The next day the whole school were
at their books again the short Thanksgiving
recess was ended. It had been just a breathing
space for the girls who really were anxious to stand
well in their classes at Briarwood Hall. Those
who like some of the Upedes desired
nothing so much as “fun,” complained because
the vacation had been so short, and dawdled over their
books again.
But there was no dawdling in Duet
Two, West Dormitory. Had Helen been inclined
to lapse occasionally, or Ruth sunk under the worriment
of mind which had borne her down since the day of
the skating party on Triton Lake, Mercy Curtis kept
the two chums to the mark.
“No shirking, you young ones!”
commanded the crippled girl, in her sharp way.
“Remember the hare would have won the race easily
if he hadn’t laid down to nap beside the course.
Come! some tortoise will beat you in French and Latin
yet, Helen, if you don’t keep to work.
And go to work at that English composition, Ruthie
Remissness! You’d both be as lazy as Ludlum’s
dog if it wasn’t for me.”
And so she kept them up to the work,
and kept herself up, too. There wasn’t
much time for larking now, if one wished to stand well
at the end of the term. The teachers watched
for shirkers more closely, too. Even Mary Cox
and her friends next door showed some signs of industry.
“Although it does seem as though
we were always being worked to death,” groaned
Heavy, one day, to Ruth. “I feel as though
my constitution was actually breaking down under the
strain. I’ve written to my father that
if he wants to see even a shadow of my former self
at Christmas, he had better tell Mrs. Tellingham not
to force me so!”
She sighed breezily and looked so
hard at the piece of cocoanut pie beside Ruth’s
plate (having eaten her own piece already) that Ruth
laughed and pushed it toward her.
“Have it if you like, Heavy,”
she said. “I am not very hungry.”
“Well, there isn’t quite
so much of you to nourish, my dear,” declared
Jennie Stone, more briskly. “I really do
feel the need of an extra piece. Thank you,
Ruth! You’re a good little thing.”
“Miss Picolet will see you,
Ruth,” whispered Helen, on her other side.
“She is disgusted with Heavy’s piggishness.
But Miss Picolet, after all, won’t say anything
to you. You are her pet.”
“Don’t say that, Helen,”
replied Ruth, with some sadness. “I am
sorry for Miss Picolet.”
“I don’t see why you need
be. She seems to get along very well,”
returned her chum.
But Ruth could not forget how the
little French teacher had looked how frightened
she was and how tearful the afternoon when
Ruth had told her of the incident aboard the Minnetonka,
and of her loss of the mysterious letter sent by the
harpist. The little French woman had begged
her not to blame herself for the loss of the letter;
she had only begged her to say nothing to a soul about
either the man or the letter. And Ruth had kept
the secret.
Nearly a fortnight had passed since
the occurrence, and it lacked not many days to the
close of the term, when one evening, after a meeting
of the S. B.’s in their usual room over the dining
hall, Ruth had been delayed a bit and was hurrying
out alone so as not to be caught out of the dormitory
after warning bell, when old Tony Foyle hailed her.
“I was a-goin’ to the
West Dormitory to ax Miss Scrimp for to call ye, Miss
Ruthie,” said the old Irishman, who like
most of the help about the school was fond
of the girl from the Red Mill. “Ye’re
wanted, Miss.”
“Wanted?” asked Ruth, in surprise.
“Who by?”
“The Missus wants ye Missus
Tellingham. Ye’re ter go straight to her
study, so ye are.”
Much disturbed for she
feared there might be bad news from home Ruth
ran to the main building and knocked on Mrs. Tellingham’s
door. At her pleasantly spoken “Come in!”
the girl entered and found the Preceptress at her
desk, while the old doctor, quite as blind and deaf
to everything but his own work as usual, was bent
over his papers at the end of the long table.
But at this hour, and in the privacy of the place,
he had cocked the brown wig over one ear in the most
comical way, displaying a perfectly bald, shiny patch
of pate which made his naturally high forehead look
fairly enormous.
“Nothing to be frightened about,
Miss Fielding,” said Mrs. Tellingham, instantly
reading aright what she saw in Ruth’s countenance.
“You need not be disturbed. For I really
do not believe you are at fault in this matter which
has been brought to my notice.”
“No, Mrs. Tellingham?” asked Ruth, curiously.
“I have only a question to ask
you. Have you lost something something
that might have been entrusted to you for another person?
Some letter, for instance?”
The color flashed into Ruth’s
face. She was always thinking about the note
the harpist had given to her on the steamboat to take
to Miss Picolet. She could not hide her trouble
from the sharp eyes of Mrs. Tellingham.
“You have lost something?”
“I don’t know whether
I should tell you. I don’t know that I
have a right to tell you,” Ruth stammered.
Mrs. Tellingham looked at her sharply
for a minute or so, and then nodded. Then she
said:
“I understand. You have
been put on your honor not to tell?”
“Yes, Mrs. Tellingham. It is not my secret.”
“But there is a letter to be recovered?”
“Ye-es.”
“Is this it?” asked Mrs.
Tellingham, suddenly thrusting under Ruth’s
eye a very much soiled and crumpled envelope.
And it had been unsealed, Ruth could see. The
superscription was to “Mademoiselle Picolet.”
“It it looks like
it,” Ruth whispered. “But it was
sealed when I had it.”
“I do not doubt it,” said
Mrs. Tellingham, with a shake of her head. “But
the letter was given to me first, and then the envelope.
The the person who claims to have found
it when you dropped it, declared it to be open then.”
“Oh, I do not think so!” cried Ruth.
“Well. Enough that I know its contents.
You do not?”
“Indeed, no, Mrs. Tellingham.
I may have done wrong to agree to deliver the letter.
But I I was so sorry for her ”
“I understand. I do not
blame you in the least, child,” said Mrs. Tellingham,
shortly. “This letter states that the writer
expects more money from our Miss Picolet poor
thing! It states that if the money is not forthcoming
to an address he gives her before to-day to-day,
mind you, is the date he will come here
for it. It is, in short, a threat to make trouble
for Miss Picolet. And the person finding this
letter when you dropped it has deliberately, I believe,
retained it until to-day before bringing it to me,
for the express purpose of letting the scoundrel come
here and disturb Miss Picolet’s peace of mind.”
“Oh, how mean!” gasped Ruth, involuntarily.
“Mean indeed, Ruth,” said
the Preceptress, gravely. “And you have
yourself experienced some ill-usage from the person
who has played spy and informer in this matter, since
you have come to Briarwood Hall. I understand you
know that little can go on about the school that does
not reach my ears in one way or another that
this same person has called you a ‘tattle-tale’
and tried to make your friends among the girls believe
that you played traitor to them on a certain occasion.
I have told Miss Cox exactly what I think of her
action in this case,” and she tapped the letter
before her. “She has shown plainly,”
said Mrs. Tellingham, with sternness, “that
she is a most sly and mean-spirited girl. I
am sorry that one of the young ladies of Briarwood
Hall is possessed of so contemptible a disposition.”