother's strictest rules that none of us should read any novel, except standard works, until we had left school; then we might do so if we wished. As it happens, neither my sister Kathleen, nor myself, has the slightest inclination for literature ofthatkind," and here Lois glanced contemptuously at the books, "but Olive seems to have been thoroughly infatuated with them. We have all noticed a great change in her lately, but could not account for it, until, by mere accident this afternoon, three of these books were found by one of the children, carefully hidden in an old doll's house which is rarely used. Seeing that it was useless to deny it, Olive has confessed to my mother the unhappy deceit that she has been practising, and produced the remaining book from her bedroom. She says she has been most miserable all the time, but was evidently frightfully fascinated, or she could never have been so wicked as to deceive our mother, who is very grieved and upset about it all. However, Olive has at length promised solemnly not to read any more of this kind of book, and I believe she will keep her word, unless she is tempted. That is why I have come to ask you to forbid Monica lending any more to Olive, if she is allowed to read them herself."Lois paused, and Mrs. Beauchamp, after a glance at the title-pages of the books, looked severely at Monica, who had sat perfectly still, with her eyes fixed on Lois, during the recital of Olive's wrong-doing."How came you to get books of this description from the library, Monica?""You never forbade me to, grandmother," murmured the girl, more to gain time than anything else, for she had resolved to make a clean breast of it."More I did," admitted Mrs. Beauchamp ruefully. "I am afraid I never realised that you would choose this style of literature; I have thought of you as a mere child, still. Oh, dear me, what a terrible responsibility girls are!" And the old lady sighed feebly, and looked at Lois for assistance."Perhaps Monica will ask your advice in future," was all Lois could say, for she felt she was in a somewhat difficult position. "At any rate, for my mother's sake, I am sure she will promise not to help Olive to disobey her again."The kind tone was too much for Monica, and she said impulsively: "Oh, Miss Franklyn, I am so awfully sorry! Olive never would have read one if I hadn't persuaded her to; she knew she ought not. I would give anything, now, not to have lent them to her. Indeed, last time she was here I told her so, and said I was half-inclined not to read any more myself."[image]"'OH, MISS FRANKLYN, I AM SO AWFULLY SORRY!'""I don't know what Mrs. Beauchamp's opinion may be," said Lois, to whose face Monica's honest avowal had brought a pleased expression, "but if you tookmyadvice, Monica, you would make up your mind to bequiteinclined to let them severely alone, for the next few years, at all events.""I will," Monica replied, without hesitation; the reality in her tones betokening steadfastness of purpose."I am very glad," said Lois, and there was distinct approval in the expressive glance her grey eyes flashed on Monica, as she rose. "I will tell Olive of your resolve, and it will help her to be true to her promise."Mrs. Beauchamp, looking alternately from one to the other, as the conversation seemed to be carried on without her help, suddenly realised that the question was settled, and she had no battle to fight with Monica. She could not help thinking how differently she would have gone to work, and how unsuccessful she would, in all probability, have been."I am sure, Miss Franklyn, I hope that your mother will accept my apologies for all this trouble. There seems no end to the anxiety my granddaughter causes every one!""Itwasan anxiety to her, I must confess," said Lois, "but now that Olive has told her everything, she feels easier about it. She has such an abhorrence of anything approaching deceit.""Of course," murmured Mrs. Beauchamp."Can Olive come to tea to-morrow, grandmother?" Monica's face was pleading."I really don't know, I'm sure. I hardly think you deserve----" began the old lady hesitatingly."May I interrupt?" said Lois, quickly. "I was to tell you that my mother felt that the most suitable punishment she could inflict upon Olive was to forbid her to see Monica again until she returns to school, whenever that may be."And although Monica said, "Oh!" and looked disconsolate, she could not but admit that the punishment was a just one.CHAPTER XIII."A NICE SCRAPE SHE'LL GET INTO!""Monica Beauchamp is back at school."The news soon spread, until all the Fourth Form girls were aware of the fact, and, for the most part, it was received with acclamation, for the bright, high-spirited girl had been missed during the month she had been away.There was only one little clique who regretted her return, and that was Lily Howell and her votaries who, knowing she had a rooted objection to the new-comer, took their cue from their leader, and looked upon Monica as an interloper; but it must be confessed that, personally, they had no fault to find with her, except that the absolute indifference with which she treated them annoyed them terribly.During recreation, when Olive would fain have had Monica all to herself, several of the girls, in other forms besides her own, gathered round her, and made quite a fuss of her. This of course did not escape Lily's notice, who, remembering one occasion when she had returned to school after a slight illness, and no one had expressed any pleasure at seeing her back again, was frightfully jealous of Monica.But the chief reason why she was sorry to see Monica at school once more was because she knew that, with Monica in the arithmetic class, her own chance of coming out first in the examination was decidedly lessened. There were only two studies which Monica had any real interest in, and those were German and arithmetic; the former because she had a very fair idea of the language, and the latter she thoroughly enjoyed and consequently took pains with.Up to the half-term, Monica had kept her place steadily, much to Lily's mortification, who had always been praised for her neatly worked examples, until Monica appeared upon the scene, with her less tidy, but far more quick and correct work. But the month she had been away provided Lily with a grand opportunity of getting ahead; and she had worked with a zeal, worthy of a better cause, to endeavour to supplant Monica.Great was her chagrin, then, to find upon a new rule being explained by Miss Churchill, that Monica was well acquainted with it, and had worked out a given example, and got the right answer, before the problem had thoroughly penetrated Lily's brain. She did not know that Monica had spent many hours amusing herself with herHamblin Smithwhile she had been laid up at home, and so had got far ahead of what the Fourth Form was still doing."Very good indeed, Monica! You have worked that out well," commended Miss Churchill, as she looked at the sum; and Monica flushed with pleasure at words of praise such as she seldom had received before.During that last fortnight of the summer term, she tried her very hardest to have a neat exercise book, as well as correct answers, but it was uphill work for Monica, whose home-lessons were invariably blotted and smudged, and the lines anything but straightly ruled. However, Miss Churchill, quick to notice and commend real effort, encouraged her several times with a word of praise. None of these escaped Lily Howell's ears, and she felt more convinced than ever that Monica was deliberately aiming at supplanting her in the forthcoming examination. No such idea had entered Monica's head; she was merely actuated by a desire to please Miss Churchill, and arithmetic was the only subject (of those taught by her) for which Monica had any liking. In English subjects and science she was a terrible pupil, and she was continually getting into trouble on account of carelessly written, or insufficiently learnt, work; but as it was just at the end of the term, and she had been away so long, she was let off more easily than she really deserved.At length the examination week dawned, and those girls who were keen about their place in the class list spent all their spare time in cramming. Amethyst Drury, whose talents lay in the direction of English history and geography, was continually on the look out for some one to hear her say her "dates," and ask her questions about Africa, the country they were to be examined upon that term. Elsa, who, among others, was what their teacher called an "all-round girl," knew it was hopeless to try to look up everything, so she depended upon the knowledge she had gained during the term; by far the wisest plan. Olive, who seldom did well in any subject, on account of carelessness and inattention, expected to "get along somehow"; the only distinction she ever obtained was for drawing, and as she certainly had a real gift in that direction she was universally acknowledged to be the artist of the class.It would be impossible, as well as unnecessary, to describe in detail the varied experiences of the examination week. Suffice it to say that the questions, according to the girls' opinions, were "harder than ever," and the candidates were none too hopeful when they gave up their papers, after a couple of hours' work upon each subject; somehow just the questions they had made sure Miss So-and-So would set had not been included, and the very things they had fondly hoped would not be required had been given a prominent place! But that is an experience common to all time, and by no means peculiar to the girls of that Fourth Form.The arithmetic examination was almost the last on the list. And most of the girls who had expended their energies on previous subjects looked with dismay at the long list of difficult examples. Olive glanced at the others to see what they thought of it, but Elsa was beginning to write steadily, and Monica, catching her eye, gave her a reassuring smile; it seemed rather a nice paper to her. Amethyst, who was no mathematician, was biting the end of her penholder and looking frantic.Olive was just going to dip her pen in the ink and begin to inscribe her name elaborately on the top sheet of the ruled paper before her, when something made her look in Lily Howell's direction just in time to see an ugly expression of malignant jealousy sweep over her face, as she observed Monica steadily applying herself to answer the questions which appalled her rival."There'll be awful ructions in that quarter, if Monica comes out top, as I do hope she will," soliloquised Olive, and then a reproving glance from Miss Churchill warned her to get on with her work.For an hour no sound was heard but the scratching of pens and the rustling of paper, except now and then when a long-drawn sigh escaped the lips of one or other of the girls, as she realised her inability to solve a difficult problem.By that time Olive had come to the end of her resources and could do no more, so she fastened her papers together and then began to look about at the other girls with a view to seeing how they were getting on. Her desk was in one corner of the room, and Monica (who long since had had to be moved to a distance from Olive, on account of whispering) was in the centre of the second row quite near the front. Lily Howell and her ally, Maggie Masters, were next to each other in the opposite corner from Olive's.A glance at Monica showed her to be still hard at work over her paper, so Olive turned her attention elsewhere. As she looked across at Lily, their eyes met, and Olive turned away quickly, for she did not want to get into trouble with Miss Churchill, who might think they were communicating with each other in some way; but a peculiar expression she had seen in Lily's light grey orbs impelled her to look again a few seconds later, and then what she saw horrified her, and her eyes seemed rooted to the spot! For Lily was positively making copious use of the contents of some little note-book or paper, (Olive could not detect which) that was cleverly hidden, on the desk, by Maggie's pencil-box, from Miss Churchill's view."The horrid, mean, hateful sneak!" Olive, in her anger and contempt could not find enough opprobrious epithets. "She's got all her tables, and a whole lot of hints copied out, I do believe, and of course, now she'll go and beat Monica; but I'll be even with her! A nice scrape she'll get into!" And Olive chuckled to herself at the thought of what was in store. "Perhaps she'll be expelled, and a good job, too. I'd better nudge Gipsy, and make her see, in case the sneak goes and declares she didn't cheat."Olive glanced over into the other corner again, but--nothing wrong was to be seen! All trace of the notes had vanished, and Lily was neatly ruling her manuscript paper as if no such thing as cheating had ever entered her head!"Oh, you wretch!" And Olive felt as if she could have done anything to her, so exasperated was she to think that she had been "done"; for not once again, during the time that remained for the arithmetic paper, did she catch a glimpse of the missing paper. At length the gong sounded, and whether completed or not, the girls had to fasten their sheets together and hand the papers in to Miss Churchill.They were glad enough to stretch their cramped limbs, and let their tongues loose during the recreation that followed, in discussing the questions and comparing their answers. Olive, of course, told Monica what she had seen Lily doing, and how vexed she was to think she could not prove it to Miss Churchill, if she were to tell her."Oh, let it be," said Monica, who loathed telling tales; "she'll be so mad if you tell, and she'll be sure to declare it wasn't a crib.""I shall tell if she comes out top."And Monica could not persuade her otherwise."We shall know to-morrow," said Olive as they entered the school door.But in less than five minutes after the words had escaped her lips, part of the truth had come to light, and it happened in this way.Lily (who was under the impression that her neat little scheme for aiding her memory had been quite unobserved by any one except Maggie, who had benefited by it, too), already, in imagination, saw her own name at the head of the list. But she thought it would be just as well to make assurance doubly sure, by securing Monica's downfall, if it were possible, in case she should be perilously near. So, as she passed up to the desk with her paper, taking care to be the last girl who filed out, she very quietly dropped her little paper of tables, etc., on the floor of Monica's desk, in such a manner as to make it appear as if it had slipped off Monica's lap, when she rose to go out."Now we shall be quits!" was her amiable thought, as she went with the rest into the playground. She bound Maggie, with promises of many good things, to absolute secrecy, and returned to the classroom to await developments.The girls had no sooner taken their places than they became aware that something was wrong! The head-mistress Miss Buckingham came in with a very stern expression on her face, and Miss Churchill seemed on the verge of tears."I am grieved to tell you that there is a cheat--yes, acheat," and Miss Buckingham repeated the words with scornful emphasis, "amongst you girls of the Fourth Form. Miss Churchill found this paper, containing arithmetical tables and various other information, under one of the desks when you had left the classroom. I desire that girl, who has sought to secure a good place in the examination list by such despicable means to stand up in her place."A furtive glance from Lily, who was as white as a ghost, revealed the fact that the head-mistress was looking straight at Monica, and the real culprit breathed freely, and the colour came back to her cheeks. She did not know that Olive's gaze was riveted on her, or she would not have felt so easy in her mind as she did!"Come, stand up," repeated Miss Buckingham, and Monica began to feel uncomfortable. Why did the head-mistress look so persistently ather, when it was Lily Howell who was the culprit."Well, I am sorry she will not confess it herself," said the calm, cold voice of the head of the school; "but Monica Beauchamp is the cheat!""I'mnot!""Sheisn't!"The two disclaimers burst simultaneously from the lips of Monica and Olive, who were aghast at this fresh piece of trickery, and could not imagine how it had come to pass."Olive Franklyn, sit down. Now, Monica, what have you to say in defence of yourself?""I know nothing whatever about it; I would scorn such a mean trick. Miss Churchill knows I would," and Monica looked reproachfully at the little mistress, who had been a sad and silent spectator, so far."I cannot believe you would cheat, Monica, but----" and she paused significantly.Meanwhile, Olive had been frantically trying to make Monica see her, but failing to do so, she asked permission to speak, and told what she had seen on Lily's desk.But both Lily and Maggie stoutly denied having had anything of the kind in their possession, and, as no other girl seemed to have observed it, Miss Churchill was reluctantly compelled to think that Olive, in championing her friend's cause, was drawing on her imagination. The figures and words on the paper were all in printing hand, so that no one's writing was recognisable.No more light being thrown on the matter by further questioning, Miss Buckingham left the classroom, saying: "I shall not decide upon the punishment to be given until to-morrow morning, by which time I sincerely hope that the girl, whose conscience must be accusing her, will be ready to make confession."In her own mind, Miss Buckingham was of opinion that Monica Beauchamp was entirely innocent; and she could not but feel that suspicion strongly rested upon Lily Howell, although the latter had feigned entire ignorance of the matter; for her changing colour belied her words.The truth was arrived at in a singular and indisputable way after all.When correcting the arithmetic papers, late that afternoon, in the teacher's room, Miss Churchill found some most astonishing blunders in Lily Howell's calculations. For some time she was mystified, and then it dawned upon her what had happened."Why, the girl's cubic measure is all wrong. No less than three times she has put down 1278 cubic inches instead of 1728, when reckoning a cubic foot. It is curious how she came to transpose the numbers? I wonder----"She hastened across the hall to Miss Buckingham's room, and upon looking at the "crib," she saw, with a curious sense of satisfaction (for she felt sure Monica was innocent) that underneath "Solid or Cubic Measure" the first line, was
CHAPTER XI.
"A NICE ENOUGH LITTLE DOG, AS DOGS GO."
"Is there anything else you're wanting, Miss Monica?"
And Mary Ann, who had been for the last half-hour engaged in arranging everything for the comfort and convenience of her young mistress, paused as she reached the door of the apartment, half-schoolroom, half-boudoir, which Monica called her "prison-house," and looked towards the occupant of a low couch that had been drawn up to the open window.
"Oh, yes, you might put those books where I can reach them," and Monica indicated a pile of library books which were lying on a low bookcase in a corner of the room. The maid obeyed, and placed them on a table by Monica's side, on which she kept the various things with which she vainly endeavoured to while away the tedium of the long, long days.
"Are you sure there's nothing else, miss?"
"I don't think there is, thanks." And the housemaid was just departing, when she was recalled by the sound of her name.
"Oh, Mary Ann!"
"Yes, miss?"
"Which is your evening out?"
"Fridays, Miss Monica," said the girl, astonishment expressed in both face and voice. Whatever could be coming to their young lady? Never before had she taken the slightest interest in the outings of her grandmother's domestics!
"Let me see, to-day is Friday," mused Monica, "could you do an errand for me while you are out this evening, Mary Ann?"
"Well, miss, it all depends," replied the under-housemaid, cautiously. "Where would it be, miss?"
"Oh, it's only to take back these books and get me some fresh ones from Bell's Library," said Monica. "Are you fond of reading, Mary Ann?"
"La, yes, miss," admitted the girl with a giggle. "Cook says I get right down wropt up in my book, and they have to shake me sometimes, when I'm sittin' readin' in the kitchen of a evening, for I never 'ears no one a-speakin' when I'm deep in my story."
"Well, I daresay I could lend you a book, now and again," said Monica graciously. "And you think you could go to Bell's this evening?"
"Why, yes, Miss Monica, I'll go with pleasure," said the girl, delighted at the prospect of the loan of some books. "Me and Jim (that's my young man, miss," she explained with a simper and a blush) "we generally strolls down High Street, and I can easy pop in and get 'em."
"Well, here is a list of half a dozen," said Monica, handing her a paper. "Ask them to give you any three that are in, and tell them who they're for."
"Very good, Miss Monica," and Mary Ann finally departed.
Left to herself, Monica began to wonder how she should pass the weary hours of that hot June day.
"I wish Olive hadn't been yesterday, now," she mused; "because there is not the faintest chance of her coming over again to-day; she said she would come to-morrow if she could. Oh, dear! I do think some of the girls might come. I'd rather have Elsa, or even that little Amethyst Drury, than nothing but my own company all day long. I do wish I could have a dog, it would not be so sickeningly dull then." And she heaved a weary sigh of discontent. "What a nuisance this horrid sprain is! You simply can't do anything but read, when you can't move your leg, and I hate needlework. I'm glad I thought of getting Mary Ann to go for some fresh books. Heigho! I wish I hadn't hurried so over the last one yesterday, I should have had some left to read now, but it was so fascinating I couldn't leave off once I began."
At that moment a footfall was heard on the richly carpeted stairway, and Mrs. Beauchamp opened the door. Monica looked up in astonishment; it was quite an hour earlier than her grandmother usually paid her morning visit.
"Good morning, Monica," she said, as she bent and just touched the girl's forehead with cold, undemonstrative lips, "I hope your ankle is going on well."
"Oh, I suppose it is, but I wish it had never been ill," replied Monica with grim humour. "I'm sick of lying here."
"You have only yourself to blame," was the old lady's unconsoling reply; "if you had not been disobedient, all this would have been avoided." And she waved her slender white hand expressively towards Monica's injured limb.
With a pout, Monica looked out of the window, muttering something about "the same old tale."
Her grandmother, who was slightly deaf, did not catch the words, but she saw the gesture, and drew her own conclusions. With a sigh, Mrs. Beauchamp wished, for the hundredth time, that she had never undertaken the charge of this troublesome granddaughter; her coming into the prim household had made an end of all its restful quiet, and she never seemed free from anxiety about her. And yet--Conrad had intreated her so earnestly to have his only and much-loved child, and at the time she had seemed tractable enough. But oh! how greatly Monica had altered in eighteen short months; perhaps she had had mistaken ideas about her upbringing; perhaps, if she had been a little less strict in minor matters, things might have gone more smoothly; perhaps old Dr. Marley was right when he said: "It is easier to lead than to drive young people."
With these thoughts in her mind, the old lady made a proposition that nearly took Monica's breath away; so unexpected was it.
"I have been thinking that perhaps you might have a small dog of some kind, Monica; it would be company for you while you are laid up."
"Oh, grandmother!" was all the girl could find to say; but the look of intense pleasure which irradiated her whole face, entirely transforming it, was sufficient reward to Mrs. Beauchamp for the very real concession she was making; for, of all things, a mischievous, gambolling dogindoors, who would be sure to bark or whine just when she was having a little nap, was one that she objected to most.
"Of course, it must be a very nice quiet one, Monica, small and well-trained. Perhaps Richards might hear of one somewhere."
"Oh! grandmother, do you remember that day you decided I was to go to school?" Monica questioned, eagerly; "because Tom had just been telling me about a jolly little wire-haired terrier his father wanted a home for, when you sent for me."
"I do remember something of the sort, Monica," said the old lady, "but even if the dog were still to be had, it might not be just what we want."
"Well, I do wish you would send round to the stables and ask, grandmother," said Monica, coaxingly "because we could have him at once, I expect. We might have to wait ever so long before Richards came across one, he is so dreadfully slow. And itisso dull up here, all alone."
"Well, I will see what can be done."
And the old lady departed, a comfortable feeling of having given pleasure warming her cold, reserved heart; while Monica reiterated again and again, in words which jarred terribly on her aristocratic nerves: "It's most awfully kind of you, grandmother! Itwillbe jolly to have a dog of my own."
To say that Monica waited patiently for results would be untrue. She was far too excited and eager about the matter to do that; but as she was alone, except for a flying visit from Barnes, who brought her some lunch, and as she could not move her leg, her impatience had a salutary amount of check. She could not think how it was her grandmother had ever brought her mind to think of such a thing, knowing well how keenly she objected to animals indoors; it puzzled her a good deal, especially after her disobedience earlier in the week. And Monica grew quite repentant for her misdeeds, as she considered the unexpected favour she was being granted.
An hour or so later a peculiar scratching noise along the corridor outside made Monica listen intently, and a second after there came a hesitating knock at the door.
"Come in," cried Monica, who was all excitement; and the door opened to admit Tom, the little stable-boy, who was leading the cutest looking wire-haired terrier imaginable, and was closely followed by Barnes.
"Oh, you darling!" cried Monica, who was infatuated with the dog at first sight; "do bring him close, Tom."
"Yes, miss," said Tom, with alacrity, pulling his forelock, and grinning all over his bright little face, as he clutched hold of the bit of strap that did duty for a collar, and dragged the terrier up to Monica's couch. "I hope you're better, miss," he ventured to say shyly, for Barnes, of whom he stood greatly in awe, was looking severely at him, and he had been bidden "to mind his behaviour."
"Oh, yes," said Monica, carelessly; she had no thoughts to spare on herself just then. "What's his name, Tom? Do put him up beside me."
"Be careful, now," said Barnes, a trifle sharply; she was not best pleased at this introduction into the household. "Remember your leg, Miss Monica."
"All right, Barnes, don't fidget! See, he's as quiet as possible. Good boy, dear old fellow!" and Monica stroked the ginger coloured head, and looked into the liquid brown eyes which had a wistful expression in them. He pricked up his ears at the tones of endearment, and licked her hands in response.
"'E 'ave took to you, an' no mistake, miss," said Tom, with huge delight. "Jack 'e 'ave been called, miss," he added, in answer to Monica's query, "but you'll find 'im a grander name, miss, now."
"No, I think Jack will do very well," said Monica, and the little dog, who knew by her fondling that he was being loved and made much of, gave a little grunt of satisfaction, and curled himself round on the couch beside his new mistress.
"Isn't he sweet, Barnes?"
"Oh, he's a nice enough little dog, as dogs go, Miss Monica, but I have no particular fancy for them," was the maid's somewhat grudging reply. And then she added: "Now then, my boy, you'd better be off to your work again."
"Yes'm. Good mornin', miss," stammered Tom, in confusion, for Barnes' repelling tones made him feel as if he had done something wrong.
"Oh, good-bye, Tom. I'm awfully glad to have Jack," said Monica, with a bright smile, which made the little lad feel at ease again, and remained in his memory for many a day. "I shall be coming out on the lawn in a few days' time, and then you must come round and see him."
The little newcomer proved an endless source of pleasure and amusement to Monica; he had such quaint ways, and made himself thoroughly happy and contented in his new home. Even Mrs. Beauchamp was obliged to confess that he was no trouble; he spent hours curled up on the rug which was thrown over Monica's knees, as if he had been accustomed to an invalid mistress all his life.
"You wait until this tiresome sprain is well," Monica would often say to him, "and then you shall have a very different existence, Jack."
The old doctor made great friends with him when he came to see his patient the next morning, and went off chuckling with pleasure over the result of his plain-speaking to Mrs. Beauchamp, a few days before.
"She'll get on fast enough now," he said to himself, as he trotted down the drive; "young folk want young things about them, and up there," with a suggestive glance backward at the stately residence he had just left, "they are all as old as Methuselah. She looked a totally different being this morning, from the sulky, discontented girl I saw last time. But I don't deny she's a handful--takes after her mother, I suppose. Conrad was as nice a fellow as ever breathed, but I never had much of a fancy for his wife, poor thing; she was too much of a woman of the world for old Henry Marley. But there, he isn't, by any means, all he ought to be." And the dear old doctor sighed as he realised how far short he was of being a true copy of the Great Example.
The doctor had not long left, when a footman called at Carson Rise, with a basket containing some magnificent peaches and hot-house flowers, "with Mrs. Howell's compliments, and she would be glad to know how the young lady was."
Mrs. Beauchamp was out for a drive, so the parlourmaid came up to Monica for a message.
"Oh, Harriet, how lovely!" cried the girl; "do take them out carefully while I write a little note to send back. How very kind of Mrs. Howell."
"The same lady has sent every day to enquire for you, miss," said the maid, who was very much impressed by the grandeur of the Howell livery, and the importance of the individual who wore it.
"Has she really? No one has mentioned it before," said Monica; "I ought to have been told." And there was a suggestion of displeasure in her tones.
"Mrs. Beauchamp knew, miss, of course, and so did Barnes," Harriet hastened to say, in defence of herself.
"Very well, Harriet, it was not your fault," said Monica, and she busied herself in writing a little girlish note of thanks, which brought tears of pleasure and gratification to the eyes of the good-natured, motherly woman who received it, and then slipped it into her pocket for fear her tyrannical young daughter should come across it, and make fun of it. For Lily Howell had not yet grown reconciled to the idea of "thatMonica Beauchamp" getting into her home, and prying into everything, and then going off to make fun of all the mistakes she knew her mother must have made.
There had been a great scene upon her return home, on the Monday evening, and she had exclaimed long and loudly against the fate which had allowed such an unfortunate thing to come to pass.
Mrs. Howell, instead of severely reprimanding her daughter for being so insulting and rude, had wept feebly, and bowed beneath the angry girl's storm of words; but in her heart she treasured the remembrance of the kind words and very real gratitude of a daughter of the aristocracy to a poor, common-place woman, such as she was allowed no opportunity of forgetting that she, Caroline Howell, was.
CHAPTER XII.
"A HUNGRY FEELING IN MY BRAIN."
"What do you think of this?" said Monica, that same Saturday afternoon, as she pointed to Jack, who was lying curled up on her rug.
And Olive was astounded, as her friend knew she would be, at such an unexpected sight.
"Oh! isn't he a dear fellow?" she cried, rapturously, patting his head, and playing with his well-shaped ears, as Jack first sniffed enquiringly at the boots and dress of his young mistress's friend, and then, with a wag of his stumpy bit of tail, sat down on the floor at her feet, and rested his head against her knees. "He is going to like me at once."
"Of course, he is," said Monica; "it will be Jack's business to like all my friends and hate all my enemies."
"Oh, Monica, I don't think you've got any enemies!"
"Haven't I?" enquired Monica quizzically; "what about Lily Howell?"
"Oh, I forgot her," replied the other merrily; "and yet I ought not to have, for she's been in such a temper all the week. She's tried every way she can to get Elsa and me into trouble, and when she finds she can't manage it, she's in a worse tantrum than ever. I can't think why she's in such a mood," continued Olive, meditatively, "unless it is----"
"Oh, I expect she's huffy because Mr. Howell took me into his house," interrupted Monica, "and she wasn't at home to see all that went on. But I don't care a straw for her, or what she thinks; she's too common and vulgar to think about. Now her mother is the dearest old creature," she went on, in quite a different tone; "she was as kind and nice as possible. And Harriet tells me she's sent every day to ask how I am, and it was she who sent those lovely peaches and flowers. Do have a peach, Olive; they're awfully nice."
And Monica, taking one herself, pushed the plate containing them nearer to her friend.
"How nice of her!" said Olive, taking a bite of the luscious fruit, while Jack looked up to ascertain whether she was eating anything that he could share. "No, you won't like this, old boy," she said, with a merry laugh.
"He can beg beautifully," said Monica. "When we've eaten these, I'll put him through all his tricks."
A merry quarter of an hour passed in watching Jack beg, and "trust for it," and "die," and "give three cheers for the king." Then, when he was tired, and lay curled up asleep on Monica's couch again, the two girls had a thorough good chat about everything dear to their school-girl hearts, until a clock striking the hour of four warned Olive that she must be going.
Monica begged her to stay to tea with her, saying: "Grandmother quite expects you to."
But, much as Olive would have liked it, she was obliged to refuse, as she had promised her mother to meet Kathleen and the children at a quarter past, at a certain place, so as to walk home together.
"Oh, there's heaps more I wanted to ask," said Monica. "I never dreamt but that you would stay to tea. What did Fräulein say to my being away yesterday? There will be no chance now of my coming out top in German, and that's the only thing I had a shadow of a chance about." And Monica looked rueful.
"Oh, she was very sorry about your ankle. She had heard from the other mistresses, I expect, for when I tried to explain she said: 'No, yes, but that is ver' sad!' in her broken English. You know how she says it; I can't imitate her properly," said Olive. "But, I say, Monica, you won't be away long, will you? Surely not three weeks?" And Olive's bright face assumed a dismal expression at the thought of being so long without her friend.
"Dr. Marley said this morning it might be better before then, but not fit for school. It is a bore; I wish that old bicycle was further." And the girl groaned.
"So do I," acquiesced Olive sympathetically; neither of them apparently taking into consideration that the bicycle was quite the least guilty of everything and everybody concerned.
"Well, I must go now, but I'll come over as often as I can next week."
"Not to-morrow?"
"Why, that's Sunday!" said Olive, in astonishment.
"What of that?" queried Monica.
"Why, there's no time on Sundays: we go to church twice, and to Miss Grant's class in the afternoon. Besides, mother doesn't let us go for walks on Sundays."
"What a funny idea! I never go, because there's nothing to go for; but I don't think grandmother would mind. She dozes all the afternoon, and I read. Oh, that reminds me: here is the book I promised to lend you, Olive," and she drew it from under her cushions.
"'A Cruel Fate';" Olive read the title aloud, and glanced at the closely printed pages. "It doesn't lookveryinteresting, Monica."
"Oh, it is, awfully. You can't think how it fascinated me."
"I'm sure mother would not think it was a nice book," she said doubtfully.
"Oh, fiddlesticks!" was Monica's rather rude reply. "You take it home and read it on the quiet, and if you don't want to borrow some more next time you come, I shall be very much mistaken. Your mother can't expect to keep you tied to her apron-strings always." And there was again that suggestion of a sneer underlying the words which Olive could not stand.
A girl with higher principles would have said: "No, thank you, Monica; I would rather not have anything to do with it." And if Olive Franklyn had had the courage to refuse the evil that afternoon, she would have saved herself much sorrow. But she weakly gave in, and slipped the book into her string-bag, well knowing that she was flatly disobeying her mother's commands.
Poor Olive! She carried more away with her from Carson Rise than the novel; already the poison was beginning its deadly work. How could she manage so that not even Elsa should know she had it in her possession? She was very differently situated from Monica: in their large family they had no secret drawers or private hiding-places, everything was common property, and she could depend on nowhere being absolutely safe.
She was so deep in thought about it, that she almost ran into Kathleen and the children before she knew they were approaching her, and she was so preoccupied during the walk home that Kathleen teased her about having left her tongue at Carson Rise. She pulled herself together then, but alas! the same complaint became an habitual one, as time went on and Olive Franklyn, careless, light-hearted, and fun-loving, but hitherto always open and frank, became moody, abstracted, peevish, and discontented.
That first book was but the forerunner of many more; she became absolutely possessed by an insatiable thirst for novel-reading. Indeed, the girl became so engrossed in them that ordinary, everyday life had no attraction for her, the distorted views of life which the novels gave her totally unfitting her for both school and home associations.
Lois and Kathleen noticed the change in their young sister and puzzled over it, but their mother put it down to Monica being laid up.
"See how anxious she is to go over to see her friend as often as possible," said Mrs. Franklyn; "it is evident that they are very fond of one another, and she misses her companionship. It will be all right when Monica gets back to school; Olive will be her usual happy, contented self again then."
And as they had no inkling of the land of unrealities in which the girl was living, her sisters accepted the mother's verdict, and good-naturedly made it possible for Olive to go over to Carson Rise quite frequently, little dreaming that, each time she went, fresh fuel was added to the flame.
Monica, who, at first, had smiled with satisfaction when she found her prediction come true, began to be a little alarmed as time went on and Olive kept continually asking for a fresh book. She was rather a slow reader herself, but Olive seemed literally to devour them.
"Howdoyou manage to find time to read such a lot?" she said incredulously one Monday afternoon, when they were sitting in a rustic summer-house, in a shady corner of the sheltered garden, and Olive had admitted that she had already finished a three-volume novel that she had taken home only the Saturday before. "I can't think how you do it!"
"I can't leave off," said Olive. "As it happens, Elsa is grinding hard for her music exam., so she spends hours in the drawing-room practising, and that leaves me the 'den' pretty much to myself. But if she weren't, I should justhaveto make opportunities somehow, for I am perfectly wretched when I can't have a read."
"But I thought your people objected to novel-reading. Do none of them ever catch you at it? and how do you manage to do your home-work?" said Monica, still incredulous.
"No, they haven't yet; but I live in dread of discovery every day," confessed her friend. "As to lessons, I manage to scrape along somehow."
"Well, I'm almost sorry I ever lent you a book," said Monica, who could detect a subtle difference in Olive, and felt uneasy.
"Oh, Monica, how often and often I've wished that I'd never borrowed that first one!" said the poor infatuated girl; "and, sometimes, I think I'll never touch a novel again. But I always have to; I can't seem to live without reading them now. There's a hungry feeling in my brain. I can't explain what I mean, but it feels quite empty, somehow, until I have a good read, and then I feel better. Don't you ever get sensations like that?" and the poor child looked pitifully at her companion.
"No, I can't say I do," admitted Monica; "and I hope I never shall. I like reading, certainly, and there is more excitement in a regular novel than there is in ordinary little goody-goody books. But I'm not so keen on them as I was; they're rather horrid sometimes. But I think you'd better give them up, Olive."
"Oh, I can't, Monica!"
"Well, I really don't think I shall lend you any more."
But Olive pleaded so pitifully for just one, that Monica reluctantly gave in, saying: "That's the only one I've got that you haven't had, so you must make the most of it. I'm not sure that I'm going to have any more."
"Oh, Monica,do, to please me!" pleaded Olive. "I'm not at all sure. By the way, did, you bring back those you've finished, because they must go to the library."
"No, I couldn't; they would have made rather a large parcel, and I had no way of hiding it, especially as Elsa and Paddy came half-way with me."
"Well, take good care no one spies them," cautioned Monica. "I don't want to have the credit of leading you astray."
And Olive promised to be careful, as indeed she always was. As a matter of fact, not the least of the sins to be laid at the door of her novel-reading on the sly was the deceit she had to practise in order to hide the books.
Three weeks had already sped since the half-term holiday, and still Monica could scarcely bear to stand on her ankle, so severe had been the sprain. There was little likelihood of her being back at school for quite another week or ten days; indeed, Mrs. Beauchamp had hinted that it seemed hardly worth while for her to go again that term, at all. But the kindly old doctor, seeing that Monica's heart was set upon it, had said: "Oh, yes, it will do her good to rub up against the other girls for a week or two. The holidays will be quite long enough, seven weeks or more." And so it was settled that, as soon as the ankle was really to be depended upon, Monica should go back to finish out the term.
She was thinking of it a few days later, as she kept her grandmother company in the drawing-room after tea. The old lady had seemed much less stiff lately, and Monica had begun to think that she might grow fond of her in time. She was so kind, too, about Jack, who was allowed to be wherever his mistress was, even in the drawing-room; certainly he was a particularly good dog. He was lying on the hearth-rug now, fast asleep, while Mrs. Beauchamp was knitting some fleecy wool into a wrap; and Monica, who was no longer compelled to keep her leg up, so long as she did not walk on it much, was lazily, and by no means elegantly, lounging in the depths of an easy chair.
Suddenly Jack pricked up his ears, and gave a short, sharp little bark, there was the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and the next minute "Miss Franklyn" was announced.
Mrs. Beauchamp greeted the visitor cordially. She had met Lois once before and had been prepossessed by the gentle tones and ladylike bearing of the doctor's eldest daughter.
Monica jumped up hastily, with a pleased exclamation, but she soon saw that something was wrong. There was a stern expression about Lois' lips which was not habitual to her, and she had brought a parcel, which Monica could see only too well contained books.
She scarcely responded to Monica's, "How do you do, Miss Franklyn?" but turned to Mrs. Beauchamp and began to explain her errand without delay.
"I am very sorry to have to draw your attention to these books, Mrs. Beauchamp," she said, laying a three-volume novel and another library book on an octagonal table beside her. "It seems that for some weeks--all the time your granddaughter has been laid up, at any rate--she has been lending Olive books of this description. I do not know whether Monica has your permission to read them, but it has been one of my dear mother's strictest rules that none of us should read any novel, except standard works, until we had left school; then we might do so if we wished. As it happens, neither my sister Kathleen, nor myself, has the slightest inclination for literature ofthatkind," and here Lois glanced contemptuously at the books, "but Olive seems to have been thoroughly infatuated with them. We have all noticed a great change in her lately, but could not account for it, until, by mere accident this afternoon, three of these books were found by one of the children, carefully hidden in an old doll's house which is rarely used. Seeing that it was useless to deny it, Olive has confessed to my mother the unhappy deceit that she has been practising, and produced the remaining book from her bedroom. She says she has been most miserable all the time, but was evidently frightfully fascinated, or she could never have been so wicked as to deceive our mother, who is very grieved and upset about it all. However, Olive has at length promised solemnly not to read any more of this kind of book, and I believe she will keep her word, unless she is tempted. That is why I have come to ask you to forbid Monica lending any more to Olive, if she is allowed to read them herself."
Lois paused, and Mrs. Beauchamp, after a glance at the title-pages of the books, looked severely at Monica, who had sat perfectly still, with her eyes fixed on Lois, during the recital of Olive's wrong-doing.
"How came you to get books of this description from the library, Monica?"
"You never forbade me to, grandmother," murmured the girl, more to gain time than anything else, for she had resolved to make a clean breast of it.
"More I did," admitted Mrs. Beauchamp ruefully. "I am afraid I never realised that you would choose this style of literature; I have thought of you as a mere child, still. Oh, dear me, what a terrible responsibility girls are!" And the old lady sighed feebly, and looked at Lois for assistance.
"Perhaps Monica will ask your advice in future," was all Lois could say, for she felt she was in a somewhat difficult position. "At any rate, for my mother's sake, I am sure she will promise not to help Olive to disobey her again."
The kind tone was too much for Monica, and she said impulsively: "Oh, Miss Franklyn, I am so awfully sorry! Olive never would have read one if I hadn't persuaded her to; she knew she ought not. I would give anything, now, not to have lent them to her. Indeed, last time she was here I told her so, and said I was half-inclined not to read any more myself."
[image]"'OH, MISS FRANKLYN, I AM SO AWFULLY SORRY!'"
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"'OH, MISS FRANKLYN, I AM SO AWFULLY SORRY!'"
"I don't know what Mrs. Beauchamp's opinion may be," said Lois, to whose face Monica's honest avowal had brought a pleased expression, "but if you tookmyadvice, Monica, you would make up your mind to bequiteinclined to let them severely alone, for the next few years, at all events."
"I will," Monica replied, without hesitation; the reality in her tones betokening steadfastness of purpose.
"I am very glad," said Lois, and there was distinct approval in the expressive glance her grey eyes flashed on Monica, as she rose. "I will tell Olive of your resolve, and it will help her to be true to her promise."
Mrs. Beauchamp, looking alternately from one to the other, as the conversation seemed to be carried on without her help, suddenly realised that the question was settled, and she had no battle to fight with Monica. She could not help thinking how differently she would have gone to work, and how unsuccessful she would, in all probability, have been.
"I am sure, Miss Franklyn, I hope that your mother will accept my apologies for all this trouble. There seems no end to the anxiety my granddaughter causes every one!"
"Itwasan anxiety to her, I must confess," said Lois, "but now that Olive has told her everything, she feels easier about it. She has such an abhorrence of anything approaching deceit."
"Of course," murmured Mrs. Beauchamp.
"Can Olive come to tea to-morrow, grandmother?" Monica's face was pleading.
"I really don't know, I'm sure. I hardly think you deserve----" began the old lady hesitatingly.
"May I interrupt?" said Lois, quickly. "I was to tell you that my mother felt that the most suitable punishment she could inflict upon Olive was to forbid her to see Monica again until she returns to school, whenever that may be."
And although Monica said, "Oh!" and looked disconsolate, she could not but admit that the punishment was a just one.
CHAPTER XIII.
"A NICE SCRAPE SHE'LL GET INTO!"
"Monica Beauchamp is back at school."
The news soon spread, until all the Fourth Form girls were aware of the fact, and, for the most part, it was received with acclamation, for the bright, high-spirited girl had been missed during the month she had been away.
There was only one little clique who regretted her return, and that was Lily Howell and her votaries who, knowing she had a rooted objection to the new-comer, took their cue from their leader, and looked upon Monica as an interloper; but it must be confessed that, personally, they had no fault to find with her, except that the absolute indifference with which she treated them annoyed them terribly.
During recreation, when Olive would fain have had Monica all to herself, several of the girls, in other forms besides her own, gathered round her, and made quite a fuss of her. This of course did not escape Lily's notice, who, remembering one occasion when she had returned to school after a slight illness, and no one had expressed any pleasure at seeing her back again, was frightfully jealous of Monica.
But the chief reason why she was sorry to see Monica at school once more was because she knew that, with Monica in the arithmetic class, her own chance of coming out first in the examination was decidedly lessened. There were only two studies which Monica had any real interest in, and those were German and arithmetic; the former because she had a very fair idea of the language, and the latter she thoroughly enjoyed and consequently took pains with.
Up to the half-term, Monica had kept her place steadily, much to Lily's mortification, who had always been praised for her neatly worked examples, until Monica appeared upon the scene, with her less tidy, but far more quick and correct work. But the month she had been away provided Lily with a grand opportunity of getting ahead; and she had worked with a zeal, worthy of a better cause, to endeavour to supplant Monica.
Great was her chagrin, then, to find upon a new rule being explained by Miss Churchill, that Monica was well acquainted with it, and had worked out a given example, and got the right answer, before the problem had thoroughly penetrated Lily's brain. She did not know that Monica had spent many hours amusing herself with herHamblin Smithwhile she had been laid up at home, and so had got far ahead of what the Fourth Form was still doing.
"Very good indeed, Monica! You have worked that out well," commended Miss Churchill, as she looked at the sum; and Monica flushed with pleasure at words of praise such as she seldom had received before.
During that last fortnight of the summer term, she tried her very hardest to have a neat exercise book, as well as correct answers, but it was uphill work for Monica, whose home-lessons were invariably blotted and smudged, and the lines anything but straightly ruled. However, Miss Churchill, quick to notice and commend real effort, encouraged her several times with a word of praise. None of these escaped Lily Howell's ears, and she felt more convinced than ever that Monica was deliberately aiming at supplanting her in the forthcoming examination. No such idea had entered Monica's head; she was merely actuated by a desire to please Miss Churchill, and arithmetic was the only subject (of those taught by her) for which Monica had any liking. In English subjects and science she was a terrible pupil, and she was continually getting into trouble on account of carelessly written, or insufficiently learnt, work; but as it was just at the end of the term, and she had been away so long, she was let off more easily than she really deserved.
At length the examination week dawned, and those girls who were keen about their place in the class list spent all their spare time in cramming. Amethyst Drury, whose talents lay in the direction of English history and geography, was continually on the look out for some one to hear her say her "dates," and ask her questions about Africa, the country they were to be examined upon that term. Elsa, who, among others, was what their teacher called an "all-round girl," knew it was hopeless to try to look up everything, so she depended upon the knowledge she had gained during the term; by far the wisest plan. Olive, who seldom did well in any subject, on account of carelessness and inattention, expected to "get along somehow"; the only distinction she ever obtained was for drawing, and as she certainly had a real gift in that direction she was universally acknowledged to be the artist of the class.
It would be impossible, as well as unnecessary, to describe in detail the varied experiences of the examination week. Suffice it to say that the questions, according to the girls' opinions, were "harder than ever," and the candidates were none too hopeful when they gave up their papers, after a couple of hours' work upon each subject; somehow just the questions they had made sure Miss So-and-So would set had not been included, and the very things they had fondly hoped would not be required had been given a prominent place! But that is an experience common to all time, and by no means peculiar to the girls of that Fourth Form.
The arithmetic examination was almost the last on the list. And most of the girls who had expended their energies on previous subjects looked with dismay at the long list of difficult examples. Olive glanced at the others to see what they thought of it, but Elsa was beginning to write steadily, and Monica, catching her eye, gave her a reassuring smile; it seemed rather a nice paper to her. Amethyst, who was no mathematician, was biting the end of her penholder and looking frantic.
Olive was just going to dip her pen in the ink and begin to inscribe her name elaborately on the top sheet of the ruled paper before her, when something made her look in Lily Howell's direction just in time to see an ugly expression of malignant jealousy sweep over her face, as she observed Monica steadily applying herself to answer the questions which appalled her rival.
"There'll be awful ructions in that quarter, if Monica comes out top, as I do hope she will," soliloquised Olive, and then a reproving glance from Miss Churchill warned her to get on with her work.
For an hour no sound was heard but the scratching of pens and the rustling of paper, except now and then when a long-drawn sigh escaped the lips of one or other of the girls, as she realised her inability to solve a difficult problem.
By that time Olive had come to the end of her resources and could do no more, so she fastened her papers together and then began to look about at the other girls with a view to seeing how they were getting on. Her desk was in one corner of the room, and Monica (who long since had had to be moved to a distance from Olive, on account of whispering) was in the centre of the second row quite near the front. Lily Howell and her ally, Maggie Masters, were next to each other in the opposite corner from Olive's.
A glance at Monica showed her to be still hard at work over her paper, so Olive turned her attention elsewhere. As she looked across at Lily, their eyes met, and Olive turned away quickly, for she did not want to get into trouble with Miss Churchill, who might think they were communicating with each other in some way; but a peculiar expression she had seen in Lily's light grey orbs impelled her to look again a few seconds later, and then what she saw horrified her, and her eyes seemed rooted to the spot! For Lily was positively making copious use of the contents of some little note-book or paper, (Olive could not detect which) that was cleverly hidden, on the desk, by Maggie's pencil-box, from Miss Churchill's view.
"The horrid, mean, hateful sneak!" Olive, in her anger and contempt could not find enough opprobrious epithets. "She's got all her tables, and a whole lot of hints copied out, I do believe, and of course, now she'll go and beat Monica; but I'll be even with her! A nice scrape she'll get into!" And Olive chuckled to herself at the thought of what was in store. "Perhaps she'll be expelled, and a good job, too. I'd better nudge Gipsy, and make her see, in case the sneak goes and declares she didn't cheat."
Olive glanced over into the other corner again, but--nothing wrong was to be seen! All trace of the notes had vanished, and Lily was neatly ruling her manuscript paper as if no such thing as cheating had ever entered her head!
"Oh, you wretch!" And Olive felt as if she could have done anything to her, so exasperated was she to think that she had been "done"; for not once again, during the time that remained for the arithmetic paper, did she catch a glimpse of the missing paper. At length the gong sounded, and whether completed or not, the girls had to fasten their sheets together and hand the papers in to Miss Churchill.
They were glad enough to stretch their cramped limbs, and let their tongues loose during the recreation that followed, in discussing the questions and comparing their answers. Olive, of course, told Monica what she had seen Lily doing, and how vexed she was to think she could not prove it to Miss Churchill, if she were to tell her.
"Oh, let it be," said Monica, who loathed telling tales; "she'll be so mad if you tell, and she'll be sure to declare it wasn't a crib."
"I shall tell if she comes out top."
And Monica could not persuade her otherwise.
"We shall know to-morrow," said Olive as they entered the school door.
But in less than five minutes after the words had escaped her lips, part of the truth had come to light, and it happened in this way.
Lily (who was under the impression that her neat little scheme for aiding her memory had been quite unobserved by any one except Maggie, who had benefited by it, too), already, in imagination, saw her own name at the head of the list. But she thought it would be just as well to make assurance doubly sure, by securing Monica's downfall, if it were possible, in case she should be perilously near. So, as she passed up to the desk with her paper, taking care to be the last girl who filed out, she very quietly dropped her little paper of tables, etc., on the floor of Monica's desk, in such a manner as to make it appear as if it had slipped off Monica's lap, when she rose to go out.
"Now we shall be quits!" was her amiable thought, as she went with the rest into the playground. She bound Maggie, with promises of many good things, to absolute secrecy, and returned to the classroom to await developments.
The girls had no sooner taken their places than they became aware that something was wrong! The head-mistress Miss Buckingham came in with a very stern expression on her face, and Miss Churchill seemed on the verge of tears.
"I am grieved to tell you that there is a cheat--yes, acheat," and Miss Buckingham repeated the words with scornful emphasis, "amongst you girls of the Fourth Form. Miss Churchill found this paper, containing arithmetical tables and various other information, under one of the desks when you had left the classroom. I desire that girl, who has sought to secure a good place in the examination list by such despicable means to stand up in her place."
A furtive glance from Lily, who was as white as a ghost, revealed the fact that the head-mistress was looking straight at Monica, and the real culprit breathed freely, and the colour came back to her cheeks. She did not know that Olive's gaze was riveted on her, or she would not have felt so easy in her mind as she did!
"Come, stand up," repeated Miss Buckingham, and Monica began to feel uncomfortable. Why did the head-mistress look so persistently ather, when it was Lily Howell who was the culprit.
"Well, I am sorry she will not confess it herself," said the calm, cold voice of the head of the school; "but Monica Beauchamp is the cheat!"
"I'mnot!"
"Sheisn't!"
The two disclaimers burst simultaneously from the lips of Monica and Olive, who were aghast at this fresh piece of trickery, and could not imagine how it had come to pass.
"Olive Franklyn, sit down. Now, Monica, what have you to say in defence of yourself?"
"I know nothing whatever about it; I would scorn such a mean trick. Miss Churchill knows I would," and Monica looked reproachfully at the little mistress, who had been a sad and silent spectator, so far.
"I cannot believe you would cheat, Monica, but----" and she paused significantly.
Meanwhile, Olive had been frantically trying to make Monica see her, but failing to do so, she asked permission to speak, and told what she had seen on Lily's desk.
But both Lily and Maggie stoutly denied having had anything of the kind in their possession, and, as no other girl seemed to have observed it, Miss Churchill was reluctantly compelled to think that Olive, in championing her friend's cause, was drawing on her imagination. The figures and words on the paper were all in printing hand, so that no one's writing was recognisable.
No more light being thrown on the matter by further questioning, Miss Buckingham left the classroom, saying: "I shall not decide upon the punishment to be given until to-morrow morning, by which time I sincerely hope that the girl, whose conscience must be accusing her, will be ready to make confession."
In her own mind, Miss Buckingham was of opinion that Monica Beauchamp was entirely innocent; and she could not but feel that suspicion strongly rested upon Lily Howell, although the latter had feigned entire ignorance of the matter; for her changing colour belied her words.
The truth was arrived at in a singular and indisputable way after all.
When correcting the arithmetic papers, late that afternoon, in the teacher's room, Miss Churchill found some most astonishing blunders in Lily Howell's calculations. For some time she was mystified, and then it dawned upon her what had happened.
"Why, the girl's cubic measure is all wrong. No less than three times she has put down 1278 cubic inches instead of 1728, when reckoning a cubic foot. It is curious how she came to transpose the numbers? I wonder----"
She hastened across the hall to Miss Buckingham's room, and upon looking at the "crib," she saw, with a curious sense of satisfaction (for she felt sure Monica was innocent) that underneath "Solid or Cubic Measure" the first line, was