"'HERE! TAKE MY HAND AND SCRAMBLE OUT.'""'HERE! TAKE MY HAND AND SCRAMBLE OUT.'"
"My dear," Gertrude went on, "it seems so strange to have some one besides me falling about and dropping herself. I used to be the one, always. They called me 'Dropsy' at home; and I fell in here last year, Peggy, and I know exactly how itfeels. Here! take my hand and scramble out."
Peggy, still sitting in the water, which covered her to the waist, looked about her thoughtfully. "It seems a pity, now Iamhere, not to have some good of it," she said, philosophically.
"If it were only a foot deeper, or I weren't bothered with all these petticoats, I might have a good swim. However, I suppose I may as well get out—if I can. Take care, Snowy—oh! take care!"
Alas! for the Snowy Owl! After all, she was still Gertrude Merryweather. The marble was wet—she bent down to take Peggy's hand—here was another tremendous splash, and two Undines sat in the tank, gazing speechless on each other. This was too much for the composure of any one. Both Peggy and Gertrude sat helpless, shaking with laughter, and absolutely unable to move. Bertha, outside, fairly went into hysterics, and laughed and screamed in one breath; while the other girls raised such a clamour of mingled mirth and terror that Emily Cortlandt,who had just come in to take a look at the decorations, came running down-stairs, dreading she knew not what.
One look over the edge of the tank, and Miss Cortlandt was not so very much better than the rest of them; but she recovered herself sooner. Wiping her eyes, she proceeded at once to the business of rescuing the two involuntary divers. It proved impossible for them to climb up, the sides being too slippery, and the flying leap being out of the question in two feet of water. She brought a short ladder, and in another moment first one nymph and then the other came up from their fountain, and dripped little rivers on the floor.
"Is either of you hurt?" asked Miss Cortlandt.
"Not I!" said Gertrude, ruefully. "I fell on top of poor Peggy, and she makes a perfect cushion. How are you, Peggy? Did I half kill you?"
"Not a bit! I think perhaps I've sprained my wrist a little, but that was when I went in myself. No, I'm all right; truly I am,Miss Cortlandt. I'll just go and change my clothes, and then come back and finish."
Emily Cortlandt did not come of amphibious stock. "You will do nothing of the kind!" she said. "Yououghtto go to bed, Peggy, and Gertrude, too; but I suppose you would think that a terrible piece of injustice."
"Yes, Miss Cortlandt, we should!" replied both girls, in a breath.
"And I know that you have both been brought up more or less like whales; so I'll let you off with camphor pills and peppermint drops. Those youmusthave. Run along and change everything—everything, mind!—and I'll come around in five minutes and dose you. Run, now; make it a race, and I'll add hot lemonade to the stakes,—first prize and booby prize!"
"Yes, Miss Cortlandt," cried the two Undines; and off they set in a shower of spray, with the other girls at their heels.
It all came from Peggy's forgetting her handkerchief. That was nothing remarkable. Rapidly though our heroine was developing, there was still plenty of the old Peggy left; and when she looked up at Miss Russell with a certain imploring gaze, the Principal was apt to say, without waiting for anything further: "Yes, Peggy, you may; but do try to remember it next time!"
But this time it was well that Peggy had not remembered it. She stumbled across the long dining-room quite in her own way, stubbing her toe against a sophomore's chair, and sending the sophomore's spoon clattering to the ground. Stooping, in confusion, to pick it up, with muttered apologies, she encountered the sophomore's head bent down for the samepurpose, and some mutual star-gazing ensued. Finally she did manage to get out of the room, after cannoning against the door and taking most of the skin off her nose, and made her way up-stairs ruefully, rubbing the places that hurt most, and wondering where in her anatomy lay the "clumsy bone" that her father always talked about. "And it isn't there all the time!" said poor Peggy. "Sometimes I don't fall into anything for days, and then, all at once, it's like this!"
Shaking her head dolefully, she reached her own room, got the handkerchief, remembered with a great effort to shut the drawer, and came out into the corridor again—to come face to face with a man emerging from the opposite room.
The opposite room was Vanity Fair; and the man's hands were full of trinkets and knickknacks, and his pockets bulged in a suspicious way. He cast a wild glance over Peggy's shoulder at the open door of her room and the fire-escape beyond; evidently he had entered by that way, and counted on the dinner-hour's keeping every one below stairs till he got safeaway. Now, however, baffled in this, he turned down the corridor with some degree of composure.
"Stop!" said Peggy. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"I'm the plumber, miss," said the man, still walking away.
"Put down those things!" cried Peggy. "Do you hear? or I'll call the police!"
Apparently the man did not hear, or else did not fancy the idea suggested to him, for he began to run down the long corridor as fast as he could go.
So it came to pass that the school, waiting peacefully for its pudding, heard a sound of hasty feet scurrying down the stairs. Then, all in a rush, came past the door the flying figure of a man, with Peggy Montfort in hot pursuit.
"Stop thief!" Peggy shouted it once, and then prudently saved her breath. The man fumbled for an instant at the front door, gave it up, darted into Miss Russell's study. Crash went a window; he was out, with Peggy at his heels, and away across the lawn.
"Stop thief!" the cry rang through the school; and, lo! in the twinkling of an eye there was no school there. The long dining-room was emptied as if by magic; the front door flew open, and out streamed the seventy maidens, all crying "Stop thief!" all running their very best to come up with the flying pair.
There were some good runners at Pentland School; but after the first few minutes of running together, jostling and pushing, two girls drew rapidly away from the rest, and soon left them far behind. Gertrude Merryweather and Grace Wolfe had long been friendly rivals in what they called the royal sport of running. Perhaps neither of them was sorry of this opportunity for a "good spurt." Certainly it was a pretty sight, the two tall, graceful creatures, lithe and long-limbed as young greyhounds, speeding over the ground, their arms held close at their sides, their eyes flashing, youth and strength seeming to radiate from them as they ran. Now one drew ahead a little, now the other; but for the most part they kept side by side,for both were running their best, not only for the joy and honour of the thing, but because it was necessary to arrive, to help Peggy and catch the thief.
The thief was evidently not a trained athlete, but he was doing his best. He had cut himself a good deal in smashing the window, and had thrown away part of his booty, hoping that his relentless pursuer might be content, and might stop to pick up the brooches and belt-buckles that lay at her feet; but Peggy never looked at them, and held on straight after him, gaining, undoubtedly gaining. The man doubled back across the lawn, hoping to reach the gate and safety; but Peggy headed him off as quietly and coolly as if he were an unruly steer in the home stock-yard. Again he doubled, and again the girl was running in a diagonal to cut off his approach to the wished-for retreat. But now he caught sight of the two tall avengers bearing down upon him, and the school in full cry behind. He made a desperate spurt and reached the gate; it was half open, and as he rushed through he slammed it behind him with ahoarse shout of defiance. But much Peggy cared for gates! She was over in an instant, and at his heels again. And realising this, the rascal suddenly changed his tactics. He stopped short, and, turning on Peggy a villainous face, bade her with an oath, "Come on, and see what she would get for it!"
The words had not left his lips, when a ludicrous change came over the man's face. He uttered a wild yell, and fell headlong, almost at Peggy's feet. When Peggy saw this, she knew what to do; and when Grace and Gertrude came flying up a moment after, they found her sitting quietly on the rascal's head, and telling Colney Hatch to go for the police.
Colney had been watching the evolutions of a new and extremely interesting spider. The spider had made her web in the hedge beside the road; and Colney, as soon as morning recitations were over, had hastened thither, and sat down under the hedge to watch, undisturbed by thoughts of dinner or of any other known thing. So watching, it came to pass that she heard the sound of rushing feet so close that it actually did disturb her; andlooked up to see an extremely ill-looking fellow in full flight, hotly pursued by Peggy Montfort. When he turned to bay, it was within a foot of the spot where Colney sat under the hedge; and without more ado Colney stretched out her long, lean hand, and, grabbing the fellow by the ankles, "tripped up his heels, and he fell on his nose."
Presently up came the school, panting and breathless; with them Miss Cortlandt, who had been saying to herself that if she ever let herself get out of practice in running again she would know the reason why. Finally, up came William the chore-man from one direction (for Miss Russell had gone straight to the kitchen and given the alarm there), and the next-door neighbour from the other; whereupon Constable Peggy got up from her uneasy seat, and handed over her prize to the tender mercies of his own sex.
"Git up, ye varmint!" said William, stirring the prostrate figure with his foot. "Git up, and say what ye've got to say for yerself."
The man got up, bewildered, and shaking his head as if he expected it to come off.
"She 'most killed me!" he spluttered. "I ain't got no breath left in my body."
"Small loss if ye hain't!" retorted William. "What's he ben doin', gals?" William neverwouldsay "young ladies," which distressed Miss Russell; but he wassovaluable, as she said.
"Stealing!" said Peggy, briefly. "I met him coming out of one of the rooms."
"I snum!" said William. "You're a nice kind o' harmonium, ben't ye? Tu'n out yer pockets!"
"She sot down on my head!" muttered the man. "Somethin' come up out o' the ground at me and knocked me down, and then she sot down on my head. I'm 'most killed, I tell ye!"
"Well, who cares if ye be?" replied William, with some irritation. "It's a pity she didn't finish the job, that's all I've got to say. Tu'n out yer pockets, will ye?"
The man obeyed unwillingly, still muttering; and out came a mass of lockets, pins, and chains, enough, in spite of those he had thrown away, to furnish half the girls in the school.
After searching to see the surrender was complete, William adjured the next-door neighbour, a stout and silent person named Simpson, who had been standing by, to "take t'other arm, and we'll walk him down to the lock-up jest as easy!" The thief begged and prayed, and, finding that useless, took to cursing and swearing; whereupon William and Mr. Simpson marched him off in short order, and all three disappeared around the turn leading to the High Street.
The school was left standing in the road, still panting with haste and excitement. They had been silent during William's colloquy with the man, but now the strings of their tongues were loosened, and the flood of speech broke loose.
"My dear!"
"Mydear!I never was so excited in my life, were you?"
"Where did he come from?"
"Who saw him first?"
"Why, Peggy Montfort, of course! Didn't you see her?"
"No; I just ran, because every one else was—"
"Perfectly distracted! I never heard of such a thing."
"He was in the closet—"
"No; he was on the stairs—"
"Just getting out of the window—"
"With just her bare hands, I tell you. Just took a—"
"Pair of earrings, nothing else in the world."
"But who was he—where did he come from? What does Peggy say about it?"
"Girls!girls!" cried Miss Cortlandt. "Will you please be silent for a moment? Peggy has not had a chance to say a word yet, and I for one want to hear her story. Have you got your breath yet, Peggy? because we all want to hear, very much indeed."
"There isn't much to tell," said Peggy, blushing. "I went up to get my handkerchief,—I had forgotten it,—and as I was coming out of my room, this fellow was just coming out of the other room."
"What other room? Whose was it?" cried a dozen voices.
"Why, Van—I mean No. 17, Miss Vincent and Miss Varnham's room."
"Oh! oh!" a shrill scream was heard; and Viola Vincent pushed her way through the crowd of girls, and threw herself upon Peggy.
"My Veezy-vee!" she cried. "It was my room! V., do you hear? It was our room that horrid wretch was robbing. My dear, if we had been there we should have been murdered in our beds, I know we should. Peggy Montfort has saved our lives. Isn't it perfectly awful?"
"That she should have saved your lives?" asked the Snowy Owl, laughing. "Come to your senses, Vanity, and don't strangle Peggy. She's black in the face, and I shall have to set about saving her life if you don't let her go."
Released from Viola's embrace, Peggy gasped, and shook herself like a Newfoundland puppy.
"Don't be ridiculous, Vanity!" she said,looking at once pleased and shamefaced. "It wasn't anything, of course; it was just what any one else would have done. But do look out for your things! They are scattered all about the lawn; he threw away a lot of them when he first came out, and we shall be stepping on them if we don't take care. Oh! oh, please don't say anything more about it. It was just the merest chance I happened to go up." This was to Vivia Varnham, who, trying to overcome her ungraciousness, was expressing her gratitude for what Peggy had done. It was evidently an effort and was not pleasant for either girl.
The girls scattered over the lawn, picking up here a hairpin, there a brooch or buckle. It really seemed as if Vanity Fair was stocked like a jeweller's shop. Gertrude Merryweather, standing by Peggy, uttered an exclamation. "My dear! Peggy! Why, you are all over blood! You are bleeding now. What—where—oh! oh, Fluffy,lookhere!" Bertha came running, as Gertrude lifted Peggy's arm, which was indeed dripping blood. Both girls exclaimed in horror, and Berthaturned quite white; but Peggy looked at it coolly.
"Oh!" she said. "That must be where I went through the window after him."
"The window?"
"Yes, didn't you hear the crash? He smashed the window in Miss Russell's study and got out, and I followed him, of course. It isn't anything. Why, I didn't feel it till you spoke."
"That is excitement!" said the Snowy Owl. "You must come in and be bandaged this minute, Peggy! Come right along to the Nest; I have bandages and lint all ready."
The Snowy Owl was all on fire with ardour and sympathy. Peggy looked at her in surprise, but the Fluffy Owl laughed. "You have struck the Snowy's hobby," she said. "She is going to study medicine, you know. Go along; she will be happy all the rest of the day, bandaging and cosseting you."
"But it doesn't hurt!" said Peggy, still wondering.
"Never mind!" said the Snowy Owl. "Itought to hurt, Peggy Montfort, and it will hurt in a little while. Come along and be bandaged!" and, meekly wondering, Peggy went.
"Well, it certainly was a great success!" said the Scapegoat. It was the day after the reception, and she had drifted into the Owls' Nest toward twilight, and now stood by the mantelpiece, swaying backward and forward in the light, wind-blown way she had.
"A great success!" she repeated, thoughtfully. "Why, it was actually pleasant! How did you manage it?"
"We didn't manage it," said honest Bertha. "It just came so. Everybody was ready to have a good time, and had it; that was all."
"More than that!" said Grace, absent-mindedly. "There has to be a knack, or something, and you have it. I haven't. I couldn't do it, even if I wanted to, and I don't think I do."
"Do what?" said the Snowy.
"Be an Owl!" said Grace. Suddenly she left her hold of the shelf, and turned upon them almost fiercely.
"Why should I?" she exclaimed. "Tell me that, will you? It is all natural to you. Your blood flows quietly, and you like quiet, orderly ways, and never want to throw things about, or smash a window. I tell you I have to, sometimes. Look here!"
She caught up a vase from the shelf, and seemed on the point of flinging it through the closed window, but Gertrude laid her hand on her arm firmly. "You may have a right to throw your own things, my dear," she said, good-naturedly. "You have no possible right to throw mine, and 'with all respect, I do object!'"
Grace gave a short laugh, and set the vase down again; but she still looked frowningly at the two girls, and presently she went on.
"It's all very well for you, I tell you. You have a home, and a—my mother died when I was five years old. My father—"
"Grace, dear," said Gertrude; "come andsit down here by me, and tell me about your mother. I have seen her picture; she must have been lovely."
But Grace shook her head fiercely.
"My father is an actor, and I want to be one, too, but he promised my mother before she died—she didn't want me to be one. What do I care about all this stuff we are learning here? I tell you I want to take a tambourine and go on the road with a hand-organ man. That would be life! I would, too, if I only had the luck to have hair and eyes like yours, Fluffy."
"You could wear a wig, of course," said Bertha, soberly. "The eyes would be a difficulty, though, I'm afraid."
"Well, I am here now! and I'm supposed to stay another year, and then go to college. Four—five years more of bondage, and tasks, and lectures on good behaviour! Am I likely to stand it, I ask you?"
"I hope so!" said Gertrude, steadily. "It would be a thousand pities if you didn't, Grace, and you know it as well as I do."
"And if I do, it must be in my own way!"cried the wild girl, swinging round again on her heel. "And if I can make things more endurable here—if I can get rid of—it must be in my own way, I tell you. Snowy, you are like your name, I suppose. You are white and gold and calm,—I don't know what you are, except that we are not of the same flesh. I tell you, I turn to fire inside! I must break out, I must go off when the fit comes on me. I do no harm! It doesn't hurt anybody for me to go down the wall and cool myself with a run in the fields. Why can't I be let alone? I am not a child! I tell you it is the way I am made!"
The Snowy Owl rose, and, going to the fireplace, laid her arm around Grace's shoulder.
"You are making yourself!" she said. "It's your own life, Wolf; are you making it worse or better?"
"I'm not doing either. I am taking it as it comes, as it was meant to come."
Gertrude shook her head quietly.
"That can't be!" she said. "That is impossible, Wolf. We have to be growing one way or the other; we can't stay as we are,for a year or a day. And there's another thing: you don't seem to think about the others, about the effect on the school. If you are to break the laws, why should not every one do the same?"
"Because they are different!" said Grace, sullenly.
"You don't know that! They may have the same temptations, and be stronger than you to resist them. You ought to be a strong girl, Grace, and, instead of that, you are weak—as weak as water."
"Weak? I!" cried Grace, her eyes blazing. "If any one else had said that to me, Gertrude Merryweather, I would—"
"But no one else would say it to you!" said Gertrude. "Because no one else—except Miss Russell—cares as much as I do—Fluffy and I. We love you too much, Grace, to flatter you and follow you, as most of them do. I tell you, and you may take it as simple truth, for it is nothing else, that which you think strength is simply weakness,—lamentable weakness. And as for your influence on the other girls—just listen a moment!"
Taking up a little book from the table, she opened it—indeed it seemed to open of its own accord at the place—and read:
"'Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clownOf thee from the hill-top looking down;The heifer that lows in the upland farm,Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,Deems not that great NapoleonStops his horse, and lists with delight,Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;Nor knowest thou what argumentThy life to thy neighbour's creed hath lent.All are needed by each one;Nothing is fair or good alone.'"
There was silence when she finished reading. Then—"What is that?" asked Grace, stretching out her hand. "Give it to me!"
"Emerson. Take him home with you, and let him talk to you; he speaks well."
Grace took the book, looked it over, and dropped it into her pocket. For a moment she leaned her head against Gertrude's arm, and a sigh broke from her involuntarily. Then, all in a moment, a change came. Herface lightened in an indescribable way, and her eyebrows lifted with a look that both girls knew well.
"And have you heard the news?" she said. "There is a rumour that my Puggy leaves me at the end of the term. How to exist, I ask you, without her? Othello's occupation would be gone indeed."
"No! is it true? Why is she going? What does it mean?"
Grace shrugged her shoulders with an elfish gesture.
"How should I know? It appears she sees ghosts. A ghost must be hard up, one would think, to visit my Puggy; there ought to be an asylum for impoverished spectres. Would you subscribe for it, Owls? Good-bye! I must go. You mean well, and I don't bear malice. Oh! by the by,—" she came back for an instant, and stood balancing herself on one foot and looking round the edge of the door, and she certainly looked hardly human,—"I forgot the thing I came for. Stand by the Innocent this evening, will you, if she should get into trouble? I am sent for to the study,and shall be in for a good hour's lecture, and then bed."
"What do you mean, Goat? What is it?" asked both girls, anxiously. But the Goat was gone.
Peggy was enjoying herself extremely. She had learned all her lessons, for a wonder, and now she had curled herself up in a corner with the "Jungle Book," and the rest of the world was forgotten. There was nobody, there never had been anybody, but Mowgli and the Wolves. She had hunted with them, she had slain Shere-Khan, she had talked with Baloo and Bagheera. Her outdoor nature had responded in every fibre to the call of the Master of Magic, and he filled her with joy and wonder. As the Snowy had said, the worlds were opening, and the doors thereof.
Things being thus with her, she hardly heard her own door open softly. Before she had torn her eyes from the enchanted page, the room was filled with silent, flitting figures—as it had been often filled before. The girls nodded to her with silent laughter andfriendly gestures. In another moment they would have been at the window; but Peggy was not dreaming now. In an instant she had sprung from her corner among the cushions, and stood before the window, with arms outspread. "No!" she said.
The girls recoiled, paused, in amazement. There were six of them: the two V's, Blanche Haight, and three other sophomores. Peggy saw with a throb of joy that Grace Wolfe was not among them. That would have made it harder.
"What does this mean?" asked Vivia Varnham, with her cold smile. "You have never made any trouble before, Peggy; isn't it rather late in the day?"
"Oh, she's only in fun!" cried Viola Vincent. "Aren't you, Veezy-vee? Why, she's acting, girls, and she does it elegantly. It's perf'ly fine, Veezy-vee. I didn't know you had it in you."
"No, I am not acting," said Peggy, quietly. "I am sorry, girls, but you can't go out. You never can go out again, so long as I am here."
"Upon my word!" cried Blanche Haight, who had not spoken yet. "This seems to be a pretty state of things. Perhaps you are not aware, Miss Montfort, that this exit was used, long before you came to adorn the school with your presence. We acknowledge no right of yours to forbid us the use of it. Stand out of the way, please."
Forareply, Peggy backed against the window; her face assumed an expression with which her family was acquainted.
"When Peggy looks dour," Jean used to say, "look out for rising winds and a falling barometer!"
Then Viola came forward, and began to plead, in her pretty, wheedling way.
"Let us go, just this once; that's a dear, good Veezy. I know what has happened; Miss Russell has found out, hasn't she?"
Peggy nodded.
"And she has spoken to you, and of course I know just how you feel. But you see, Peggy, we have an appointment this time, truly we have, with some college girls, and you wouldn't make us break it, would you,Veezy? Of course you don't want us to go, and we won't again,—at least most probably we won't, if it is going to get you into trouble. But we reallyhaveto go this time, Peggy, dear, so do be nice and sweet, and let us pass."
"No," said Peggy. "I'm sorry, Viola, but it's no use. Nothing you can say will make any difference."
"Possibly not!" said Blanche Haight; she pushed Viola aside without ceremony, and came close to Peggy.
"Possibly nothing we can say will make a difference, Miss Montfort, but something we candomay make a good deal. I ask you, fair and square, will you come away from that window? We are six to one, and I give you the chance of settling this in a quiet and friendly way. Will you come away from that window?"
"No," said Peggy, "I will not. Is that square enough?"
"Then, girls," said Blanche, turning to her followers, "we must help ourselves. We shall see whether one freshman is going toblock the way of the Gang! You take one arm, Viola, and I'll take the other."
"Oh, don't hurt her!" cried Viola. "Don't hurt her, Blanche. I'm awfully fond of Peggy. I know she only means to do what she thinks she ought to. Peggy, do give up! You are all alone, and there are six of us. Do give up, Peggy; for my sake, Peggy! I—I'll give you my gold bangle, the one with the locket, if you'll only give up, Peggy!"
Peggy smiled, and said nothing. She could not be angry with the little butterfly, but there was no use in wasting breath; she might need all she had.
Blanche Haight seized one arm, Vivia Varnham the other, and tried to drag her away from the window by main force. With her favourite Newfoundland-dog motion, Peggy shook them off, planted a quick blow here, another there, and her assailants staggered back for a moment. In another instant, however, they returned to the attack, and this time the other sophomores joined, and all five threw themselves on Peggy. Once more she shook them off, but they closed in again, and astruggle began, all the more fierce that no word was spoken, no cry uttered. No cry, that is, by the combatants. When the five set upon Peggy, Viola ran in and made an effort to pull them off, with piteous entreaties. But no one paid the smallest heed to her, and the poor little butterfly, frightened and distressed, burst into tears, and ran away.
At the same moment, any one who had been listening in quiet might have heard a singular sound that seemed to come from above, from outside—no one could tell from where; the cry of an owl, followed by a long, low howl. Three times this was repeated; and many a junior, studying under her lamp, looked up and said, "What is up now, I wonder?" for the sound recalled freshman days, before the Lone Wolf and the two Owls had come to the parting of the ways.
Three minutes later, two figures, speeding silently along Corridor A, were met at a turn by a third, which flung itself sobbing upon them.
"Oh, Snowy, oh, Fluffy, they are killingPeggy Montfort! I was coming to call you—oh, be quick! be quick!"
Without stopping, somehow the Snowy Owl managed to open a door and thrust Viola in. It was to be noticed that neither girl looked at her. They ran on, swift and silent.
"WITH ONE OF HER SUDDEN MOVEMENTS SHE HAD THROWN OFF HER ASSAILANTS.""WITH ONE OF HER SUDDEN MOVEMENTS SHE HAD THROWN OFF HER ASSAILANTS."
Indeed, it was time! Peggy's lip was bleeding, where Vivia Varnham's head had struck against it as she fell, tripped by a pretty trick that was learned on the Western farm. Her hair was dragged down and hung in her eyes, her dress was torn in a dozen places. With one of her sudden movements she had thrown off her assailants, and stood for an instant alone, looking the very Spirit of Battle, with blazing eyes and scarlet cheeks. Blanche Haight rushed at her again, and this time Peggy seized her around the waist in a deadly grip. The others closed in once more, furious, determined this time to finish with the insolent freshman. It was like to go hard with Peggy Montfort this time.
What happened? A flash, the glance of an eye, and all was changed. The assailants fellback, staggering across the room, gasping and staring; and the Snowy and the Fluffy Owl were standing shoulder to shoulder with Peggy, one on either side, with stern and angry looks.
For a moment there was dead silence, save for the hard breathing as Blanche Haight tried to wriggle out of the iron grasp that held her—in vain! Then Gertrude Merryweather spoke.
"Miss Varnham, Miss Floyd, Miss Johnson, Miss White, Miss—who is this?—Miss Haight. Found out of bounds and out of hours, making a disturbance in the rooms. To be reported to the Principal. Go to your rooms, if you please!"
Was this the Snowy Owl, gentle and friendly, beloved of all? No! it was the Junior President and the Monitor of Corridor A. She might have been an avenging angel as she stood there, tall and white and severe.
Her face softened as she bent over Peggy. "You can let her go now!" she said. "We are here, Peggy, Bertha and I. It is all right! Let her go, child!"
Slowly and reluctantly Peggy loosed her hold, and Blanche, half-fainting, dropped upon the bed. She looked with feeble venom at the two rescuers.
"Spying, eh?" she whispered. "Very dignified, I'm sure, for a president. That little sneak Viola Vincent was here too, mind! Put her down in your precious report."
"I don't see Miss Vincent here!" said Gertrude, coldly. "Go to your rooms, if you please! I think I understand the case thoroughly, Blanche, thank you. Will you go, or shall we help you?"
But Blanche preferred to go unaided. Silent as they had come, they slunk away, flitting like shadows along the corridor. And when they were gone, the two Owls sat down on the bed and took Peggy between them, and rocked, and petted, and soothed her; for lo! the Goddess of Battle was crying like a three years' child.
Things were quietly managed at Pentland School; there was never any outcry, any open flurry of excitement and gossip. Many of the scholars never knew why five girls left school in the middle of the term. The seniors who did know shrugged their shoulders, and said it was a pity to have such things take the girls' minds off their parts—looking at everything from the point of view of Senior Dramatics. The juniors looked pretty sober for a week, even the sophomore spirits were dashed for the time. But nothing was said openly, and after awhile the scared whisperings died away, and work and play went on as usual. Poor little Viola Vincent mourned deeply the loss of her mate. She herself had escaped with a severe reprimand,having gone to Miss Russell to plead Vivia's cause, and confessing frankly her own share in the escapade. Vivia was anything but an agreeable girl; but she and Viola had grown up together, next-door neighbours and companions from their cradles, and Viola was lost without her. She threw herself upon Peggy for consolation, and Peggy found herself in the curious position of protecting and comforting a junior, and a girl two years older than herself. Viola would come in, and, curling herself up in the corner of Peggy's divan, declare that she had come for a good cry. A few sniffs would follow, and then perhaps actual tears, but more likely a river of speech.
"It's no use, Peggy! I cannot live! I simply cannotlive on in this way. I know V. was horrid to you—yes, she was! Oh, I am not blind, you know, if I am a goose! She was horrid to most of the girls, I know she was, but she was good to me, generally, and it didn't matter much if she wasn't. I was used to her little ways, and I didn't mind. And I have always had her, you see, all my life, and I don't—see—how Icanget alongwithout her. I wanted to be expelled, too! Yes, I did! that was why I told Miss Russell about my being there and all; I thought she would be sure to send me away, too. I think it was very unjust of her not to, I'm sure."
"Viola, don't talk so! You had nothing to do with the—the attack, or any violence. You would have gone away quietly when I said you could not use the window; you know you would."
"How do you know I would have? I might have torn you limb from limb, Peggy, for all you can say. What are you laughing at?"
For this statement, coming from a small person with a grasp about as powerful as that of a week-old kitten, was too much for the stalwart Peggy's composure.
"You don't know what I am when I am roused!" Viola went on. "I'm awful, simply awful!" And she opened her blue eyes wide, and looked like a tragic baby.
"But—my! Peggy, how you did look that night! I wonder this whole room didn't turn blue with fright. I was frightened almost to death; I wonder I'm alive to-day. Well,wasn't it too perf'ly awful for anything, the whole thing?"
"It was pretty bad!" Peggy assented. "But it's all over now, Viola; I would try not to dwell on it too much, if I were you. Of course I know how you must miss Vivia, and I'm dreadfully sorry about it all. But just think how dear the Owls have been to both of us."
"Haven't they?" cried Viola, drying her tears, her eyes brightening. "Aren't they too perfectly lovely for anything, the Owls? I think the Snowy is just the sweetest thing that ever lived in this world, don't you?"
"I think she's one of them," said honest Peggy. "But I'm just as fond of Bertha. She was my first friend here, my very first."
"Oh, how funny you were that first day, Peggy!" cried Viola, laughing now, her sorrows forgotten for the time. "You were too killing! I thought I should have died, when you went tumbling all over yourself. Youwerekilling, weren't you, now?"
"You seem to have survived!" said Peggy, good-naturedly. It was not pleasantto be laughed at, but no one ever minded Viola.
"Where are you going?" demanded Viola, as Peggy got out her "Tam" and pinned it on with a resolute air. "Peggy, you are not going out, just when I have come to see you? I was so lonely, and I wanted some one to talk to; and now the minute I come, you get up and go away. I must say I don't think you are very polite." And Viola pouted and looked like a child of six instead of a girl of sixteen.
"Viola!" said Peggy. "You have been here an hour and a half, do you know it? and I must have a walk; I haven't been outside the door this afternoon. Put on your Tam and come along with me! You'd feel ever so much better if you would take more exercise."
"Oh, no, I shouldn't! and I cannot see what you want to be walk, walking, all the everlasting time for, Peggy Montfort. What's the use of it?"
"The use?" cried Peggy, with sparkling eyes. "Why, there's all the use in the world.In the first place, it makes you strong and healthy, and keeps you well."
"Oh! but gym does that! We have to do gym, and I don't mind that; in fact it's rather fun, only it spoils your figure dreadfully."
"But gym isn't enough, if you don't take any other exercise," said Peggy. "And besides, V., just think of thejoyof walking and running. Why, you see all the things growing, and breathe the air, and—and—hear the birds, and the water, and—well, I shouldn't want to live if I couldn't walk, that's all. Come along, and you'll see!"
"Oh, I can't, I'm too tired."
"You are tired, because you have been sitting in the house all day. And you are pale, and—"
"No! am I?" cried Viola, running to the glass. "I'm so glad! I just love to be pale, it's so interesting. It makes my eyes look larger, too, doesn't it, Peggy? They do look very large to-day, don't they, Peggy?"
Peggy sighed. "You do discourage me, Viola!" she said. "Well, good-bye. I must go. The others are waiting for me."
"What others? Who else is going? What are you going to do?"
"Why, I told you! We are going to walk."
"Yes, but whatfor?Are you going to the shops, or going to see somebody? I can't seeanysense in just stupid walking, without any object. And you didn't tell me who was going."
"You didn't give me a chance. Well, Rose Barclay is going, and two other freshmen whom I don't think you know, Clara Fair and Ethel Bird—and Lobelia Parkins."
"Peggy Montfort! whydoyou go with that little animal? I've told you before that I could not, for the honour of the corridor, have you seen with a creature that looks like that. Let her go with Colney Hatch if she wants company; they'd be two of a kind."
"Colney Hatch is one of the brightest girls in school, Miss Cortlandt says so!"
"Very likely; but that doesn't make her a fit associate for you, my Veezy-vee. You never seem to understand about different sets. I want you to belong to the smart set, and you won't."
"Do the Owls belong to it?" demanded Peggy, turning red.
"Peggy, how dense you are! The Owls don't belong to any set because they won't. Of course they could belong to any set they pleased."
"Does Grace Wolfe belong to it?"
"The Goat? Why, she used to; but she's so awfully queer, you know; the Goat has grown too awfully queer for anything. She stays by herself mostly, ever since she cut loose from the Gang. And Vivia is gone," she wailed, "and Blanche Haight,—Blanchey was not very nice, but her gowns fitted like a seraph's, and the style to her hats was too perfectly killing for anything, you know it was. And now there isn't any one, not a single soul, that I care to talk to about clothes. I've had my pink waist done over, and it's simply dandy—the sweetest thing you ever saw in your life; and nobody cares. I am so unhappy!"
"I haven't seen that new hat you told me about!" said Peggy, with a happy stroke of diplomacy. If any one had told MargaretMontfort that her Peggy would ever develop a talent for diplomacy she would have opened her eyes wide indeed; but one learns many things at boarding-school.
Viola brightened at once.
"No! didn't I?" she cried, her whole manner changing. "Would you like to see it, Peggy? It is really too cute for anything, it justis!What makes you shut up your mouth that way?"
"Oh, nothing! Well, yes, it is something. You won't mind if I tell you? Well, I used to say 'cute,' and Margaret showed me what bad English it was, and how silly it sounded. So I made up my mind to stop it, and every time I wanted to say it I screwed up my mouth and counted ten. Just the same with 'elegant.' I've broken myself of that, too, but it was hard work."
"Elegant! simply elegant!" repeated Viola, thoughtfully. "The Goat won't let you say that, either, or the Owls. What's the use of being so fussy? besides, elegant is a real word, they can't say it isn't, so now!"
"Oh! of course it is, and it has its realuse. You can speak of an elegant dress, or an elegant carriage, and then it's all right; but I used to say I had had an elegant time, don't you know? and talk about elegant cake, and all that kind of thing. And when once you have learned better, it does sound awfully silly."
"Well, they make just as much fuss about 'awful,' and there you are saying that, and you say it all the time."
"I know!" said poor Peggy, hanging her head. "I know I do, though I try awfully hard not to. There! that's the way it is. It does seem as if I couldn't get over that, but I'm going on trying. And if you don't get your hat this minute, V., I shall go without you. I can't wait any longer. It's awfully—it'sverylate."
"Why, I'm coming, as fast as I can; how impatient you are, Peggy! You aren't half as fond of me as I am of you, or you would not be in such a hurry to get away to that little fright. There, here it is! Now isn't that dandy, simply dandy? I do think it is too perf'ly sweet for anything!"
It was a pretty hat, and Viola certainly looked charming in it. She was so pleased with her appearance that she could not resist the temptation of "showing off" to the other girls; so she followed Peggy down to the lawn, where a little group was already gathered. At sight of a junior, even so unformidable a junior as Viola Vincent, poor little Lobelia Parkins shrank into a small knotted heap of misery. Through Peggy's intercession, Rose Barclay and the two other freshmen had been kind to her, and had agreed to let her share their walks, which they took now semi-weekly under Peggy's leadership. None of them cared for her, or felt much interest in her, but they did care for Peggy Montfort, partly because she was the strongest girl in the class, partly because of the fame that had accrued to her since her exploit in resisting and breaking up the famous Gang; but mostly, perhaps, because everybody felt and said that Peggy Montfort was "all right," which in schoolgirl parlance meant that she was a cheerful, kindly, and right-minded girl. So, though her chief friends were still amongthe juniors, she was well known and well liked in her own class.
Peggy took Lobelia's hand, and drew it resolutely through her arm.
"We'll lead the way!" she cried. "Rose and Viola, you two come next, and Clara and Ethel bring up the rear. How's that?"
All agreed to the arrangement; and the six started off in high spirits.
"Where are we going to-day?" asked Rose Barclay. "Don't kill us, Peggy! I haven't got over being stiff yet, from the last tramp. It was jolly, though."
"It was splendid!" chimed in Ethel Bird. "Why, I had no idea what pretty places there were about here. Shall we go to the woods again?"
"I thought of going up Spy Hill!" said Peggy. "It isn't very high, and there's a lovely view from the top."
"Oh, I never can get as far as that!" cried Viola, aghast. "You said a little walk, Peggy, and that is miles and miles, I know it is. Oh, I think I'll go back."
"Oh, don't!" cried Rose, in a tone of heartfeltinterest that won Viola's susceptible heart. "It isn't very far, truly it isn't; and I want to ask you where you got that hat. It is too perfectly lovely for anything! I've got to have a new hat, and I do wish—"
"My dear!" cried Viola, dimpling all over with pleasure, "I'll tell you all about it. You see—"
There was no more trouble with Viola. Peggy chuckled, and started off at a round pace, the others following.
The two Owls, standing at their window with arms intertwined, just thinking of taking a little flutter in the cool of the afternoon, looked after them with friendly eyes.
"What's the matter with Peggy Montfort?" said the Fluffy to the Snowy.
"She'sall right!" said the Snowy to the Fluffy. And then they looked at each other sternly, and shook their heads in grave rebuke. "My dear," they said both together, "we are surprised!"
"Lobelia, I insist upon knowing!"
"Oh, Peggy, please don't ask me!"
"But I will ask you. I do ask you. What is it that you are afraid of? I shall find out sooner or later, so you might as well give up at once and tell me."
Lobelia looked around her uneasily. She and Peggy were sitting in a cosy little hollow under the lee of a great brown rock, waiting for the others to come up.
"Come!" said Peggy. "There's nobody behind that rock. What is the matter with you, Lobelia Parkins, and why don't you sleep? Out with it!"
Lobelia sighed, and twisted her buttons. "I—I never am a very good sleeper," she said at last. "I—I'm nervous, Peggy. And then—"
"And then, what?"
"Oh, dear me! I can't tell you. You won't believe me if I tell you. Things come into my room and frighten me."
"Things? What do you mean, Lobelia?"
"I don't know what I mean!" cried the poor girl, looking about her again, as if in dread of some unseen terror. "I don't know who it is, or what it is. Something—or somebody—comes through my room at night and goes out of the window."
"Ah!" said Peggy. "Well, go on. How long has this been going on?"
"Oh, ever so long! At first—Peggy, you will feel badly if I tell you this."
"Well, then, I've got to feel badly," said Peggy, stoutly. "Though I can't see what I have to do with it—so far. I'll have plenty to do with it from now on!" she added, significantly. "Go on, Lobelia."
"Well, you know that time you were so good to me, Peggy; when Blanche Haight and those others were teasing me, and you came in like a lioness and drove them off. I never shall forget it as long as I live, Peggy, never!"
"Nonsense!" said Peggy. "It wasn't anything at all. Don't be absurd, Lobelia. Well, what since then?"
"It began after that. She—I know that it used to be Blanche Haight then—she used to come in after I was in bed, and frighten me. She had a sheet on, and at first I thought it was a ghost, and I fainted the first time, I think; and then she used—she used to make faces and pinch me, and one time I saw her ring, and so I knew who it was."
"The cowardly brute!" muttered Peggy. "It's well for her that she's out of this school. Now, Lobelia Parkins, why, in the name of all that is feeble-minded and ridiculous, didn't you tell me this before?"
"Oh, I couldn't!" said Lobelia. "I had given you enough trouble, Peggy. And besides—"
"Well! besides what?"
"I was afraid! I was afraid she would kill me if I told."
"My goodness graciousme!" cried Peggy, bouncing on her mossy seat, till Lobelia shrank away scared and trembling. "Do you thinkwe live in the Middle Ages, Lobelia Parkins? This is what comes of reading history; it puts all those old-fangled notions into your head, till you have no sense left. I know! You had all that stuff about Florence and Rome, and poisoning, and all that. I had it too; awful stuff, and probably two-thirds lies. History is the father of lies, you know; somebody says so somewhere."
"I—I thought it was Herodotus who was called that," Lobelia ventured, timidly.
"Perhaps it was; it's all the same."
"No, I am wrong. Herodotus was called the father of history, and then some other people said he was the father of lies; but now it has all come true, so he isn't any more!"
Lobelia, who was stupid and painstaking, proffered this lucid explanation painfully, and then gasped; it seemed a liberty for her to explain anything to anybody.
"Who cares?" said Peggy. "He's dead, anyhow. Oh, how it used to provoke my dearest Margaret when I said that. I only mean, I never see how it can matter so much as people think. But you are not dead,Lobelia; and the idea of your being killed, here in this school, in the nineteenth century! Why, it is absurd, don't you see? It is funny! You must laugh about it, my dear!"
Lobelia, with an effort, produced a watery smile; seeing which, Peggy's mood changed, and she laid her hand instantly on the skinny, shrinking arm.
"My dear, don't think I was laughing atyou," she cried, warmly. "No; I am going to be furious in a minute, when I get round to that part again. Well, but Lobelia, Blanche Haight is gone now, and a good riddance, and yet you say you are still afraid. What are you afraid of?"
"I—I don't know who it is now!" said Lobelia. "But some one comes through, just the same."
"How do you mean, just the same? some one pinches you?"
"No! oh, no! this person never speaks to me or looks at me. It—she—only wants to go through the window. It has something light gray over its head and shoulders. Itgoes down the fire-escape and stays about half an hour, and then comes back. I—I don't mind it so very much, now. I dare say it's all right, only—I can't sleep very well, you know."
"I see!" said Peggy. "Well, I think we can settle that matter, Lobelia. Hush! here come the others. We won't say anything more about it now. Well, girls, how did it go? Isn't it a lovely little scramble?"
Rose Barclay and Viola appeared, with the other two just behind. Viola was panting, and her delicate colour was deepened by exertion till she was almost as rosy as her companion.
"My dear!" she cried. "You are responsible for my life! I am killed; simply killed, Peggy Montfort. I shall never recover from this awful fatigue, I know I shall not."
"Nonsense!" said Peggy, briefly. "Here! sit down here, V., and get your breath; you'll be all right in a minute. It wasn't bad, was it, Rose?"
"It was a bit stiff in one place!" Rose admitted. "I rather think we took thewrong turn, Peggy. Did you say left, after the big pine?"
"No, right; you didn't come up that bank? Poor little V.! no wonder she thinks she is killed. Let me take your hat off, V., and get you some water or something."
But Viola refused to part with her hat. She sat panting and crimson, and seemed really exhausted. Peggy eyed her with remorse. "I couldn't know that you would take the wrong turn, could I?" she said. "I'm awfully sorry!"
"Oh, but it was fine!" said Ethel Bird. "How do you find out all these places, Peggy? This is just lovely, isn't it?"
"By looking," said Peggy. "I like to poke about, and I came on this the other day. See, here's a little baby spring, trickling right out of the rock here. Isn't it pretty? and the water is clear and cold as ice. Shall I make you a leaf-cup, Viola? The best way, though, is to put your mouth down and drink, this way."
"Oh, I never would do that!" cried Clara Fair. "Why, a snake might go right downyour throat, Peggy Montfort; truly it might. There was a man—"
"Oh, don't talk about a man!" cried Rose Barclay. "How could you, Clara? You remind me of my German lesson."
"I never said a word about your German lesson," said Clara, who was literal and matter-of-fact.
"No, but you reminded me," said Rose, who was imaginative and poetic. "All the morning I was saying to myself: