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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Witch Winnie's Mystery, or The Old Oak
Cabinet, by Elizabeth W. Champney
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almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Witch Winnie's Mystery, or The Old Oak Cabinet
The Story of a King's Daughter
Author: Elizabeth W. Champney
Illustrator: C. D. Gibson
J. Wells Champney
Release Date: June 4, 2011 [EBook #36313]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="647" alt="Cover" title="" />
</div>
<h1>WITCH WINNIE’S MYSTERY</h1>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/gs01.jpg" width="400" height="583" alt="Witch Winnie" title="" />
</div>
<h1><span class="lg1">Witch Winnie’s Mystery</span><br />
<span class="sm2">OR</span><br />
THE OLD OAK CABINET<br />
<span class="sm1">THE STORY OF A KING’S DAUGHTER</span></h1>
<p class="tp"><small>BY</small><br />
<big>ELIZABETH W. CHAMPNEY</big><br />
<small>AUTHOR OF “WITCH WINNIE,” “VASSAR GIRLS ABROAD,” ETC.</small></p>
<p class="tp">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY C. D. GIBSON AND<br />
J. WELLS CHAMPNEY.</p>
<p class="tp">NEW YORK<br />
<big>DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</big><br />
PUBLISHERS</p>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p class="tp2"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1891,<br />
BY<br /></span>
<big>DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.</big></p>
<p class="tp2"><i>All rights reserved.</i>
</p>
<hr class="l1"/>
<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="4" summary="Table of Contents">
<tr><td align="right"><span class="sm3">CHAPTER</span></td><td class="col2"> </td><td align="right"><span class="sm3">PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"> </td><td class="col2">Introduction,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td class="col2">The First Escapade of the Season,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td class="col2">The Cabinet,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td class="col2">The Robbery,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td class="col2">Trouble in the Amen Corner,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td class="col2">L. Mudge, Detective,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td class="col2">Halloween Tricks,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td class="col2">A State of “Dreadfulness,”</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td class="col2">In the Meshes of a Golden Net,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td class="col2">“Polo,”</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td class="col2">The Catacomb Party</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td class="col2">A False Scent,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td class="col2">The Inter-Scholastic Games,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td class="col2">Polo is Shadowed,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td class="col2">The Clouds Part,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td class="col2">The Old Cabinet Tells its Story,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td><td class="col2">The Mystery Disclosed,</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_354">354</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2>
<p>For those who have not read the first volume
of this series, “Witch Winnie, the Story
of a King’s Daughter.”</p>
<div>We four girls,
<ul class="lsoff"><li>Adelaide Armstrong,</li>
<li>Milly Roseveldt,</li>
<li>Emma Jane Anton,</li>
<li>Nellie Smith,</li></ul>
had been chums at boarding school.</div>
<p>(Let it here be explained that although my
name is Nellie, I am never called anything but
Tib by my friends.)</p>
<p>We occupied a little suite of apartments in
the tower, consisting of a small study parlor
from which opened two double bedrooms and
one single one. Our family was called the
Amen Corner, because our initials, arranged
as an acrostic, spelled the word Amen, and
because we were a set of little Pharisees, prigs,
and “digs,” not particularly admired by the
rest of the school, but exceedingly virtuous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
and preternaturally perfect in our own estimation.</p>
<p>This was our status at the beginning of our
first school year together, and the change that
came over us, owing to the introduction into
our circle of Witch Winnie, the greatest scape-grace
in the most mischief-making set of the
school, the “Queen of the Hornets,” has already
been told. A quieting, earnest influence
acted upon Winnie, and a natural, merry-hearted
love of fun reacted on us, and we were
all the better for the companionship.</p>
<p>The greatest practical result outside the
change in our own characters was the formation,
by the uniting of the “Amen Corner”
and the “Hornets,” of a Ten of King’s Daughters,
who founded the Home of the Elder
Brother, for little children. This institution
was adopted by our parents, who formed themselves
into a board of managers, but left much
of the working of the enterprise in our hands.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
The Home prospered during the first year of
its existence in a truly wonderful manner. It
was undenominational and unendowed. No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
rich church or wealthy man stood behind it.
It was entirely dependent on the efforts of a
few young girls, and on the voluntary subscriptions
of benevolent people. But it grew
day by day. Little ripples of influence widened
out from our circle to others. During
the vacation our ten separated, and at each of
their homes they formed other tens, who
worked for the same object. Every one who
visited the Home was interested in its plan of
work, which was to help the poor without pauperizing
them; to aid struggling women whose
husbands had died, or were in hospitals or
prisons, and who could have no homes of their
own, by providing them with a substitute for
the baby farming, so extensively carried on in
the tenement districts, by offering them, on
the same low terms, a sweet and wholesome
shelter for their little ones. Some wondered
why we charged these poor women anything;
why the <em>half</em> charity was not made a free gift.
But wiser philanthropists saw the superior
kindness of this demand. The women whom
we wished to aid were not beggars, but
that worthy, struggling class who, overburdened,
but still desperately striving, must sink
in the conflict unless helped, but who still
wished to do all in their power for their children,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
and brought the small sum asked for
their board with a proud and happy self-respect.</p>
<p>One of our own members, Emma Jane Anton,
on graduating at Madame’s, became matron
of the Home, assisted by dear Miss Prillwitz,
formerly our teacher of botany, from
whose heart this beautiful thought had blossomed.</p>
<p>The Home was just across the park from
the school building and we frequently visited
it; but though we were all deeply interested
in this sweet charity, it did not interfere
with our studies or with a great deal of girlish,
innocent fun. Since Winnie had become my
room-mate we had lost much of the prestige
which was formerly the boast of the Amen
Corner, and after Emma Jane left the little
single room, Madame, feeling that our influence
had done much for Winnie, sent another
of the “Hornets” into our midst.</p>
<p>We had accepted and adopted Winnie with
all our hearts, for her many lovable qualities,
and above all for her genuine good fellowship
and affectionate nature, but Cynthia Vaughn
was a very different character. There was
nothing but enjoyable fun in any of Winnie’s
tricks; Cynthia’s were mean and malicious.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
We never liked her, and she openly showed
her scorn of Winnie and of me, while she
fawned in a hypocritical manner, striving to ingratiate
herself with aristocratic Adelaide and
with gentle Milly, who was the wealthiest girl
at Madame’s.</p>
<p>We were no longer the best behaved set in
school, and an acrostic formed from our initials
could not now be made to spell anything; but
the name “Amen Corner” clung to the little
apartment, and Madame still looked upon us
with favor. She knew that Adelaide and
Milly, Winnie and I, were all, beneath our
mischief, true-hearted, earnest girls, and she
charitably hoped for great improvement in
Cynthia.</p>
<p>There was one person who did not believe
in us—Miss Noakes, our corridor teacher. She
believed that Winnie was filled with all iniquity
and that Adelaide was far too attractive to be
allowed the confidence which Madame reposed
in her. It was Miss Noakes’s great grievance
that she could never discover the least approach
to a flirtation in Adelaide’s conduct.
I believe that she fairly gloated with anticipated
triumph when Madame engaged a handsome
young artist to take charge of our art
department, and that from this time she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
watched and peeped and listened with an industry
which would have done credit to a better
cause. She seemed to argue that as no lover
of the beautiful could fail to appreciate Adelaide’s
beauty, therefore our artist must admire
Adelaide, and in this deduction she was not
far from the truth, but she ought not to have
taken it for granted that Adelaide must be
equally pleased with her admirer. How her
espionage tracked us through several innocent
tricks and capers, and was finally foiled by our
beloved Winnie; how the great mystery of
the robbery for a time brought doubt and suspicion
between four dear friends who would,
and did, go through fire and water for one another;
and how, in spite of doubt and jealousy
and trouble, our love and devotion for one another:
burned brightly and steadily on to the
end of the school year, and into the life beyond—this
little book will tell.</p>
<p>That the events which I am about to relate
may be better understood, I subjoin a plan of
the “Amen Corner.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<a href="images/gs02-h.jpg"><img src="images/gs02.jpg" width="400" height="314" alt="Plan of the AMEN CORNER" title="" /></a>
<span class="center"><span class="smcap">Plan of the</span> <b>AMEN CORNER</b></span>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
<h1>WITCH WINNIE’S MYSTERY.</h1>
<hr class="l2"/>
<h2>CHAPTER I.<br />
<small>THE FIRST ESCAPADE OF THE SEASON.</small></h2>
<div class="image1">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 301px; height: 140px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 250px; height: 190px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in1"><span class="upper">Girls!</span>”
Winnie
exclaimed
excitedly
as we entered
our
study parlor
after recitation,
“I am wild with
curiosity to
know what they
are doing in the
hospital. All
the morning,
while I have
been trying to study, there has been the
greatest thumping and bumping going on in
there. I wonder whether they are chaining<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
down an insane patient, or if the ghostly
nurses are having a war dance.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you look and see?” Cynthia
Vaughn asked, pointing to the transom over
a locked door, which formerly opened from
our parlor into the hospital ward.</p>
<p>Madame had made abundant provision for
sickness in the original arrangement of the
school building. A large sky-lighted room
had been set apart as an infirmary, and a
little suite of rooms in the great tower adjoining
as the physician’s quarters. But it was
rare indeed that any one was ill at Madame’s,
and when a pupil was taken sick, her parents
usually took her home at once. So the
doctor, having nothing to do but to hear the
recitations in physiology, preferred not to
reside in the school building, and the pretty
suite of rooms, consisting of a parlor and three
bedrooms, was assigned to us, and the hospital
proper was used as a trunk room. Winnie
always maintained that ghosts of medical
students experimented there in the night
watches on imaginary cases of vivisection,
that corpses were embalmed, and shrieks and
howls were to be heard, in the wee small
hours, while phantom lights fumed blue on
the other side of the transom, and sickly odors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
of ether and other drugs penetrated through
the keyhole. We all laughed at Winnie’s
phantasms, but there were none of us so brave
as to care to visit that room after nightfall.
The trunks looked too much like coffins, and
there were dresses of Madame’s sewed up in
bags made of sheets, and suspended from the
roof, which had the uncanny look of corpses of
people who had hanged themselves.</p>
<p>It was broad daylight now, and we were
not at all nervous, and Cynthia remarked
scornfully, “Winnie has told us so many of
her bug-a-boo stories that she has come to
actually believe in them herself. She dare
not for her life look through that transom to
see what occasions the noise in the hospital.”</p>
<p>“You dare me to do it?” Winnie asked,
confronting Cynthia with flashing eyes.</p>
<p>“Don’t, Winnie,” I pled. “We have no
right to peep.”</p>
<p>Winnie hesitated.</p>
<p>“I told you so,” Cynthia said provokingly.
“She dares not look. It is only a lumber
room. The noise was probably made by some
cat chasing a rat around.”</p>
<p>“It would take a whole army of cats to
make the noises I have heard,” Winnie replied
hotly, at the same time rolling Adelaide’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
great Saratoga trunk in front of the door.</p>
<p>“There it goes again!” and as a loud
hammering re-echoed through the adjoining
room, she sprang upon the trunk. The transom
was still too high for her to reach.
“Quick, girls, something else,” she exclaimed,
and Milly dragged the “Commissary Department”
from its retirement under my bed.</p>
<p>The “commissary” was a small, old-fashioned
trunk, which had belonged to my
great-grandmother. It was covered with cow-skin,
the hair only partially worn off, and
studded with brass-headed nails which formed
the initials of my ancestors. It was lined with
newspapers bearing the date 1790, and was
altogether a very quaint and curious relic. Its
chief interest to us, however, lay in the fact
that it had come to us from my home filled
with all the good things that a farm can produce
and a mistakenly soft-hearted mother
send. There were mince pies and pickles, a
great wedge of cheese, a box of honey, pounds
of maple-sugar, tiny sausages, a great fruitcake,
jars of pickled peaches, ginger snaps,
walnuts and chestnuts, pop-corn and molasses
candy, and what Milly called the <cite>interstixes</cite>
were filled in with delicious doughnuts. It
was a treasure house of richness upon which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
we revelled in the night after the gas was
turned out and we all met in our nightgowns,
and formed a semicircle sitting on the floor
around the register, while Winnie told the
most deliciously frightful ghost and robber
stories.</p>
<p>Then, it was that the “commissary” yielded
up its contraband stores and we ate, and
shivered, partly with cold and partly with delightful
terror inspired by the rehearsal of
legends for which Winnie ransacked, during
the day, the pages of the detective Vidocq and
Poe’s prose tales.</p>
<p>Then if a mouse did but squeak in the deserted
hospital ward, or the shuffle of Miss
Noakes’s slippers was heard in the corridor outside,
we all scuttled incontinently to our beds,
and Winnie snored loudly, while Milly buried
her head beneath the blankets. Miss Noakes
occupied a large room opposite the hospital.
She was a disagreeable, prowling teacher and
we had nicknamed her <em>Snooks</em>.</p>
<p>The “commissary” being now carefully
poised upon the curved top of Adelaide’s
trunk, Winnie mounted upon it, and found
that it was exactly what was needed, as it
brought her face just on a level with the
transom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
<p>“O girls!” she exclaimed, “the trunks are
all gone, and they are making the room over
into a studio. And that handsome man that
sat at Madame’s table yesterday at dinner is
in there hanging pictures. I wonder if he is
an artist and is going to teach us. My! he is
looking this way,” and Winnie crouched suddenly.
The movement was a careless one, and
the commissary slid down the sloping cover of
the trunk upon which it rested, striking the door
with its end like a battering-ram, and with such
force that the rusted lock yielded, and the
commissary, with Winnie seated upon it, swept
forward, like a toboggan, far into the center of
the hospital.</p>
<p>It was strange that Winnie was not hurt,
but she was not; and before the astonished
artist could quite comprehend what had happened,
she had picked herself up, scampered
back into our room, and we had closed the
door behind her, and were fastening it to the
best of our ability by tying the knob to Adelaide’s
trunk by means of a piece of clothes-line
which had formerly served to cord the
commissary.</p>
<p>At first we laughed long and merrily over
the adventure, but by degrees its serious aspects
were appreciated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
<p>In the first place, Milly suggested dolorously
that the commissary had fallen into the hands
of the enemy, while Cynthia Vaughn drew attention
to the fact of the broken lock.</p>
<p>“However you girls will explain that to
Madame is more than I know,” she remarked
maliciously.</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> girls!” Winnie repeated indignantly,
“as if you were not as much concerned in it as
any of us.”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” Cynthia exclaimed scornfully,
“if I remember rightly, it was Milly who
brought the commissary from its retirement,
Tib who balanced it so judiciously, and Winnie
who dawned so unceremoniously on that
strange man in the other room. I had absolutely
nothing to do with the affair.”</p>
<p>“You were the instigator of it all,” I retorted
hotly. “If you had not dared Winnie
to do it she would never have tried to look
in.”</p>
<p>“That is like you, Tib,” Cynthia replied
icily, “to get into a scrape and then lay the
blame on some one else.”</p>
<p>“I take all the blame,” Winnie exclaimed
loftily. “If inquisition is ever made into this
affair, I and I alone am responsible,” and then
she uttered a little shriek and scampered into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
her own bedroom, for some one was knocking
at the door, which we had just attempted to
fasten.</p>
<p>“Who is there?” I asked, with as much
boldness as I could muster; “and what do you
want?”</p>
<p>“I am Carrington Waite, the new Professor
of Art, and I would like to return property
which has been most unexpectedly introduced
into my studio, unless it is possible that the
articles to which I refer were intended as a
donation.”</p>
<p>We all laughed at this sally, and made
haste to unfasten the door, whereupon Professor
Waite handed in the commissary. He
had a pleasant face, and there was a merry
twinkle in his eye as he said: “I tried to
bundle everything in, but the trunk collided
with my box of colors, and you may find rose
madder in your jam, while the pickle jar actually
seemed to explode, and showered pickles
all over the studio. I have no doubt I
shall find them along the cornice when I hang
the pictures on that side of the room. The
doughnuts, too, flew in every direction. Some
rolled under the cabinets, and a mince pie applied
itself like a plaster to the back of my
neck. A bottle of tomato catsup was emptied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
on one of my canvases, and made a fine impressionistic
study of a sunset. I am afraid I
stepped on the cheese, but I believe everything
else is all right.”</p>
<p>He looked about him with interest, and
asked, “Where is the heroine who performed
this astonishing acrobatic feat? I trust she
was not hurt. It must have been a thrilling
experience. Is it a customary form of exercise
with you young ladies?”</p>
<p>We did not deign to reply to these questions,
but I opened the commissary and offered
the artist some of our choicest dainties. He
accepted our largess, and retired with polite
invitations for us to be “neighborly” and “to
call again.”</p>
<p>“Not in just that way,” I replied, and I
entreated him, if possible, to repair the broken
lock. He examined it carefully.</p>
<p>“I am afraid,” he said, “that it will require
a locksmith to do it thoroughly, but I can
make it look all right, and you can screw a
little bolt on your side which will fasten the
door securely.”</p>
<p>We thanked him and he was about to close
the door, when Adelaide, who was the only
one of our circle who had not had a part in
the escapade, entered the room hastily from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
the corridor. “O girls,” she exclaimed—but
stopped suddenly as she caught sight of the
open door and the young artist. At first her
face showed only blank surprise, then, as she
told herself that this must be a joke of Winnie’s,
who was fond of masquerading in costume,
she remarked with dignity.</p>
<p>“Really, this is quite too childish; where did
you ever get that absurd costume? You look
too ridiculous for anything——”</p>
<p>Cynthia Vaughn shrieked with laughter.</p>
<p>The artist bowed, but colored to the roots
of his hair and closed the door, while Milly
threw her arms around Adelaide, laughing
hysterically, Winnie appeared from behind
her door also laughing, and I vainly attempted
to explain matters.</p>
<p>“What a mortifying situation,” Adelaide
remarked, when she finally understood the
case. “I must apologize for my rudeness,
and I am sure I would rather put my hand in
boiling water than speak to that man.”</p>
<p>“I am sure I only wish that I may never
see him again,” said Winnie. “Nothing in
this world could induce me to join the painting
class, and if there is one thing that I am
profoundly grateful for, it is that I have no
talent for art.”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER II.<br />
<small>THE CABINET.</small></h2>
<div class="image2">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 207px; height: 70px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 140px; height: 180px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in1"><span class="upper">
Winnie’s</span> queer
toboggan ride was
innocent enough in
itself but it brought
in its train many unforeseen
circumstances, chief among
which was the affair of the
old oak cabinet.</p>
<p>This cabinet stood in our
study parlor, in the corner
diagonally opposite the
door leading into the new
studio, and was used as a depository of the
funds of all the occupants of the Amen Corner.</p>
<p>The cabinet was always left locked and
there was but one key to it, which was kept
in the match-box, well covered with matches.
Only we five knew its hiding place, or the
fact that the cabinet was used as a bank. We
had agreed that it was best to keep this a
secret among ourselves—and it was so kept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
until the day after the robbery, weeks after
Winnie’s escapade. We intended to follow
Professor Waite’s advice and buy a bolt for
the door, but what was everybody’s business
was nobody’s business, and whenever we went
shopping there were so many errands that we
forgot it, or some other girl, or one of the
teachers was with us, and it would have been
embarrassing to explain why the bolt was
needed.</p>
<p>The door, as has been explained, opened outward
from our parlor into the studio. Professor
Waite had placed a heavy carved chest against
it on his side, so that there was no danger of
its flying open, and we had uncorded the knob
and rolled Adelaide’s trunk back to her bedroom.
No one occupied the studio at night,
and, though I spent several hours there during
the day, I always entered the room by its
corridor door, and we never thought when we
locked our own corridor door at night how
easily any one so minded could push aside the
chest and enter our apartment from the studio.</p>
<p>That the contents of the old oak cabinet
on the night of the robbery may be understood,
an explanation of the finances of the
different occupants of the Amen Corner is
possibly now in order.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
<p>Adelaide’s father and mother had gone West
for the winter. Mr. Armstrong was an able
financier, and he wished to make Adelaide a
thorough business woman. She was eighteen
years old and she might be a great heiress
some day, if his wealth continued to accumulate,
and he wished to accustom her to the
management of money.</p>
<p>He had given her the year before a model
tenement house, built after the most approved
principles, on the site of Richetts’ Court, previously
occupied by one of the worst tenement
houses in the city. The new building contained
accommodations for ten families; the
sanitation was perfect; there were no dark
rooms, but bath rooms, fire escapes, and provision
for every necessity. A good janitor,
Stephen Trimble, occupied the lower apartment
and looked after the order and comfort
of the building, and every month Adelaide,
attended by one of the teachers, went
down and personally collected her rents, and
listened to the complaints and requests of
her tenants. There were few of either, and
as a general rule the pay was prompt, for the
rent was low, and Adelaide did all she could
to oblige her tenants, having a small drying
room built for the laundress, Mrs. McCarthy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
who had contracted rheumatic fever from
hanging out her wash on the roof and so exposing
herself to the icy winds, when over-heated
from the steaming tubs. Adelaide had
no stringent rules against pets. She caused
kennels to be built in the court for several pet
dogs, and added some blossoming plants to
Mrs. Blumenthal’s small conservatory in the
sunny south window. Noticing that the
Morettis were fond of art, and had pasted
cigarette pictures on their walls and driven
nails to suspend some gaudy prints of the
virgin and saints, she had a narrow moulding
with picture hooks placed just under
the ceiling in every sitting-room. She patronized
all their small industries as far as it
was in her power, and interested her friends
in them; having her boots made by the little
shoemaker on the top floor, who was really a
good workman, but had been turned away
from a prominent firm, as they had cut down
their list of employees. Her underclothing
was made by the little seamstress on the third
floor back. She gave each of her tenants a
Thanksgiving dinner and a substantial present
on Christmas Day, and only allowed those to
be evicted whose flagrant misbehaviour showed
that nothing could be done for them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
<p>From the income of this building her father
had insisted that Adelaide must pay all her
expenses. As Madame’s boarding school was
a fashionable one, the margin left, after the
payment of tuition, to be divided between
dress and charity, was not very large.</p>
<p>Mr. Armstrong knew that Adelaide’s weakness
was a love for beautiful clothing; that
she delighted in sumptuous velvets, in the
sheen of satin, and the shimmer of gauze.
Her regal beauty would not have been over-powered
by a queen’s toilette, but she adorned
the simplest costume, and set the fashion in
hats for the school season.</p>
<p>Mr. Armstrong also knew that Adelaide
was very tender of heart, and that if left
entirely to herself she would gladly have
opened the doors of her tenement house
freely to unscrupulous and undeserving people;
that she would have easily credited every
woeful story, and have remitted rents when it
would have been no real kindness to do so.
He therefore pitted these two weaknesses
against each other. “We will see what comes
of it at the close of the year,” he said. “She
may become a grinding, close-fisted proprietress,
screwing the last possible dollar out of
the poor to lavish it on her own personal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
adornment, but I hope better things of Adelaide
than that. It would be more like her, I
think, to go to the opposite extreme—dress
like an Ursuline nun and take nothing from
her tenants; but let us hope that she may be
able to strike the golden mean.”</p>
<p>It was a hard thing to do, and Adelaide
went without a new winter cloak until nearly
Christmas time, waiting for the Morettis to
pay up an arrearage; and only consented to
the turning out of a shiftless family who occupied
the best apartment, and were three
months behind hand, because the tuition for
the first term at Madame’s would be due in a
few days, and a respectable wood engraver
offered to pay two months in advance. It
was hard, because she did not wish to spend
all the money on herself. She was as interested
as any of us in the Home of the Elder
Brother, and longed to contribute more generously
to it; but since these poor people were
her tenants, they were in some sense her own
family, and she felt that charity began at
home. Often I know that Adelaide denied
herself as really, in not being more lenient,
as her tenants did to scrape together their
monthly rental. She was a generous girl to
her friends, and before her father had made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
this arrangement she deluged us all with her
presents. Milly, who had unlimited credit
at several stores, kept up this pernicious
custom of lavishly giving presents of flowers
and candies. It was hard for Winnie and
me, who were in moderate circumstances,
not to return them, but doubly so for Adelaide—who
entreated her to desist, as we all
did, but without avail. Milly was incorrigible.
“You don’t seem to understand,”
Winnie said to her at Christmas time, “that
the receipt of a gift which one cannot return
in kind is a bitter pill to a sensitive nature.”</p>
<p>“No,” replied Milly, “I don’t understand
anything of the sort. Adelaide always translates
my Cæsar for me. You help me with my
algebra, and Tib as good as writes my compositions.
I couldn’t return any of those favors
‘<em>in kind</em>,’ and they are pills that are not the
least bit bitter to me——”</p>
<p>“It’s of no use, Adelaide,” laughed Winnie,
“we must let Milly have her own way. It is
such a pleasure to Milly to give that we will
sacrifice our own feelings and bear the infliction.”</p>
<p>Mr. Armstrong had given Adelaide an old
oak cabinet, beautifully carved in the style of
the Italian Renaissance of the fifteenth century,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
with architectural columns, caryatides,
scroll work, and arabesques. The upper cupboard
of this cabinet was used as a strong box
to hold the funds of our little circle. The
interior was divided into pigeon holes and
shelves, and the door was provided with a
curious key with a delicate wrought-iron
handle.</p>
<p>Adelaide had given each of us a compartment
in this little safe, but when its entire
contents were counted there was rarely much
money kept here, for Adelaide had a bank
account, and after collecting her rents usually
deposited them at the bank before returning
to school, paying all her debts by cheque.
Milly, as before explained, had her running
accounts charged to her father,—a book at
Arnold’s, at the florist’s, the confectioner’s, the
dressmaker’s, stationer’s, etc.,—but her supply
of ready cash was never equal to demand, and
though she could telephone for a messenger
and order a coupé at any time, she was
always in debt to the other girls, and I have
frequently lent her postage stamps and paid
her car fare.</p>
<p>Mr. Roseveldt had a horror of entrusting
funds to young girls with no limitation of the
way in which they were to be spent; he felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
that in looking over the shop-keeper’s accounts
he knew exactly how much Milly expended,
and for what the money went. But his plan
was a mistaken one; and the perfect freedom
which Adelaide enjoyed was training her in a
sense of responsibility, while Milly was becoming
unscrupulous as to waste, where waste was
encouraged, and frequently ordered a coupé
when the street car would have done just as
well, or rang for a messenger to save a postage
stamp.</p>
<p>Winnie and I, the two poorer girls, were
the ones who usually had money in the safe.
Winnie received a moderate allowance from
her father outside of her tuition, which he
sent directly to Madame. As soon as the
cheque arrived, she cashed it and placed the
new, crisp bills in separate envelopes labelled,
“Personal expenses,” “Charity.” She was
very generous, but she had a horror of debt,
and she never expended the funds in the
latter envelope until she had received another
remittance. As Winnie abhorred
sweets, and would rather any day have
gone to the dentist’s than the dressmaker’s,
and as she had a supreme contempt for display
of any kind, the charity envelope was
always full, and she had usually a comfortable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
margin in personal expenditure to lend or
bestow on others. Winnie had always been
generous, but this quality of foresight had only
come to her during the past year in her work
as a member of the finance committee of the
Home of the Elder Brother.</p>
<p>My own case was different from that of the
others. My father was a Long Island farmer,
and my allowance, though meagre as related
to my necessities, was liberal when compared
with his own income. Miss Sartoris, Madame’s
former drawing teacher, had boarded
with us one summer, during which I had
sketched with her, and she had persuaded
father that I possessed a talent for art and
had taken me back with her to Madame’s.
So far I had easily led all the art students,
and my studies, although abounding
in faults, presumptuous and immature, were
considered by the school as something quite
remarkable. During the past summer a young
man of engaging address, and otherwise
irreproachable honesty, had stolen our beloved
teacher, and Miss Sartoris, now Mrs. Stillman,
was known to Madame’s no more. When
the school reorganized in the fall, Madame
engaged me to take charge of the art department,
temporarily, until she could provide herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
with a more competent instructor. We
had a small, crowded studio, with a poor light,
but the class was large. I did the best I
could, but we sorely needed ampler accommodations,
and a head whose ability in his profession
should be unquestioned. Both were
now provided. Carrington Waite was a
young artist fresh from the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">École des Beaux Arts</i>
at Paris, and he brought to us the training
traditions of the schools, and the latest
European ideas in art.</p>
<p>There were very few girls in the school sufficiently
advanced to understand his instruction,
but they flocked into the studio and
listened with undisguised admiration to words
that might as well have been uttered in an
unknown tongue. Poor little Milly gazed at
him in a rapt, adoring way, without ever comprehending
what he said. The tears came to
her eyes and rolled swiftly down her cheeks
when he told her that it was manifestly absurd
to draw a full face seen from the front with its
nose in profile, but she smiled a brave little
quiver of a smile while he reviled her work,
and thanked him as though he had uttered the
most fulsome compliments.</p>
<p>Even Winnie had felt the wave of influence
and joined the class in spite of her assertion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
that she had no taste for art and never wished
to see Professor Waite again. Only Adelaide
held firmly out and would none of him.
Winnie was not at all afraid of the Professor,
and seemed to devote herself especially to
making his life miserable. When he informed
her that she must join the “preparatory
antique” section and draw in charcoal, she
calmly explained that she “perfectly loathed”
casts, and she had purchased an outfit of oil
paints and intended to devote herself at once
to color. Strange to say, Professor Waite
humored her and gave her some of his landscape
studies to copy. She was never contented
with reproducing these faithfully, but
always “improved” upon them, as she audaciously
expressed it.</p>
<p>It was a common thing for Professor Waite
to remark, when he sat down before Winnie’s
easel, “Well, this is about the worst atrocity
you have yet committed.”</p>
<p>Winnie, standing behind him, would make
eyes at the rest of the girls, and remark penitently,
“I am very sorry.”</p>
<p>“You look sorry,” Professor Waite replied,
on one occasion.</p>
<p>“I don’t see how you can tell how I look,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
Winnie answered, “when you are sitting with
your back to me.”</p>
<p>I do not know whether Milly’s denseness or
Winnie’s impudence was the more irritating
to Professor Waite. Winnie resented his
severity to Milly and was always more provoking
whenever he had grieved her pet and
left her sobbing in a mire of charcoal and
tears.</p>
<p>“You give me more trouble than a three-week’s-old
baby,” Professor Waite had remarked
to poor Milly, and Winnie had retorted
spitefully, “I wish you had to take
care of one—I guess you would find a difference.”</p>
<p>Winnie’s sauciness and Milly’s dulness, combined
with that of many of his other pupils,
drove the Professor to despair after a week’s
trial. He told Madame, as I learned later,
that he must give up the position, as her pupils
were all “too hopelessly elementary.”</p>
<p>Madame was disappointed. Her art department
had always been an attractive feature,
and since the name of Professor Carrington
Waite, late of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Académie des Beaux Arts</i>,
had appeared in her circulars, many had joined
the school purely for the sake of the studio<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
instruction. Madame explained this to the
young artist.</p>
<p>He ran his fingers through his hair in despair.
“Of what manner of use is it for me to
remain?” he asked. “There is only one pupil
sufficiently advanced to gain anything from
my instruction, and that is Miss Smith. The
others made as much advance, perhaps more,
under her teaching as they have under mine.”</p>
<p>A happy thought came to Madame. “If I
engage Miss Smith as your assistant, Professor
Waite, perhaps she can translate your ideas
into terms which will be intelligible by the
students of lower intelligence or advancement,
and possibly she can so enlighten some
of them that they can profit later by your personal
teaching.”</p>
<p>This plan struck Professor Waite as practicable.
He now only visited the studio for an
hour each morning, during which time he criticised
the work which had been done under my
supervision during the previous day. The
new arrangement was an excellent one for me,
for I profited by all his remarks, listening to
them with the keenest attention, and thus received
thirty lessons during the hour instead
of one. As I had but three other studies, and
these were in the senior class, it was possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
for me to give the necessary time by preparing
all of my lessons in the evening. It was unremitting,
incessant work, but my health was
excellent, and art was my supreme delight.
Moreover, Madame had offered me a salary
of three hundred dollars beyond my school
expenses, and it was perfect joy to be able to
relieve father of this burden. I had a high
ambition to go abroad some day and study
art in Paris, and I wished to save as much as
possible of my salary toward this purpose. I
had the lower compartment in the safe, and
here I laid away every dollar that I could
spare, limiting myself in everything but my
subscription to the Home of the Elder Brother;
but for this outlet I would have grown
niggardly and avaricious. The same charity
which made Winnie prudently retrench her
propensity to lavish expenditure, and take
thought carefully for the morrow, kept me
from utter selfishness and penuriousness by
keeping one channel of generous giving open
and pulsing freely toward others.</p>
<p>Cynthia Vaughn’s affairs were kept closely
to herself. We sometimes fancied that she
pretended to greater wealth and consequence
than she really possessed. Certainly, if the
sums of which she frequently spoke of receiving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
were at her disposal she was a veritable
miser; for her subscription to the Home was
the smallest of any girl in the King’s Daughters’
Ten; the presents which she ostentatiously
bestowed upon Adelaide and Milly were
cheap though showy, as was her own clothing.</p>
<p>The treasures which she committed to the
cabinet safe were carefully locked in a small
japanned tin box, the key of which she kept in
her pocket-book, and she was the only one of
us whose belongings within the safe were so
protected. We had perfect confidence in one
another, and our funds lay open to the observation
or handling of any one possessing the
pass key in the match box. It is needless to
say that up to the night of the robbery our
security had been inviolate.</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER III.<br />
<small>THE ROBBERY.</small></h2>
<div class="image3">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 302px; height: 100px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 230px; height: 260px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in5"><span class="upper">Adelaide</span>
led the
school in
more respects
than in the style
of hats, and in the
Amen Corner she
reigned as absolute
queen.</p>
<p>It may seem
strange that this
was so, for Winnie
was the genius of
our coterie. She
was perhaps too
active and restless. She seemed born to be a
leader, but the leader of a revolt, while Adelaide
had the calm assurance of a princess who
had no need to assert her rights, but to whom
allegiance came as a matter of course. Even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
Winnie was her loyal subject and delighted in
being her prime minister.</p>
<p>I have spoken of Winnie’s fondness for
reading and telling detective stories. It really
seemed as if in so doing she was preparing
us for the events which followed, and the time
when every one of us felt that she was a special
detective charged with the mission of
finding a clue to a great and sorrowful mystery.</p>
<p>It all came about through the robbery.</p>
<p>On the eve of my birthday it so happened
that there was an unusual amount of money
in the little safe. Adelaide had returned from
collecting her rents too late to deposit her
funds in the bank. She looked very much relieved
as she slipped a roll of bills, amounting
to nearly one hundred dollars, into her pigeon-hole,
and turning the key, deposited it in the
match safe.</p>
<p>Winnie had that morning cashed a check
just received from her father, and had brought
back from the bank some crisp, new notes,
with which she filled her envelopes for the
coming month. Cynthia had ostentatiously
and yet mysteriously dropped some silver dollars
into her cash box, and even Milly had laid
aside an unwonted sum, for her father had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
called at the school and contrary to his usual
custom had given her five bright ten-dollar
gold pieces. Milly seemed very happy as she
slipped them into her snakeskin and tucked
it into her own particular corner of the safe.</p>
<p>“Unlimited pocket money this month, eh!
Milly?” I asked.</p>
<p>Milly laughed and shook her head.</p>
<p>“Don’t know that I am obliged to account
to you for everything,” she said, saucily, but
the sting was taken out of the speech by the
kiss with which it was immediately followed,
and I more than half suspected that Milly intended
one of those gold pieces as a birthday
present for me.</p>
<p>Late in the evening I counted over my own
hoard. We were all in the study parlor, with
the exception of Winnie, and as I counted I
looked up and saw that Adelaide and Milly
were regarding me with interest, though their
glances instantly fell to the books which they
had apparently been studying.</p>
<p>“How much have you, Tib?” Adelaide
asked; “enough yet to buy the steamer ticket
for the ocean passage?”</p>
<p>“No,” I replied, “only forty-seven dollars as
yet, but I hope to make it before the close of
school.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
<p>“Of course you will,” Milly replied reassuringly.</p>
<p>Cynthia laughed raspingly. “You have
almost enough now, if you go in the steerage,”
she sneered.</p>
<p>Adelaide suddenly threw a bit of drawn linen
work belonging to Cynthia over the money,
which I had spread out in the chair before me.</p>
<p>“What are you doing with my embroidery?”
Cynthia snapped. “Did you mistake
it for a dust rag?”</p>
<p>“Natural mistake,” Milly giggled.</p>
<p>Adelaide lifted her finger warningly.
“Hush!” she said, “I saw a face at the transom;
some one was looking in from the studio.”</p>
<p>Milly turned pale and clutched my hand,
and we all looked at the transom with straining
eyes. It was almost dark in the studio
and for a few moments we saw nothing but
some one was moving about, for we heard
cautious steps, and a creaking sound just the
other side of the door. Presently a hat cautiously
lifted itself into view through the
transom. It was a broad-brimmed, soft felt
hat of the Rembrandt style, which Professor
Waite sometimes wore. It moved about
silently from one side of the transom to the
other, descended, and appeared again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
<p>“I never thought that Professor Waite
would peep or listen,” Cynthia whispered.</p>
<p>“He would not,” I replied aloud. “He
must be at work there hanging pictures or
doing something else of the sort.”</p>
<p>“Then he would make more noise,” Cynthia
suggested, as the hat continued its stealthy
movements.</p>
<p>“It may be some one else who has put on
the Professor’s hat as a disguise,” Milly
gasped.</p>
<p>“That was the reason I covered up the
money,” Adelaide replied, in a low voice.
“You had better put it away, Tib.”</p>
<p>I hastily bundled my money into the safe
and locked the door, and we sat for some
moments quietly watching the transom, but the
spectre did not come again. Winnie entered
a few moments later and seemed greatly
interested by our accounts of the incident.</p>
<p>“Do you suppose that it could have been
one of that band of Italian bravos who has
climbed up on the fire-escape and who intends
to murder us?” she asked with an assumption
of terror.</p>
<p>“Hush,” I whispered, pulling her dress, and
pointing to Milly whose eyes were staring with
fright.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
<p>“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Winnie; “can’t
you tell when I’m joking? It was Professor
Waite. Of course it was Professor Waite.
He has been in love with Adelaide ever since
she complimented him on his appearance at
their first meeting. He is dying for a glimpse
at her fair face, and as she won’t join his
painting class he relieves his yearning heart by
gazing over the transom.”</p>
<p>There was more joking, and Milly’s fears
were as quickly quieted as they had been
raised. Professor Waite had undoubtedly
been at work in the studio, I insisted, and I
knocked on the door and called his name.</p>
<p>No answer, and I tried to open the door,
but the chest held it firmly in place. “Shall I
look over the transom?” I asked.</p>
<p>“For pity’s sake do not repeat Winnie’s experience,”
Adelaide begged.</p>
<p>“Then I will look in by the corridor door,”
I said resolutely, and I stepped down the hall
and into the studio. The door was open, so
was Miss Noakes’s door just opposite, and
that watchful lady sat rocking and reading beside
her little centre table. She was not too
much absorbed, however, to give me a keen
questioning glance—but she said nothing, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
as assistant teacher in art I had a perfect
right to frequent the studio.</p>
<p>The moon was shining in clearly through
the great window, and every object was distinctly
visible, but there was no one in the
room. I opened the door leading to the turret
staircase and listened; all was silent, and I
screwed up my courage and descended, finding
the door at the foot safely locked. The great
Rembrandt hat lay on the chest in front of
our door, and the Professor’s mahl-stick, or
long support on which he rested his arm when
painting, leaned beside it. I could not see
any change in the disposition of the pictures
on the wall, or other indications of what the
Professor had been doing, if indeed it was the
Professor, and I did not know of his ever before
visiting the studio at that hour. As I
came out I noticed that Miss Noakes was
still rocking before her open door, her slits of
eyes glancing sharply up.</p>
<p>“Have you seen any one go into the studio
lately?” I asked.</p>
<p>“No one has passed through the corridor
since the beginning of study hour, with the
exception of Miss Winifred De Witt.”</p>
<p>“Then this door must have been open all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
the time, and you have seen no one in the
studio?”</p>
<p>“I have observed no one. Why do you
ask?”</p>
<p>“We thought we saw the shadow of a man
on the transom.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense—it is silly to be frightened at
nothing. It was probably Professor Waite.
If you young ladies would interest yourselves
less in the movements of that young man it
would be much more becoming in you.”</p>
<p>I turned away quickly, not relishing her
tone, and looked at the corridor window, which
opened on the balcony of the fire escape. It
was securely fastened. I was puzzled, but did
not wish to alarm Milly, and I now reported
only what seemed to me the favorable aspects
of the case.</p>
<p>No one there, all quiet and in order; lower
turret door opening on the street, and the
corridor window opening on the balcony, both
locked, showing that no one could have come
up the stairs or the fire escape. Miss Noakes,
on guard, had seen no one enter the studio.</p>
<p>Of course it must have been Professor
Waite.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Winnie echoed. “Tib knows
him too well to be mistaken even when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
only sees him through a glass darkly. But
think what that devotion must be, which leads
a man to keep guard before his lady’s door at
night,” and Winnie shouldered an umbrella
and paced back and forward, singing in a deep
bass voice, “Thy Sentinel am I.”</p>
<p>Winnie was irresistible and we all laughed
merrily at her pranks. But for all that I
locked the cabinet with unusual care that
night and Adelaide tried the door afterward
to see that it was securely fastened. While
doing so, she noticed something which we had
not hitherto discovered—a little steel ornament
like a nail head at the foot of one of the
columns. Touching this, a small shelf shot
forward. It had evidently been intended for a
writing table, for it was ink-stained. Adelaide
pushed it easily back into its place and its edge
formed one of the three moldings which
formed the base of the upper division of the
cabinet.</p>
<p>“That is a very convenient little arrangement,”
Adelaide said. “I wonder that I have
never noticed it before.”</p>
<p>I soon fell asleep, and slept long and dreamlessly.
I awoke at last with an uneasy feeling
of cold. It was quite dark, and putting out
my hand I found that Winnie’s place at my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
side was vacant. I started up alarmed, and
called her name. There was a little pause,
during which I stumbled out of bed and
groped vainly for a candle, which usually
stood on a stand at the head of the bed. Not
finding it, I noticed a beam of light streaming
from beneath the closed door leading into the
study-parlor, and I remembered vividly that
when I went to bed I had left that door open,
as I always did, for more perfect ventilation.
I stood hesitating, vaguely alarmed, when the
door was opened from the parlor side and
Winnie stood before me holding a lighted candle—her
face white as that of a spirit.</p>
<p>“How you frightened me!” I exclaimed.
“What is the matter?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, I merely went out to see whether
the door into the corridor was locked. I was
lying awake, and I could not remember seeing
any one lock it.”</p>
<p>She spoke mechanically, and her voice
sounded strange and hollow.</p>
<p>“Why, you did it yourself!” I exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Did I? Strange I should forget.”</p>
<p>“You found everything all right, didn’t
you?”</p>
<p>“The door was not only locked but bolted,”
Winnie replied; but her manner was constrained,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
and her hand, which I happened to
touch, was cold as ice.</p>
<p>“Come right to bed,” I exclaimed, “you
have taken cold.”</p>
<p>Winnie did not reply, but her teeth were
chattering. She curled up in bed and buried
her face in her pillow. I was sleepy and soon
dozed off, but I was vaguely conscious in my
slumbers that I had an uneasy bedfellow; that
Winnie tossed and tumbled and even groaned.
When I awoke she was sitting, dressed, on the
window sill. It may have been the early light
but her face looked gray, and there was a
drawn, set expression about the mouth which
I had never seen there before.</p>
<p>“What is the matter?” I asked again.</p>
<p>She replied, in that cold, unnatural voice,
“Nothing.”</p>
<p>Just then there was a hard knocking at my
door. Milly shouted joyfully, “Many happy
returns of the day,” and swooping down upon
me buried me with kisses. Adelaide followed,
and in a more dignified manner congratulated
me on my birthday. “No flowers, Tib,” Milly
explained, “because you set your face against
that sort of thing, and I was determined to
let you have your own way on your birthday.
Winnie, what makes you sit over there like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
a sphinx, with your nose touched with sunrise?
Come here and help us give Tib her seventeen
slaps and one to grow on.”</p>
<p>“Tib will find my present on the stand at
the head of the bed,” Winnie replied, and turning,
I discovered an envelope labelled, “For
the European tour.” It contained a crisp new
bill of twenty dollars.</p>
<p>Adelaide and Milly looked at each other
significantly, and Milly exclaimed:</p>
<p>“You dear, generous thing! Why didn’t
you tell us that you meant to do anything so
lovely? Adelaide and I would have helped.”</p>
<p>Winnie did not reply to Milly, but answered
my thanks with a close hug.</p>
<p>“Come,” said Milly, “and put your money in
the safe, and see how much you have now
toward the fund.”</p>
<p>“Oh! That’s easy to calculate,” I replied, as
I slipped on my clothing, “twenty and
forty-seven—sixty-seven dollars exactly.”</p>
<p>Adelaide coughed significantly. “Tib seems
to be very confident that two and two makes
four,” she remarked. A suspicion that both
Adelaide and Milly intended to help me suggested
itself to my mind, and I hastened my
dressing and unlocked the safe. As I did so
Cynthia opened her door. “Oh! it’s you,” she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
exclaimed; “whenever I hear any one at the
safe I always look to see who it is.”</p>
<p>She did not retreat into her room, but stood
in the door watching us with a singular expression
on her disagreeable face. Adelaide
and Milly were looking over my shoulder.
Milly apparently vainly endeavoring to conceal
a little flutter of excitement. We were all
there but Winnie, who had not left her seat at
the window, when I threw open the door of
the safe and disclosed—nothing!</p>
<p>The space on the floor where I usually kept
my money, where the night before I had
placed a long blue envelope containing
forty-seven dollars—was empty. The envelope and
its contents gone.</p>
<p>Milly uttered a little shriek. Adelaide
stepped forward and examined the space, passing
her hand far in, and feeling carefully in
every corner. Then she took out her own roll
of bills from her little pigeon-hole. I counted
them with her, just fifty dollars less than the
sum which I saw her place there. She handed
me a five dollar bill, saying, “Tib, my dear,
my only disappointment is that I cannot give
you as large a birthday present as I had
planned.”</p>
<p>Milly threw her arms around me, “And I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
can’t give you anything, you darling old Tib.
I am so sorry.”</p>
<p>“How do you know you can’t?” Cynthia
asked. “You haven’t looked to see whether
you have lost anything.”</p>
<p>Milly flushed. “If Tib has lost her money,
of course I have mine.”</p>
<p>“Why, of course? The thief has obligingly
left Adelaide a part of her money; perhaps
yours is all there.”</p>
<p>Milly opened her purse. It was quite
empty. She closed it with a snap.</p>
<p>“I don’t see how you knew it,” Cynthia
remarked unpleasantly. “Now I am really
too curious to see whether I have been as
unfortunate as the rest of you.” In spite of
this profession of eagerness she had seemed
to me remarkably indifferent, and she unlocked
her strong box with great deliberation,
manifesting no surprise or pleasure as she
reported “three dollars and fifty-three cents,
precisely what I left there. This shows the
wisdom of my double-lock; the thief evidently
had no key which would fit my strong-box.”</p>
<p>“Winnie,” I called, “we have had a burglary;
come right here and see whether you
have lost anything.”</p>
<p>Winnie entered the room slowly, almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
unwillingly, quite in contrast with her usual
impulsive action, and opened her envelopes
before us. “No one has touched my money,”
she said; “here is exactly what I placed in the
envelopes last night.”</p>
<p>“Did you go to the safe in the night to get
that twenty dollar bill which you gave me this
morning?” I asked.</p>
<p>Cynthia Vaughn turned and looked at
Winnie eagerly.</p>
<p>“I kept it out last night,” Winnie replied,
“when I put the rest away. You will remember
that I sealed the envelopes then, and I
find them now unopened.”</p>
<p>An expression of malice and triumph, such
as I have never seen on the face of any human
being, rested on Cynthia’s countenance.</p>
<p>“There is something very mysterious
about this,” she remarked, in an eager way.
“The thief has entirely spared Winnie and
me, and has been obliging enough to take
only half of Adelaide’s money. Tib and
Milly lose all of theirs, but Tib’s was money
for which she had no immediate use. So
that she will not feel its loss as much as
Winnie or I would have done, and Milly
has no real need of money at all—I wonder
whether the thief was acquainted with our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
circumstances; if so he or she was very
considerate.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you mean about Tib’s
not feeling the loss,” Winnie began indignantly,
her glance resting not on Cynthia but on Milly.
“It will be a cruel disappointment to her if she
cannot go to Europe to study, after all.”</p>
<p>“Oh! that’s not to be thought of,” Milly
replied, feeling herself addressed. “Of course
Tib will go. Something will turn up. The
money will be discovered. Perhaps the thief
will return it.”</p>
<p>A light flamed up in Winnie’s face. It was
the first pleasant look that I had seen there
this morning. “It must be so,” she exclaimed
eagerly, but very gravely; “let us hope that
the person who took that money was actuated
by dire necessity; that it was simply borrowed,
and that it will be returned.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” exclaimed Cynthia impatiently.
“I have no such excuses to make for
a thief, and I am going right now to report
the entire affair to Madame, who will of
course put it in the hands of the police——”</p>
<p>“The police!” Winnie cried, in a tone of
dismay. “Oh! no, no!”</p>
<p>“Wait,” said Adelaide commandingly; “that
is not the way we do things in the Amen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
Corner. This is something in which we are
all interested, and the majority shall rule.
Now Winnie, will you please tell us why
the police should not take this matter in
charge? My explanation is that some thief
entered this room last night through the studio
door. Probably it was the very individual who
was watching us last night through the transom.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Not Professor Waite,” Milly exclaimed,
and Winnie started as though about
to speak, but restrained the impulse.</p>
<p>“No, not Professor Waite, certainly,” Adelaide
continued, “but some one disguised in
his hat. This thief waited until we were all
asleep, and then began to help himself to the
contents of our safe, but was probably
interrupted or frightened by some sound, after
securing Milly’s and Tib’s money, and hurried
away without taking as much as he wished.
That is the simplest, most likely solution, and
it seems to me that the police are the proper
authorities to take the affair in hand.”</p>
<p>She paused for several moments. We all
chattered together as fast and as loudly as
we could. Then Adelaide rapped on the
table with a nutcracker and said:</p>
<p>“I shall now put the question. Those in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
favor of reporting this matter at once to
Madame, please say ‘Ay;’ those opposed, the
contrary sign—but first, any remarks?”</p>
<p>Winnie hesitated. “I do not agree with you
that it is a matter in which we are all equally
interested,” she said slowly. “Tib is the
principal loser. Tib should decide what she
wishes to do. Adelaide’s theory looks plausible,
but it may be wrong. Some member of
this school may have entered through that
door, and taken the money. Whatever is
handed over to the police, goes into the
papers. We do not want to bring on the
school scandal and disgrace, which would follow
the publishing of the fact that one of its
pupils is a thief.”</p>
<p>“Winnie seems to be very certain that the
thief is a pupil,” Cynthia remarked sneeringly.
“If so, we can trust that Madame will ferret
her out without outside assistance.”</p>
<p>“My chief reason, however,” continued
Winnie, “for waiting a day or two before reporting
this thing, is the hope that conscience
will lead the unhappy person who has committed
the crime to make restitution. Tib, you
certainly look at the matter as I do. You are
not vindictive; give the wrong-doer a chance.”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” I said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
<p>“The question,” called Cynthia. “Adelaide,
put the question.”</p>
<p>“Those in favor of reporting at once to
Madame?” said Adelaide.</p>
<p>“Aye,” from Cynthia, loud enough for two.</p>
<p>“Aye,” more faintly, from Milly.</p>
<p>“Those opposed?”</p>
<p>“No,” from Winnie and from me.</p>
<p>“A tie,” announced Adelaide. “Then the
chair gives the casting vote. I am in favor of
reporting to Madame, and I think we had better
make the report in a body. There is just
time to see her before breakfast.”</p>
<p>“I do not see the necessity of our going <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en
masse</i>,” Winnie objected. “Tib, of course, as
the individual who has suffered most, and who
discovered the loss; Cynthia, who seems to
enjoy telling unpleasant things; and Adelaide,
who is strictly just, and the oldest and most
dignified member of the Amen Corner. But
I do not see why you should drag Milly along;
the child has had enough excitement already.
Let her lie down and rest her little head until
the breakfast bell rings. As for me, I’m not
going until I’m sent for. Not even a burglary
shall make me miss my morning constitutional,”
and Winnie quickly equipped herself
for a walk in the grounds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
<p>“Milly shall do as she pleases,” Adelaide
said; “there is really no necessity, as you say,
for her to go with us.”</p>
<p>“I think I would rather go,” Milly said hesitatingly.</p>
<p>An expression of keen disappointment swept
across Winnie’s face.</p>
<p>“Come, Winnie,” I said, “you had better
be with us; it looks better.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” she asked hotly.</p>
<p>“Only that the Amen Corner always yields
to the wish of the majority, and we are in the
habit of standing by one another, even when
we do not quite agree.”</p>
<p>“Winnie need not trouble herself,” Cynthia
remarked; “we can get on very well without
her. Of course she knows no more about the
affair than the rest of us.”</p>
<p>The words were innocent enough, but there
was something very sarcastic in the way in
which they were uttered.</p>
<p>“Evidently you would rather I would not
go,” Winnie said, as though thinking aloud.
“I am sorry to be disobliging, but if that is
the case I believe I will.”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IV.<br />
<small>TROUBLE IN THE AMEN CORNER.</small></h2>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">Doubt,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A soul-mist through whose rifts familiar stars<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beholding, we misname.<br /></span>
<span class="sign">—Jean Ingelow<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<div class="image4">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 246px; height: 110px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 170px; height: 210px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in1"><span class="upper">Milly</span> had been
unhappy for
days.</p>
<p>And now a
great trouble
fell upon all of us. It
was as though a dense
fog of doubt and suspicion
had drifted in
upon the Amen Corner,
separating dear friends,
so that we could not
recognize each other’s
faces through its dense
folds, and our voices
sounded false and far away as we called and
groped for one another.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
<p>Our interview with Madame was very brief.
I simply stated the fact of the disappearance
of the money, which the other girls corroborated.</p>
<p>Cynthia began to enlarge on the statement,
but Madame stopped her.</p>
<p>“I have not time now to investigate this
unhappy affair,” she said. “Indeed, it is
something which will probably require the
assistance of a detective. Do not look so
alarmed,” she added to Milly; “I happen to
be acquainted with a gentleman—in fact, he is
my lawyer—who has all the qualifications of a
very clever detective. I will write, asking him
to call, and to take charge of the case. He will
keep it all very quiet. I am glad that you
have come to me first of all, and I particularly
request that you mention the fact of the robbery
to no one.”</p>
<p>With this she dismissed us, and we went to
breakfast a little late, feeling very important
in the possession of a mystery. Winnie was
the only one whom this mystery did not seem
to elate. Cynthia, who sat beside me at table,
was overflowing with glee.</p>
<p>“It is better than the most exciting story
which Winnie ever told us,” she whispered to
me. “Won’t it be fun to follow the unravelling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
of the crime. Of course the detective will
be led off by false clues, and all that sort of
thing, and the real thief will suffer all the
torture of alternate fear of detection and hope
of escape; but the toils will close gradually
about the doomed individual. I shall not disclose
my suspicions till toward the last. Oh!
what fun it will be to watch the development
of the drama. I should think, Tib, that you
would write it up.”</p>
<p>“Your suspicions?” I repeated. “Do you
really suspect any one?”</p>
<p>“Why, yes; don’t you?”</p>
<p>“No indeed!”</p>
<p>“Then all I’ve got to say is that you are a
lamb. You think every one as innocent as
yourself. Because you have the innocence of
a lamb, you have a corresponding muttony
intelligence.”</p>
<p>I was very indignant, but I did not show it.
“Whom do you suspect?” I asked.</p>
<p>“That’s telling,” she replied, “and I said
that I would not tell at this stage of the game.”</p>
<p>Later in the day, as I left the studio to return
to our study-parlor, I met Winnie coming out.
She had on her hat and cloak and carried my
own. “Come and walk with me,” she said,
“I feel all mugged up, and I need a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
tramp. Milly is in there trying to take a nap.
Adelaide and Cynthia are at recitation, and if
you will come with me the poor child can get
a little rest.”</p>
<p>As we marched around the school building
together, I told her of my conversation with
Cynthia. Winnie started.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe she really knows anything
more than we do,” I said. “Cynthia loves to
be important and aggravating. If she really
knew anything she couldn’t keep it in.”</p>
<p>“Find out whom she suspects,” Winnie
replied. “Cynthia is a real snake in the grass,
and can do a lot of mischief by fastening the
crime on an innocent person. I do not mean
that she would do this wilfully, unless she had
a strong motive for revenge, but she is unscrupulous
as to the results of her actions, and
loves to imagine evil and set forth facts in
their most damaging light. Find out, by all
means, whether she really knows anything
likely to implicate any one.”</p>
<p>“Cynthia is a hard orange to squeeze,” I
replied. “If she thinks I want to know, she
will delight in tantalizing me.”</p>
<p>Winnie was silent for a moment. “Find
out whether Cynthia slept soundly all night,
or whether she heard or saw any one in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
parlor. She might have heard me, you know,
when I went out to look at the door.”</p>
<p>“Sure enough,” I replied. “If that is all I
will get it out of her right away.”</p>
<p>We returned to our rooms. There was no
one in the parlor. Winnie looked into the bedrooms.
Only Milly sleeping peacefully, and Winnie
stepped to the match box, took the key, and
opened the safe. I do not know what she expected
to find, but she looked disappointed.</p>
<p>“Did you think the thief would help himself
again in broad daylight?” I asked.</p>
<p>“No,” Winnie replied shortly.</p>
<p>At that instant Cynthia entered, flushed,
and as it seemed to me triumphant. “Mr.
Mudge wants to see you, Winnie, in Madame’s
private library,” she announced importantly.</p>
<p>“Who is Mr. Mudge?” Winnie asked.</p>
<p>“He is Madame’s lawyer. The keenest,
shrewdest man you ever saw, with little gimletty
eyes that bore the truth right out of
you; and such a cross-questioner! If you
have a secret, he knows it the minute he looks
at you, and makes you tell it, in spite of yourself,
the first time that you open your mouth.
You need not try to keep your suspicions to
yourself, they will be out before you can say
Jack Robinson.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
<p>Winnie gave a little sigh. “And you say
he wants to see me?” she asked, rising with a
palpable effort.</p>
<p>“Yes, he wants to question us each separately,
to see if our testimony agrees, I suppose.
He asked Madame, as I went in, if she
had kept us apart since the robbery to guard
against any—collision—I think that was the
word!”</p>
<p>“Collusion,” I corrected.</p>
<p>“No matter; he meant that we might have
hatched up a story between us, but Madame
assured him that we were all honorable girls
and incapable of such a thing.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” he replied, “unless they happen
to know or suspect the culprit, and wish to
shield her. In such cases, I have known the
most religious young persons to lie like a
jockey.”</p>
<p>Winnie left the room, throwing me a look
of piteous appeal as she did so, which I understood
to beg me to find out all I could from
Cynthia. I rocked silently for a few moments,
to disclaim all eagerness, and then said casually:
“I don’t believe you would ever lie to
save a friend.” This in a propitiating tone,
adding to myself, “you would be much more
likely to tell a lie to get one into trouble.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
<p>Cynthia could not hear the thought, and
she stretched herself luxuriously on the divan.</p>
<p>“No,” she replied, “I don’t make any pretense
of being good; but I wouldn’t do that.
Whenever the Hornets got into scrapes, I
always told. Madame could depend on me
for that. It is sneaky not to be willing to
take the consequences. Besides, you get off
a great deal easier if you own up; and
others will be sure to throw the blame on
you if you are not smart enough to get ahead
of them.”</p>
<p>How I despised her. “I wonder if she
thinks she is in danger of being called in
question for this crime,” I thought, “and has
made haste to accuse some one else.”</p>
<p>“You said you meant to keep your testimony
until the end, so I suppose you did not
tell Mr. Mudge your suspicions,” I remarked.</p>
<p>“Didn’t I just say that I did tell him?”</p>
<p>“Well, as they are only suspicions I presume
he paid no attention to them. Lawyers
generally tell witnesses to confine their testimony
to facts.”</p>
<p>“But I had facts, suspicious facts; not
ideas of my own, but important circumstantial
evidence.”</p>
<p>“<em>In</em>deed!” I purposely threw as much incredulity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
as I could into the way in which I
uttered the word.</p>
<p>Cynthia sprang from the lounge, her eyes
flashing with anger. “Yes, <em>indeed;</em> very
awkward facts for your precious friend Winnie
to explain away.”</p>
<p>“Winnie!” I exclaimed, and then laughed
outright.</p>
<p>Cynthia was furious. “What do you say to
this Tib Smith? I saw Winnie, with my own
eyes, come into this room in her nightgown,
with a lighted candle in her hand, carefully
close all the doors, and——”</p>
<p>“Pooh! that’s nothing,” I replied cheerfully.
“I was awake; I saw her, too. She
merely crossed the room to see whether the
corridor-door was locked.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and after that?”</p>
<p>“Came back to bed again.”</p>
<p>“There you are telling a fib to save your
friend. She did not go back immediately. I
was awakened by her softly closing my door, I
got up and peeked through the keyhole, and
I saw her open the safe and rummage around
in it for quite a while, undoubtedly possessing
herself of the money. Then she locked it and
hurried back to her room looking as frightened
as the criminal she was.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
<p>“It is not so! It is a wicked, cruel falsehood!”
Milly cried, springing into the room.
I had forgotten her presence in the bedroom
and Cynthia of course did not know of it.</p>
<p>Cynthia was taken aback for a moment.
“I will tell you why I know it was so,” she
said at length. “After Winnie went back to
the room, and before any one else could have
entered the parlor, I examined the safe and the
money was gone.”</p>
<p>“That proves nothing,” I said; “it was
probably taken before Winnie opened the
safe.”</p>
<p>“Then she knew of the robbery in the morning
before the rest of you, and never told.”</p>
<p>“You knew and never told either,” said
Milly.</p>
<p>“I was waiting for the proper time,” replied
Cynthia. “If Winnie did not take that money
then she suspects who did. If she does not
tell Mr. Mudge her suspicions, she is trying to
shield the guilty person, and the—the shielder
is as bad as the thief.”</p>
<p>“There is no proverb that says so,” I replied;
“beside, you have proved nothing. If
all that you say is true—and I don’t mind
telling you, Cynthia Vaughn, that I am not
entirely sure of that—if what you say <em>is</em> true,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
you are as deep in the mud as Winnie is in
the mire.”</p>
<p>“You think Winnie a saint!” Cynthia
sneered. “You don’t half know her. Before
she came to room in the Amen Corner, and
we were both in the Hornets Nest up under
the eaves, she was the Queen Hornet of all.
There was nothing which she would not dare
to do, from letting down bouquets in her scrap-basket
to the cadet band when they serenaded
us, to bribing the janitor to let her slip out at
night and buy goodies at the corner grocery
for our spreads. She was a regular case, and
her pet name all over the school was:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">‘The malicious, seditious, insubordinate,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Disreputable, sceptical Queen of the Hornets.’”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“We know all that,” I replied, “but there are
some things which Winnie <em>could</em> not do. She
could not tell a lie, and she could not steal.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know about that,” Cynthia continued
coldly. “She comes from an uncertain
sort of Bohemian ancestry. You know her
mother was an actress and her father a playwright.”</p>
<p>Cynthia told this with great triumph, evidently
thinking that we had never heard it.</p>
<p>“Madame told us,” I replied, “that Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
De Witt was a very lovely woman, who only
acted in her husband’s plays; that she made it
her life purpose to realize and explain her
husband’s ideals: and that he wrote the part
of the heroine especially to suit her, so that
their creations were among the most charming
that have ever been presented on the stage.
They were devoted to one another, and when
she died his heart was broken. He does not
write plays any more, but articles for encyclopædias,
which is an extremely respectable profession.”</p>
<p>“And you dared prejudice this Mr. Mudge
against our own precious Winnie,” Milly continued.
“You are just the meanest girl,
Cynthia Vaughn, that ever lived! But you
never can make any one believe anything
against her. If, as Tib says, it lies between
you two, we all know who is the more likely
to have done it.”</p>
<p>Cynthia turned green. “Do you dare to
accuse me?” she hissed.</p>
<p>“No, Milly; don’t do that,” I cried warningly,
and the overwrought girl burst into a
flood of tears and threw herself into my arms.
“We accuse no one,” I said to Cynthia. “I
trust that you have been equally cautious with
Mr. Mudge.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
<p>“What I may have said or may not have
said is no business of yours,” Cynthia replied.
“You have both of you insulted me beyond
endurance, and from this time forth I shall
never speak to any of you. I except Adelaide,”
she added, after a moment’s consideration.
“Adelaide is the only member of the
Amen Corner who has treated me like a lady.”</p>
<p>“I think it would be pleasanter for you and
for us if you would ask Madame to let you
room somewhere else,” Milly suggested.</p>
<p>“I shall not go simply because you wish it,”
Cynthia replied. “I shall stay to watch developments.”</p>
<p>“And, meantime, I believe you said we
were to be deprived of the pleasure of any
conversation with you,” I remarked, rather
flippantly.</p>
<p>Cynthia turned her back upon me and from
that time kept her word, maintaining a sullen
silence with every one but Adelaide.</p>
<p>The bell rang for luncheon. The forenoon
had seemed very long, and the afternoon was
simply interminable. Milly left the room with
me. Cynthia did not stir.</p>
<p>“Do you think she took it?” Milly asked,
nodding back at the parlor.</p>
<p>“No,” I replied, “she is altogether too gay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
She evidently enjoys the investigation. If
she were the culprit she would be constrained,
nervous, averse to having the affair examined.”
I stopped suddenly, realizing how
exactly this description fitted Winnie.</p>
<p>“Adelaide believes,” Milly said slowly,
“that it was some sneak thief from outside
the house. Have you looked about in the
studio for any suspicious circumstances?”</p>
<p>I replied that I would do so after dinner,
and then, as we passed into the dining-room
together, the subject was dropped.</p>
<p>Winnie came to the table late and passed
me a note, which I read beneath my napkin.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mudge wants to question you next.
You are to meet him in Madame’s parlor immediately
after luncheon. Hurry and finish,
so that I can have a minute with you before
you see him.”</p>
<p>I bolted my dinner, and Winnie sat silently
staring before her, eating nothing. We left
the dining-room five minutes before the conclusion
of the meal, bowing as we passed
Madame’s table, as was our custom when we
wished to be excused before the others. Madame’s
attention was absorbed by the teacher
with whom she was conversing, and we passed
out unhindered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
<p>“What did you find out from Cynthia?”
Winnie asked, as we walked toward the Amen
Corner. “Does she suspect any one?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” I replied. “She is perfectly absurd.
It is just as you said; she insists on fastening
the crime on a perfectly innocent person.”</p>
<p>Winnie drew in her breath. “One of us, I
presume?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Winnie dear. But,” I hastened to
add, for she grew suddenly deadly pale, “she
can do no harm; her suspicions are too manifestly
impossible.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Winnie chattered; “the
reputation of many an innocent person has
been blasted by mere circumstantial evidence.
What does Cynthia know? What has she
told?”</p>
<p>“That she saw you go to the safe in the
night.”</p>
<p>“Me? Then I am the one whom she suspects,
and not—you are sure she saw no one
else?” Winnie laughed a long, joyous laugh.
“I can stand it, Tib,” she said, “I can stand
it. It’s too good a joke.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” I said, “no one can prove anything
against you. But did you go to the
safe? I didn’t see you do so.”</p>
<p>Winnie’s face clouded. “Yes, I looked in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
to see if everything was right. Mr. Mudge
asked me if I had opened the safe during the
night. He said that some one of us had been
seen to do it, but he led me to suppose that
he suspected some one else. I knew that he
had his information from Cynthia, and I was
afraid she had seen some one else. I mean—”
and here Winnie corrected herself with some
confusion—“I was afraid that she might have
taken me for some other person, and I was
very glad to acknowledge that I was the one
who had opened the safe. I don’t think that
Mr. Mudge believes that I am the culprit, for
he smiled at me in a very friendly way.”</p>
<p>“How could he believe such a thing?” I
asked. “It is perfectly nonsensical.”</p>
<p>“But if he does not suspect me, his suspicions
will probably fasten on some one else.
On you, for instance, or Adelaide,—and I
would rather be the scapegoat than have any
annoyance come to the rest of you.”</p>
<p>We had reached the Amen Corner, and had
just opened the study-parlor door. Winnie
gave a little cry of surprise. The door into
the studio was open and a strange man stood
looking at the broken lock.</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER V.<br />
<small>L. MUDGE, DETECTIVE.</small></h2>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“The look o’ the thing, the chance of mistake,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All were against me. That I knew the first;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But knowing also what my duty was, I did it.”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<div class="image5">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 300px; height: 400px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in4"><span class="upper">Why</span>, Mr.
Mudge!”
Winnie
exclaimed,
recovering
herself,
“excuse
me for crying
out,
but really
I did not
expect to
see you
here.”</p>
<p>“I presume
not,”
the gentleman
replied
dryly. “Under other circumstances
such intrusion would be unwarrantable, but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
presume you understand that in a case like
this we must question not only human witnesses
but the place itself, and often our most
valuable testimony is of a circumstantial character.
This broken lock, for instance, would
seem to prove that the thief entered through
the studio.”</p>
<p>“Oh! that,” I cried, “proves nothing; it
has been broken this long while—since the
very beginning of the term.”</p>
<p>Winnie clasped my hand tightly, and I understood
that she did not wish her escapade
with the sliding trunk explained.</p>
<p>“Are you sure of that?” Mr. Mudge asked,
looking slightly disappointed. “Even if the
lock was not broken on the night of the robbery,
the fact still remains that an entrance
was practicable here at that time.”</p>
<p>“Why, of course!” I exclaimed. “It must
have been the man who looked in at the transom.”</p>
<p>“What man?” asked Mr. Mudge; and I
told the story of the appearance the night
before. Winnie came forward impulsively, as
though she wished to interrupt me, then
seemed to change her mind and walked to
the window, standing with her back to us.</p>
<p>“And why is it,” asked Mr. Mudge, “that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
neither Miss Cynthia nor Miss Winnie have
mentioned this very suspicious circumstance?”</p>
<p>“I was not in the room when it happened,
I did not see the man,” Winnie replied, without
turning her head.</p>
<p>“This thief may have made an earlier attempt
which was foiled,” Mr. Mudge continued.
“It seems to me a little careless that
you did not report the fact of the broken lock
when you first discovered it, and have the fastening
mended.”</p>
<p>Winnie’s eyes shone with suppressed amusement.
“You think, then, Mr. Mudge, that
some one from the outside committed the
burglary? I am very glad that you have
renounced the idea that any member of this
school could have been guilty of such a
thing.”</p>
<p>“My dear young lady,” replied Mr. Mudge,
“I never indulge in preconceived ideas, but I
give every possibility a hearing. I have
nearly completed my examination of the
<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">locale</i>, but must ask one trifling favor. Will
you kindly lend me all your keys?”</p>
<p>“You don’t mean to say that you are going
through all our things?” I exclaimed, aghast
at the thought that the secret of the commissary
must now be disclosed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
<p>“A mere matter of form,” he murmured,
extending his hand with persuasive authority.
Winnie delivered her one key promptly, saying,
“I will go and tell the other girls.”</p>
<p>“Quite unnecessary,” Mr. Mudge replied.
“I have a pass key which opened Miss Adelaide’s
capacious trunk. I have shaken out
all her furbelows and tried to fold them
again as well as I could, but I fear that the
gowns with trains were a little too difficult for
me. Miss Milly’s bureau drawers were in a
wild state of mix: ribbons, laces, gloves, hair
crimpers, dried-up cake, perfumery, jewelry,
chewing-gum, love letters (innocent ones from
other young ladies), a manicure set, a bonnet
pulled to pieces, a box of Huyler’s, fancy
work, dressmaker’s and other bills (which I
have taken the liberty to borrow for a day or
two), dancing slippers and German favors, a tin
box containing marshmallows and a bottle of
French dressing, menthol pencil, pepsum lozenges
for indigestion, box of salted almonds,
bangles, sachet, photograph of Harvard foot-ball
team, notes to lectures on evidences of
Christianity, silver bonbonnière containing
candied violets, programmes of symphony rehearsals,
caramels and embroidery silks
gummed together, a handsome book of etchings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
converted into a herbarium or pressing
book for botany class, and strapped together
by buckling elastic garters around it; fine
Geneva watch, out of order; match box containing
specimens of live beetles, which I fear
I released; pair of embroidered silk stockings,
in need of mending; a diary, disappointing
since it contains but two entries; packet of
letters from home, tied with corset lacing (these
I have borrowed), packet of ditto from a certain
‘Devotedly yours, Stacey, F. S.’ tied with
blue ribbon—these are of no interest to me and
I will not violate their secrets; badge of the
Kings’ Daughters, button of West Point cadet,
a fan bearing some autographs, a mouldy lemon,
a dream book, etc., etc. The more I tried
to examine her affairs the more confused I became,
and I finally dumped them all out on
the floor and then shoveled them back again.
I don’t believe she will ever suspect that they
have been touched.”</p>
<p>I laughed, but Winnie looked uneasy. “I
think, sir,” she said, “that it is hardly honorable
to carry away Milly’s private letters.”</p>
<p>“Any objection to having me read yours?”
he asked sharply.</p>
<p>“None at all,” Winnie replied, at the same
time handing him her little writing desk, “but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
with Milly the case is different. I do not
think Mr. Roseveldt will like it.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Roseveldt will understand the necessity
of the case,” Mr. Mudge replied.</p>
<p>“Have you looked through Cynthia’s
things?” I asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, first of all. Everything in admirable
order. She sets you other young ladies an
example in point of neatness. And now, Miss
Smith, I will thank you to give me the key to
that small, old-fashioned trunk under your bed.
It is the only one which my pass key will not
fit; the lock has gone out of date.”</p>
<p>“Any one but a detective could have opened
it without a key,” I replied, somewhat snappishly,
“if they had had the penetration to discover
that the hinges are broken. You simply
swing the lid around this way.”</p>
<p>“Dear, dear, and so we keep a restaurant,
do we? I believe I now understand the slight
trepidation which you manifested on being
requested to deliver up your keys. Reassure
yourself. I am retained to unravel but one
mystery; any others which may tumble into
my possession during the search will be as safe
as though buried in the grave. I believe
this is all, as far as the rooms are concerned.
If Miss Smith will accompany me now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
to the library, I will take her personal deposition.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge was in the main kind. He did
not alarm me in the least, and asked but few
questions.</p>
<p>“Have you reason to suspect any one?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Very good. Did you see any one in the
parlor the night of the robbery?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Winnie.”</p>
<p>“But you did not suspect her when you discovered
that the money was gone?”</p>
<p>“No, Winnie was honest and open as the
day; it was impossible that she could take it.”</p>
<p>“Hum, your parlor-mate, Miss Vaughn,
does not share your opinion of your friend.
Do you know of any reason for the coolness
which apparently exists between them?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Winnie has frankly given Cynthia her
opinion of certain underhanded performances
of hers.”</p>
<p>“Such as——”</p>
<p>“I am not a tale-bearer.”</p>
<p>“In this examination, Miss Smith, you will
please answer all questions put to you—and
abstain from flippancy. Believe me, I ask
nothing from idle curiosity; nothing which
does not have its bearings on this case.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
<p>“Cynthia is continually doing things that
exasperate Winnie. She put her muff between
the sheets at the foot of Milly’s bed. When
Milly slipped her foot down and felt the fur
she thought that it was a rat or some wild animal,
and she nearly shrieked herself into convulsions.
Cynthia laughed till she almost
cried, but Winnie was raging with indignation,
and gave her such a scoring that Cynthia has
never forgiven her.”</p>
<p>“Is that the only source of unpleasantness
between them?”</p>
<p>“No; such affairs are always coming up,” and
I related the trick of the costumes, which has
been told in the preceding volume. “And
lately,” I added, “Cynthia has been very obsequious
to Milly, and they have been quite intimate.
Winnie has not approved of the friendship.
She told Milly that she did not believe
Cynthia was sincere, but did not succeed in
separating them. Cynthia surmised that Winnie
was not pleased, and taunted her with
being jealous, and Winnie let them proudly
alone, until something happened at Milly’s
dressmaker, when she interfered again, declaring
that Cynthia was going too far, and that
Milly needed some one to protect her.”</p>
<p>“What happened at the dressmaker’s?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p>
<p>“I don’t know exactly. Milly went to the
dressmaker’s rooms last week to have a dress
fitted, and Winnie was with her. She came
back very much displeased, and had a long
talk with Cynthia in her bedroom. As she
came out we heard her say, ‘Downright dishonorable;
as bad as stealing;’ and Cynthia
called after her: ‘I’ll pay you for this; we shall
see who is a thief, Miss Winifred De Witt.’”</p>
<p>“Hum!” said Mr. Mudge. “The importance
of these little tiffs between girls must
not be exaggerated. They have probably
made it all up by this time.”</p>
<p>“Indeed they have not,” I replied.</p>
<p>“Can you give me the address of Miss
Milly’s dressmaker? On second thought, it
is of no consequence. I have it on this bill:
‘To Madame Celeste, Fifth Avenue: For
tailor-made costume in dark green cloth,
trimmed with sable, sixty-seven dollars.’”</p>
<p>“But that was Cynthia’s dress,” I said.</p>
<p>“It is charged here to Miss Milly Roseveldt.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” I exclaimed, a light beginning to
break in.</p>
<p>“And you never suspected what it was that
occurred at the dressmaker’s which displeased
Miss Winnie?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
<p>“Never, until this moment. Milly has
cried a great deal, but she would not tell her
trouble, even to Adelaide.”</p>
<p>“Very well. I will step across to Madame
Celeste. No; on reflection I will speak to
Miss Milly first. Will you kindly ask her to
come to me?”</p>
<p>“Then this is all you wish to ask me?”</p>
<p>“Thank you, yes. No, one question more.
Can you tell me the exact time at which Miss
Winnie visited the parlor last night? The
young lady herself was very exact on that
point.”</p>
<p>“That is natural!” I replied, “for the great
clock at the end of the corridor was striking
twelve as she came back to the bedroom. I
thought it never would stop.”</p>
<p>“That tallies also with Miss Cynthia’s testimony.
She states that she saw Miss Winnie
go to the safe a few minutes before twelve;
that she, Miss Cynthia, lay still until the clock
struck the quarter, and then examined the safe,
finding your money gone.</p>
<p>“Inference (since Miss Winnie apparently
noticed nothing out of the way when she
looked in): if neither of these young ladies
took it, the robbery must have been committed
during that fifteen minutes.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
<p>“That seems hardly possible,” I said, “since
Cynthia, Winnie, and I were all awake during
that time.”</p>
<p>“It is possible, though not probable. Cynthia’s
bedroom door, opening into the parlor,
was closed. Are you quite certain that you did
not fall asleep before the quarter struck. Did
you hear it?”</p>
<p>“No, I am not at all certain.”</p>
<p>“Very good. Then if the thief were
standing in the studio waiting for his opportunity,
he might have slipped in during that
time. Is there any way in which we can
ascertain whether any one was in the studio
between twelve and a quarter past?”</p>
<p>“I know of no way,” I replied. “There
was no one in the studio at ten o’clock when
I looked in.”</p>
<p>“Very good; the known quantities are
being gathered in, the unknown ones defined;
the problem becomes simpler. I think we
will be able to solve it soon. Meantime, if
any new developments appear, be so good as
to report them to me.” He rose and bowed
stiffly in token of dismissal. I hurried to
our rooms and found Adelaide and Winnie.</p>
<p>“Where is Milly?” I cried; “Mr. Mudge
wants to see her next.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
<p>“Milly has gone to Madame Celeste’s,”
Adelaide answered. “She wanted to pay a bill.”</p>
<p>“But she had no business to leave the
house until she had given her testimony,” I
exclaimed. “I wonder why Madame gave her
permission.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think Milly asked it,” Adelaide
replied; “and I fancy Milly was not at all
anxious to have this interview with the detective
and merely caught at Madame Celeste
as a way of escape. She is not often in such a
twitter of promptness in settling her accounts;
besides, now I think of it, all her money was
taken. How could she pay Celeste?”</p>
<p>Winnie looked up from the table on which
her elbows were resting, her head grasped
firmly between her hands as though it ached.
She took no part in the conversation until I
remarked:</p>
<p>“Well, if Milly thinks to escape Mr. Mudge
by running away to Madame Celeste’s she is
badly taken in, for he is going right over there.”</p>
<p>“What?” Winnie almost shrieked. “Does
he suspect that she has anything to do with
this miserable business?”</p>
<p>“Madame Celeste? No, but he wants to
find why Cynthia had her dress charged to
Milly’s account.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
<p>“O Tib, Tib, why did you ever mention
that?” Winnie groaned; “you don’t know
what mischief you have made.”</p>
<p>“How did you know it, anyway?” Adelaide
asked. “This is the first I have heard of the
matter.”</p>
<p>“I did not know it,” I replied. “Mr. Mudge
was looking over the papers he took from
Milly’s drawer and he came across this bill for
Cynthia’s dark green cloth dress, charged up
against Milly, and I—I just happened to say
that was Cynthia’s dress——”</p>
<p>“If you could only have just happened to
hold your tongue,” Winnie exclaimed, springing
from her seat and pacing the floor. “Adelaide,”
she added, “won’t you go to Mr. Mudge
and keep him busy hearing your testimony
until Milly has time to get away from Madame
Celeste’s. That woman is a match for a lawyer
even, but if he happens to meet Milly
there she will be frightened into anything. I
knew there would be trouble when Mr. Mudge
took that bill.”</p>
<p>“Of course I will go, if you would like to
have me do so,” Adelaide replied, rising, “but
really, Winnie, I can’t say that I at all comprehend
the situation.”</p>
<p>Winnie gave each of us a look of despair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
“I didn’t intend you should,” she said, “but
since ignorance bungles in this way I will explain.
Milly has very weakly been getting
things for Cynthia and allowing them to be
charged on her bills. I have remonstrated
with her and she has promised to do so no
more. I told her how wicked it would be to
send these accounts in to her father as her
own, and she has not done that. She has
kept them separate, intending to settle them
whenever Cynthia paid up.”</p>
<p>“I don’t see why Cynthia could not have
taken her debts on her own shoulders instead
of entangling Milly,” Adelaide remarked.</p>
<p>“Simply because Cynthia has no credit.
Madame Celeste would not trust her for a
penny, while she would let Milly run up any
amount. Well, either Cynthia has paid
or Milly has obtained the money in some
other way. One thing is certain, she has it
and she has gone down to pay Madame Celeste;
anxious, as you may well imagine, to get
her feet out of the quicksand and not by any
mischance to have that bill sent home to her
father. Now, don’t you see that if Mr.
Mudge ascertains that Milly has a secret of
this kind, that the next thing he will do
will be to suspect that Milly stole the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
money in order to extricate herself from this
trouble.”</p>
<p>“Impossible,” Adelaide exclaimed. “Milly
has only to tell where the money came from.”</p>
<p>“And I have asked her and she will not tell.
It is all right, she assures me, but she can not
or will not tell how.”</p>
<p>“Silly goose! I will get it out of her,” said
Adelaide. “And meantime there is no need
whatever that she should be even suspected.
She did not do it—and suspicion might as
well start out from the first on the right track.
I will go at once to Mr. Mudge, and enlighten
his benighted mind.”</p>
<p>“What is your theory, Adelaide?” I cried,
but not before the door had closed behind her.</p>
<p>“Don’t stop her,” Winnie pleaded. “Time
is precious; Mr. Mudge may have tired waiting
for Milly and have gone. No matter
what her theory is, so long as it takes suspicion
from Milly. I had great hopes that
Cynthia would succeed in making him think I
had done it.”</p>
<p>“He did have you in his mind at one time,”
I said. “He said, ‘If neither Miss Winnie
nor Miss Cynthia took it, the robbery must
have been committed during the fifteen minutes
between their visits to the safe!’”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
<p>“He said that?” Winnie inquired, with
interest.</p>
<p>“Yes, and Winnie, the thing is plain to
me—I believe Cynthia took that money.”
Winnie shook her head.</p>
<p>“Now just listen to my reasoning. Milly
has been insisting that Cynthia shall pay up.
We know that Cynthia has received no money
lately. She stole it and gave it to Milly, and
made her promise not to tell who gave it to
her. It’s as plain as the nose on my face.
And then,” I continued triumphantly, warming
to my conclusion, “she artfully throws the
suspicions of the robbery on you, as a revenge
for the straightforward talk you gave her.
Haven’t I ferretted it all out well? Isn’t it the
most likely way in the world that it could have
happened? Are you not perfectly convinced?”</p>
<p>“It is the most likely story,” Winnie replied,
“and so very feasible does it seem that
even I am almost convinced, although I know
positively that it did not happen that way,
even Cynthia must not be unjustly suspected.”</p>
<p>“How do you know it?”</p>
<p>“Because Cynthia told the truth when she
said that the money was stolen when she
looked into the safe. It was gone when I
looked in.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
<p>“Winifred! But you told Mr. Mudge that
it was there.”</p>
<p>“I told Mr. Mudge that I found <em>my</em> money
just as I left it. It was not touched at all, you
know; but yours, Milly’s, and a part of Adelaide’s,
all that was stolen, was already taken.”</p>
<p>“But Mr. Mudge did not understand you
so.”</p>
<p>“That is his own fault.”</p>
<p>“Did you want him to misunderstand the
situation?”</p>
<p>“Apparently, Tib; but don’t ask so many
questions. Let him proceed on the assumption
that the robbery was committed in that
fifteen minutes. If any innocent person is
apparently implicated, I will confess. Meantime,
you are shocked to find that I am delaying
the course of justice in order to keep suspicion
from myself.”</p>
<p>“A thousand times no; you could never act
a lie unless it was to shield some one else.
Was it to shield Milly, and how?”</p>
<p>“Tib, it breaks my heart—I can’t tell you—I
love her so—I love her—”</p>
<p>A great fear came over me; Milly had
taken the money and Winnie knew it. But
Milly had lost all her money, and yet that
was a very transparent subterfuge. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
more natural than that the thief would pretend
to be an innocent sufferer and steal from
herself? And Milly knew before she looked
that there was nothing in her purse. I asked
relentlessly, “Was Milly at the safe during
the night at some time earlier than you and
Cynthia?”</p>
<p>“Milly will not admit that she was,” Winnie
replied, her manner hardening as she realized
that she had not quite disclosed her secret,
and her determination to guard it returning
with redoubled force.</p>
<p>“Then why do you suspect it?”</p>
<p>“I do not suspect it.”</p>
<p>The fixed despair in her eyes added the
words, “I know it,” as plainly as if she had
spoken them.</p>
<p>“Did you see Milly take the money?” I
insisted. “Was that what wakened you? And
is that the reason why you wish it to appear
that the safe was intact at the time you examined
it?”</p>
<p>Winnie covered her face with her hands and
did not reply. I felt that I had divined the truth.
A solemn silence fell upon us both for a few
minutes, then Winnie straightened herself with
the old resolute look in her face.</p>
<p>“Tib,” she said, “I have told you nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
You know nothing from your own personal
observation. Whatever you may <em>think</em> is
purely guess-work, and you have no right to
imagine evil against Milly. She is the sweetest
and dearest girl in our set. She is innocent
and unsuspicious, and so kind-hearted
that she is easily led. She has gone wrong
in some things, terribly wrong; but she is the
youngest of us all and it is Cynthia’s fault,
and I believe she is trying desperately to
get straight again. As for this terrible thing,
you must not suspect her of it. It is your
duty, on the contrary, to try to turn the attention
of Mr. Mudge in some other direction.”</p>
<p>As she spoke, Cynthia opened the door and
Winnie relapsed into silence. I felt a strange,
dizzy sensation, as if the foundations were
being removed. The more I tried to puzzle
out the affair the more bewildered I became.
There was Cynthia, who believed that Winnie
was the culprit, or at all events was striving
to make Mr. Mudge believe so; and when I
weighed the evidence the case was strongly
against her. Here again was Winnie, who
seemed to believe that it was Milly, and I
knew that the evidence which could shake her
faith in Milly must be overwhelming. I had
made it seem entirely clear to myself that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
Cynthia had done it, and in a blind, unreasoning
way, although Winnie’s testimony had
showed that this could not possibly be, the
suspicion, once started, grew and strengthened.
I watched her as she sat working out
algebra problems with a disagreeable smile on
her face—and I said to myself over and over
again, “You did it, and the truth will come
out at last.”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VI.<br />
<small>HALLOWEEN TRICKS AND WHAT CAME OF THEM.</small></h2>
<div class="image6">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 250px; height: 110px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 180px; height: 170px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in1"><span class="upper">Evening</span> was falling when
Adelaide returned
from
her interview
with Mr.
Mudge.</p>
<p>“Has not Milly returned
yet?” she
asked, as she entered
the door.</p>
<p>“No,” replied
Winnie. “Has Mr.
Mudge gone to interview Celeste?”</p>
<p>“No, he is off on another scent. He has
gone to interview Professor Waite.”</p>
<p>“What does Professor Waite know about
the matter?” I asked in surprise.</p>
<p>“Nothing. It only shows the imbecility of
these detectives who insist on pursuing every
impossible as well as every possible clew.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
<p>“Tell us all about it,” I entreated. “I
should like to know how it was possible to
drag Professor Waite into the business.”</p>
<p>“Why, through the transom, of course,”
Adelaide replied, and we all laughed at the
absurd suggestion. “The first question that
Mr. Mudge asked was, ‘Have you any
theory or suspicions in regard to this affair,
Miss Armstrong?’ I answered that I had
determined from the first that it was the act
of some sneak-thief, who had watched us,
through the transom, put the money into the
safe.”</p>
<p>Again Winnie made an involuntary movement
as though about to speak, but restrained
herself, and Adelaide continued:</p>
<p>“I told him about the face at the transom in
the Rembrandt hat, and he asked me if it was
Professor Waite. I told him that I thought
not. The head looked smaller and the hat
came lower down over the eyes and at the
back than it would have done on the professor.
Besides, the professor has that little pointed
Paris beard, and this face had a smooth chin.
I saw it plainly for a moment in profile. Mr.
Mudge did not seem to be satisfied and made
me admit that I might have been mistaken.
Professor Waite’s beard is such a very immature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
affair. Then he asked me how an outsider
could have introduced himself into the
studio without coming in at the front door,
which is guarded by the janitor, and coming
up the grand staircase past Madame’s room and
twenty other rooms, all occupied, and likely to
have their doors open in the evening. I told
him that there were two other ways: the fire
escape——”</p>
<p>“Both the corridor window and our own
were locked on the inside,” I interrupted.</p>
<p>“He said he found it so—and agreed with me
that the turret staircase was the more likely
entrance. I explained that the spiral staircase
in the turret was built especially for the use
of the physician when this part of the building
was the infirmary, and that in order to
quarantine it from the rest of the school,
there were no entrances to the turret on any
of the other floors—that it led directly from
the studio to the street, and that no one used
it but Professor Waite, who kept the key of
the outer door; that he might have negligently
left this door unlocked, and in that
case a tramp could easily have slipped in, and
as there was no communication with any other
room he would have found himself, on reaching
the end of the staircase, in the studio and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
in front of our door. Mr. Mudge then questioned
me as to Professor Waite’s habits.
Did he usually spend his evenings in the
studio, and were we in the habit of visiting
back and forward in a friendly manner through
the door with the broken lock? This made
me very indignant. Such a thing, I assured
Mr. Mudge, would be contrary to the rules of
the school, and to the instincts of any self-respecting
girl. The door had never been
opened since the lock was first broken, and
even Tib, whose duties required her to be in
the studio during half of the day, always entered
it by the corridor door. As to Professor
Waite, he did not board in the house. I
believed he belonged to several artist clubs—the
Salmagundi, the Kit Kat, and others—and
that he probably spent his evenings there, or
in society, or at his boarding house around the
corner; at all events, he never painted in the
studio in the evening, for I had heard Tib say
that the lighting was not sufficient for night
work. There was a rumor, too, that Professor
Waite was very popular in society; but that
Tib could inform Mr. Mudge much more explicitly
than I on all matters relative to the
professor’s habits, as I had never interested
myself in him, and what he did or did not do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
was of no manner of consequence to me.
This seemed to amuse Mr. Mudge very much,
but he replied politely enough that he had
never for an instant imagined that a young
artist, like the professor, could be anything
else than an object of supreme indifference to
any right-minded young lady, and then he proceeded
to question me more closely than ever.
Though Professor Waite did not usually
spend his evenings in the studio, did he not
occasionally drop in on his way home? Had
we ever heard him ascending or descending the
turret stairs at about midnight, for instance.
I was obliged to confess that I knew of one
instance when he had visited the studio at
that hour, for I had met him on the staircase;
that he was returning from an evening spent
in sketching at the life-class of the Kit Kat
Club, and he had run up to the studio to leave
his drawings and materials before returning
to his room at the boarding house. That it
was very possible that he did this frequently.
Then, of course, he asked me how it happened
that I was going down that staircase at
such an unseemly hour on the occasion when
I met Professor Waite, and I had to confess
all that maddening Halloween business.”</p>
<p>We all shouted, for this was a particularly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
painful subject with Adelaide. It was the
one practical joke which we had ever had the
heart to play on our queen.</p>
<p>Such grave consequences attended this Halloween
trick that it is possibly worth while for
me to turn aside from the direct record of the
robbery and devote a chapter or two to a confession
of one of our most serious scrapes.</p>
<p>It had been suggested by Cynthia and
approved and carried out by Winnie before
the days of the breaking off of their friendship.
Cynthia had a way of suggesting plots for less
cautious people to carry out, whereby they
burned their fingers like the cat in the fable of
the chestnuts.</p>
<p>The Amen Corner had conducted itself with
praiseworthy propriety after the opening escapade
of the season—that of the roller-coaster
trunk—for the space of a few weeks. But
when Halloween came we all felt the need of
what Winnie called an explosion. We had
been too preternaturally goody-goody, and the
escape valve must be opened. We decided to
celebrate the eve of “antics and of fooleries”
befittingly, and we arranged to bob for apples,
to snatch raisins from burning alcohol, thereby
ascertaining the number of our future
lovers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We tied our garters around our feet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And crossed our stockings under our head;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We turned our shoes toward the street<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And dreamed of the ones we were going to wed.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>We poured molten lead into water, striving
to ascertain the occupation of our future husbands
from the forms which it took. Adelaide’s
emblem was something like a letter A,
and we all declared that it was a perfect easel
and quite wonderful; but when we threw apple
peelings over our heads, Milly’s broke into
two sections, remotely resembling a scrawling
C and a W. Milly herself was the first to
recognize the letters and to blushingly declare
that of course it was too absurd, it could not
mean Carrington Waite.</p>
<p>Adelaide’s younger brother Jim was attending
the cadet school in the city. He admired
Milly exceedingly, as did many of the cadets
who had met her at a fair given at Madame’s,
the previous year, for the benefit of the Home
of the Elder Brother. Stacey Fitz Simmons,
drum major of the cadet band, and the best
dodger and runner of the school foot-ball team,
was also her devoted admirer. The button
which Mr. Mudge had discovered in Milly’s
bureau drawer was not from a West Point
uniform but from Stacey’s; and the foot-ball
team was not the Harvard—but the Cadet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
Eleven. We all tried to find emblems in the
molten lead, or initials in the apple parings,
suggesting the cadets, but Milly would none
of them.</p>
<p>There was a Mr. Van Silver, much favored
by Milly’s family, a caller at their cottage at
Narragansett Pier, whom Adelaide had met
while visiting Milly the previous summer.
He was principally remarkable for owning a
coach and four-in-hand, and as he had on one
occasion invited Adelaide to a seat on the
box, it was a little fiction of Milly’s that Mr.
Van Silver was her humble slave. But we were
all innocent in the ways of flirtations and, with
the exception of Milly, heart whole and fancy
free, and it was really a difficult thing to
conjure up imaginary lovers—for the occasion.</p>
<p>The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pièce de resistance</i> of the evening was
the trick played upon Adelaide. We planned
on our programme that just as the clock
struck the hour of midnight we would all try
the experiment of walking downstairs backward
with a lighted candle in one hand and a
looking-glass in the other. Of course it would
never do for the procession to file down the
grand staircase in front of Madame’s rooms,
but the spiral staircase, secluded in the turret,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
offered peculiar advantages for the scheme.
It communicated with no other floor, only
Professor Waite had the key to the door at the
foot, and he was never in the studio at night.
So the girls believed, until I informed them
that he always came in for a few moments on
Wednesday nights to leave his sketches made
at the Kit Kat—and Halloween that year
happened to fall upon a Wednesday.</p>
<p>“So much the better,” said Cynthia. “We
will make Adelaide head the procession, and
she will see Professor Waite’s face in her
mirror. It will be too good a joke for anything,
for she can’t bear the sight of him since
she made that unfortunate speech when she
saw him standing in the open door and thought
it was Winnie <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en masquerade</i>.”</p>
<p>“I am afraid it will be twitting on facts,” I
said; “for I more than half suspect that Professor
Waite admires Adelaide as much as
she detests him. He has asked me more than
once why she does not join the drawing class—and
even suggested that I should induce her
to pose for the portrait class. He said her
profile was purely classical, and that she took
naturally the most superb poses of any girl
that he had ever met.”</p>
<p>“So much the better,” Cynthia declared.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
“It will be the best joke of the season. What
time does he usually arrive?”</p>
<p>“He said, in telling one of the class, that he
always leaves the Kit Kat at half past eleven,
and reaches the street door of the turret on
the stroke of twelve.”</p>
<p>“Delightful!” exclaimed Winnie. “Fortune
favors our plans. What fun it will be!”</p>
<p>It was thought best not to admit Milly into
our confidence, for fear that she could not
keep the secret. All went well. We played
our tricks and Winnie told ghost stories,
but it seemed as if midnight would never
come. At one time we fancied we heard a
noise in the turret and we looked at each
other apprehensively. Had anything happened
to bring Professor Waite back earlier
than usual, and would our plans miscarry,
after all? At ten minutes before twelve we
organized the procession. Milly was timid
and persisted in being in the middle. To our
disgust Adelaide refused to lead. “Winnie
proposes it; let Winnie go first,” she said
resolutely.</p>
<p>“All right,” Winnie assented, after a
thoughtful pause. “I will if Adelaide will
come next.”</p>
<p>Cynthia and I looked at her inquiringly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
We did not quite see how this would answer.</p>
<p>“Tib, let’s go and see if Snooks is in bed
and the coast is clear,” Winnie suggested.
“It’s a pity that we can’t get into the studio
through this door, but that chest is too heavy
for us to push aside.”</p>
<p>Winnie and I reconnoitered, and as we
opened the door into the turret she told me
her plan.</p>
<p>“I will lead rapidly and when I get to the
bottom will scud into that little closet under
the stairs where they keep the lawn mower, so
that Adelaide will be virtually at the head.
We must start right away, so as to give me a
chance to get into my haven of refuge before
Professor Waite arrives.”</p>
<p>We all tiptoed into the studio and lighted
our candles there, after we had closed the corridor
door. We had had quite a time collecting
mirrors. Adelaide and Milly possessed
handsome silver-backed hand-glasses. Winnie
carried a pretty toilet mirror with three folding
leaves. I had a work box with looking-glass
inside the lid, and Cynthia had unscrewed the
large mirror from her bureau. We were all
giggling and shivering when Winnie, our marshal,
gave the signal for the start in the following<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
order: Winnie, Adelaide, Milly, myself,
and Cynthia bringing up the rear.</p>
<p>The steps winding around the central pillar
were narrower at one end than the other and
it was rather difficult to tread them backward.
The fall wind blew through the slits
of unglazed windows and extinguished my
candle. Winnie, in her haste to get to the
bottom, fell, extinguished hers also, and hurt
herself quite severely, but she had determination
enough to pick herself up again and
limp on. Suddenly there came a strong
draught of air and there was a halt in our
march. Milly whispered that she could hear
voices, then Adelaide, who was a little way in
advance, shrieked and came running up the
stairs. We were all huddled together in a
jam. Cynthia was shouting with laughter,
Milly crying with fright, Adelaide choking
and incoherent with indignation.</p>
<p>“Hurry, hurry!” she cried, pushing us back;
“he is coming; he is just behind me.”</p>
<p>We were only a few steps from the studio
and we all bundled in—but in the confusion
Milly had dropped her candle, and the light
Mother Hubbard wrapper was all in a blaze.</p>
<p>Cynthia rushed wildly out of the room. I
have no recollection of what I did, but Adelaide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
fought the flames with her hands; but
she would never have conquered them, and
our darling might have died a cruel death in
torturing flames, if Professor Waite had not
dashed into the room, wrapped her in a Persian
rug, and extinguished the fire. Strange
to say, she was entirely unhurt. Only her
beautiful blond hair was singed, and that was
afterward attributed by her friends to an injudicious
use of the curling irons. Adelaide’s
hands were badly burned and Professor Waite
bathed them in oil, while an older, serious
looking man, who had followed Professor
Waite, whom we only noticed at this stage of
the proceedings, wrapped them in his white
silk muffler. Then Cynthia appeared at the
door with a white face and a small water
pitcher, and we were able for the first time to
laugh in a hysterical way. Fortunately, no
one had heard us, and we slipped back to the
Amen Corner.</p>
<p>Milly was awe-stricken by the peril through
which she had passed, but there was a strange,
happy look upon her face which I did not
understand until, as I tucked her away in
bed, she pulled me down to her and whispered
in my ear:</p>
<p>“He held me in his arms, Tib; for one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
heavenly minute he held me close, close in
his arms. I felt the hot breath of the flames,
but I did not care. I was willing to die, I
was so happy——”</p>
<p>“My poor little girl,” I said, as I kissed
her, “you must not let yourself care for Professor
Waite, for he does not——”</p>
<p>“I know,” she replied, “he loves Adelaide;
he can’t help it any more than I can
help——”</p>
<p>“Hush,” I said, “this is all foolishness;
put it right out of your little head. You are
only sixteen; you are not old enough to care
for any one. You will laugh at this by and
by.”</p>
<p>She shook her head solemnly. “I shall
always remember, Tib—that for one heavenly
minute he held me tight—so.” And she embraced
her pillow with all her small might,
nestling her hot cheek against it in a way
which would have been absurd if it had not
been so unspeakably pathetic.</p>
<p>Adelaide strode into the room at this juncture
with the air of a tragedy queen.</p>
<p>“Thank Heaven, you are safe, Milly dear!”
she said, pausing beside the bed, but her look
was not one of pious thanksgiving. Her
voice had a sharp sound, and a crimson spot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
flamed on her dark cheeks. “He dared to
hold my hands in his,” she murmured, “and,
worse still, to call me ‘noble girl,’ and his ‘poor
child’; and he will think that I went down
those stairs on purpose to see his face in
my mirror. Oh, how I hate him, how I hate
him!”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VII.<br />
<small>A STATE OF “DREADFULNESS.”</small></h2>
<div class="image7">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 280px; height: 375px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in2"><span class="upper">Miss Noakes</span>
had not heard
us, but our
troubles were
not over.</p>
<p>It was not
until I had
helped Adelaide
to retire
(for her poor
hands were too
badly burned
to put up her
own hair), and
had gone away
into my own
room that I
realized that Winnie was not with us and that
she had been left behind in the stampede up
the turret stairs. I crept around through the
corridor into the darkened studio. Professor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
Waite and his friend had gone, why had
not Winnie returned? I opened the door
leading to the turret and called her name
softly. I was answered by a groan. I hastened
to light a candle and stole down the
winding stair. Half way down I found Winnie
sitting on the steps, a bundle of misery.</p>
<p>“I came up once,” she exclaimed, “but
Professor Waite was in the studio and I had
to go back to the closet and wait until he left
the house.”</p>
<p>“It must have been very chilly and unpleasant
with nothing but a watering can and
a lawn mower to sit on,” I remarked; “but
why didn’t you come all the way up this time.
You surely don’t intend to spend the night
where you are.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Winnie replied, with another
groan; “I’ve sprained my ankle or something,
and I can’t bear my weight on it. It was all
that I could do to drag myself up and back
again, and then as far as this. Ow! how it
hurts! No, I just cannot take another step.”</p>
<p>“Dear! dear!” I exclaimed; “what a night
this has been! With Milly’s narrow escape
from death, and Adelaide’s burned hands, and
your sprained ankle, we have had enough
Halloween for one year.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Winnie asked, in
her absorption taking several little hops up
the stairs. “Milly’s escape? What has happened?
Ow! wow! You’ll have to get a
derrick, Tib, and hoist me up. I cannot budge
an inch.”</p>
<p>“Lean on me,” I said, “and listen while I
tell you all about it”; and I rehearsed the
thrilling story of Professor Waite’s rescue.</p>
<p>“I can smell the smoke still. Snooks will
think the house is on fire,” Winnie declared,
snuffing vigorously as we reached the studio.
“You had better open the windows a bit and
air off. And there are some burned scraps of
Milly’s wrapper on the floor; let’s pick them all
up. Ow! don’t let go of me. This is really
what Milly calls a state of dreadfulness—no
other word will describe it. How can I ever
stand it until morning?”</p>
<p>I helped her to her bed and bound up her
ankle with Pond’s Extract; but it had swollen
so much and was so painful that when morning
came Winnie consented to have the school
physician called. He kindly asked no questions,
and treated Adelaide’s hands, only remarking,
“I see you have been celebrating
Halloween.”</p>
<p>“He thinks I burned them in snatching the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
raisins out of the lighted alcohol,” Adelaide
said; “or perhaps in putting out some clothing
which was set on fire in that way.”</p>
<p>Even Madame was considerate and did not
inquire closely into the details of the trouble.</p>
<p>“I hope you have learned from this,” she
said, “that it is a dangerous thing to play
with fire.”</p>
<p>Halloween was a disagreeable subject after
this to all of us, but especially to Winnie.
“Don’t mention it,” she would say. “I shall
never play another trick in all my mortal
days. I feel as mean and demoralized as a
lunch-basket on its way home from a picnic.”</p>
<p>The state of dreadfulness deepened as
time went on. Winnie kept her room for
days, and it was necessary to feed Adelaide at
table, and dress and undress her; but their
hurts troubled me less than the heart bruise
received by my poor Milly. I kept her secret
and she was brave, and no one else suspected
it. Professor Waite was very impatient with
her, treating her work contemptuously, and
disregarding her personally altogether. He
never alluded to the accident, treating it, as
Winnie said, as of no more consequence than
if he had extinguished a bale of cotton that
had happened to take fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
<p>“That man is utterly incapable of sentiment,”
Winnie remarked wrathfully. “Now
how natural it would be to make a romance
out of such a rescue, but Professor Waite’s
heart is as stony as that of the Apollo Belvedere.”</p>
<p>Milly smiled piteously and shook her head,
while she looked significantly from me toward
Adelaide, as much as to say: “We know
better; he is not so stony-hearted as he
seems.”</p>
<p>Having my attention directed to the matter,
I kept my eyes open for little indications of
the state of Professor Waite’s sentiments, and
presently found that they were not lacking.
The studio was not occupied by classes until
after ten o’clock in the morning, and Professor
Waite came every day very early, and
painted there alone until the first wave of
pupils swept in and filled the room with an
encampment of easels. He explained to me
that he was preparing a picture for the Academy
exhibition, the morning light was good,
and as his studio in the city was shared with
another young artist, he preferred to come
here where he could work quietly and undisturbed
for a few hours each morning. He
always bolted the corridor door to secure complete<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
seclusion, and we had often to wait a
few moments until he admitted us. He did
not show us the painting, but it was evident
that he was deeply interested in it, for he was
frequently distraught, and apparently vexed
at being obliged to turn his attention to our
offences against art, just as he was worked
up to a fine phrensy of production. At such
times he would run his fingers through his
hair, and stare at the work which the first
unfortunate pupil presented with a repugnance
which was often more clearly than politely
expressed. Sometimes his ill humour vented
itself on the model. We were in the habit of
taking turns and, dressed in some picturesque
costume, of posing for the class for a week at
a time. After the Halloween experience it
happened to be Milly’s turn. We had costumed
her as an Italian contadina, and thought
that she looked very prettily. But Professor
Waite was not satisfied.</p>
<p>“Why have you chosen a blonde for such
a character?” he asked me impatiently. “That
little snub nose and milk-and-water complexion
have nothing Italian in their make up. If
you could induce that superb creature, Miss
Armstrong, to wear the costume, you would
see the difference.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
<p>Milly had heard the remark though he did
not intend she should do so, and her eyes suffused
with tears as usual. “I will ask Adelaide,”
she said meekly, “but I don’t believe
she will be willing to pose for the class.”</p>
<p>“Never mind the class,” Professor Waite
replied eagerly. “If Miss Armstrong will
honor me by giving me personally a few sittings
each morning for my Academy picture I
shall be more gratified than I can express.”</p>
<p>Milly, more than happy to attempt to do the
professor a favor, besought Adelaide, who was
obdurate and even indignant.</p>
<p>“The very idea!” she exclaimed. “I never
heard of such assurance. <em>I</em> figure in his picture
at a public exhibition, indeed.”</p>
<p>“Why, I am sure it’s a great honor,” Milly
replied, bridling feebly; “and I won’t have you
treat him in such a <em>desultory</em> manner.”</p>
<p>We all laughed, for Milly, as usual when
excited, had mixed her words—insulting and
derogatory clamoring at the same time in her
small mind for utterance.</p>
<p>“I think it would be perfectly scrum to be
in an Academy picture,” Winnie exclaimed.
“I wish he would ask me.”</p>
<p>Perfectly “scrum,” or “scrumptious,” was
Winnie’s superlative; while Adelaide, to express<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
a similar delight, would have quoted the
Anglicism, “Quite too far more than most
awfully delicious.”</p>
<p>“I wonder what his Academy picture is,
anyway,” Winnie went on, “and why he never
shows it to us. I mean to ask him to let me
see it; I am sure I might help him with some
suggestions.”</p>
<p>“Well you <em>are</em> unassuming,” I exclaimed,
never dreaming that Winnie, with all her
audacity, would dare to criticise a picture by
our professor. What was my astonishment,
therefore, on awakening the next morning, to
find that Winnie was already dressed.</p>
<p>“I am going into the studio,” she remarked
coolly, “to take a look at Professor Waite’s
picture before he arrives.”</p>
<p>“O Winnie!” I begged, “don’t; you’ve no
business to do such a thing.” Winnie made a
little face, courtesied, and flounced out of the
room. She returned presently, all aglow with
excitement.</p>
<p>“He was already there at work,” she exclaimed,
“painting, as the French say, like an
<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">enragé</i>. He had forgotten to bolt the door and
I slipped right in. His back was toward me, and
he did not notice me at first, so I had one good
solid look. And what do you suppose it is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
Tib? Why, Adelaide, holding a candle and
glancing over her shoulder as he must have
seen her going down the stairs. The Rembrandtesque
effect of artificial light and deep
shadow is stunning. He has rigged up his
lay-figure on the landing in the dark turret,
and had a lighted candle wedged into her
woodeny fingers, so that he gets the lighting
on the face and drapery, while he has daylight
on his canvas.</p>
<p>“Of course he has had to do the face from
imagination or memory, but it was perfect. I
screamed right out: ‘Don’t touch that again
or you’ll spoil it!’ He turned the canvas back
forward quicker than a wink, and looked at
me as if he would like to eat me, but I didn’t
care, and I begged him not to disturb himself or
interrupt his work on my account; that I had
only dropped in in a friendly way to give him
a little helpful criticism. With that he put on
his eye-glasses and remarked; ‘Well, you <em>are</em>
about the coolest young lady that it has ever
been my privilege to meet,’ but he had to
come right down from that nifty position, for
I said, ‘If my opinions are of no use, perhaps
Madame’s will be more helpful; shall I ask
her to come up and take a look at the picture?’
That made him wince. He turned all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
sorts of colors, chewed his mustache, and
hadn’t a word to say. I felt sort of sorry for
him and I assured him that I had no intention
of telling, at least not if he was nice; and
I reminded him that he owed the subject to
me in the first place, for if I had not suggested
the trick he would never have seen
Adelaide in that particular lighting. With
that he changed his tune and said that he was
very grateful for my kind intention, and that
if I would kindly lend him a photograph of
Adelaide he would be still more grateful.
But I told him that I did not think that it was
fair to exhibit a portrait of Adelaide, and he
admitted that it was not, and said that he had
decided not to send the picture to the exhibition,
but merely to keep it himself.”</p>
<p>Adelaide happened to knock at our door at
this juncture, and Winnie told her what she
had discovered.</p>
<p>“This is past endurance,” Adelaide exclaimed
angrily; “you must come with me,
Tib, and insist on Professor Waite’s showing
me this picture. If the face is recognizable
as my portrait I shall destroy it then and
there.”</p>
<p>“Don’t, Adelaide,” I begged. “Professor
Waite is a gentleman; he has already told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
Winnie that he does not intend to exhibit the
picture——”</p>
<p>“But I do not choose that he shall possess
it,” she cried; “if you will not go with me I
shall go alone,” and she hurried to the studio
door. It was locked, and Professor Waite did
not choose to reply to her oft-repeated knocks.
He evidently considered Winnie’s visit all-sufficient
for one morning. Adelaide came
back in a towering passion. “If my poor
hands would only let me write,” she exclaimed,
“I would give him such a piece of my mind.
Winnie, be my amanuensis. Write what I
dictate.”</p>
<p>Winnie sat down good-humoredly and
dashed off in her large scrawling script, which
filled a page with these lines, the following
indignant protest:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Professor Waite:</span></p>
<p>I regret that I consider the liberty you have taken in painting
my portrait for the Academy Exhibition, without my knowledge
or consent, a dishonorable act of which no gentleman would
be guilty, and I demand that you destroy it instantly.</p>
<p><span class="sign2">Adelaide Armstrong.</span><br /></p>
</div>
<p>She was excited and she spoke loudly.
When she finished, there was dead silence in
the little parlor. We all felt that Adelaide
had put it a little too strongly. That silence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
was broken by a half-suppressed sneeze on
the balcony outside the window. A sneeze
which we all recognized as belonging to Miss
Noakes. Had she been listening? Had she
heard? Winnie balanced the ink bottle over
the letter ready to obliterate its contents
by an “accident” if Miss Noakes suddenly
knocked. No one appeared, and going to the
window a moment afterward, I saw Miss
Noakes walking between her window and
ours, and taking in great sniffs of the keen
morning air with much apparent enjoyment.</p>
<p>The bell rang for breakfast and Adelaide
and I walked along together, pausing to slip
the note under the studio door. It would not
go quite through, a little end protruding, but
that did not strike us as of any consequence.
I had descended one flight of stairs when I
found that I had forgotten my geometry and
I hastened back to get it. I met Winnie before
I turned into the corridor. “Hurry,” she
exclaimed, “Snooks is just leaving her door;
she will mark you for tardiness.” I flew along
at the top of my speed, but on reaching our
corridor I saw a sight which suddenly arrested
my footsteps. Miss Noakes stood before the
studio door, carefully adjusting her eye-glasses
and looking at the note; presently she stooped,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
picked it up, and read the address. She hesitated
a moment, seemed half inclined to replace
it, turned it over as though she wished
to open it, then glancing down the hall and
spying me, she placed it in the great leather
bag which hung at her side. She closed the
bag with a savage click and glared at me as I
turned and fled, for I had not the courage to
meet her.</p>
<p>I reported the calamity at breakfast table in
an awe-stricken whisper to Milly, who turned
a trifle pale.</p>
<p>“I am afraid it will get Professor Waite into
trouble,” she said, “Adelaide is still very angry
with him, but I am sure she does not want
to make him lose his position in the school.”</p>
<p>“It may make her lose her own position,”
Cynthia Vaughn suggested. “Writing notes
to young men is against the rules. It’s an
expellable offence. But then,” she added,
“this wasn’t exactly a love letter.”</p>
<p>“I should think not,” I exclaimed.</p>
<p>“It’s all the worse,” Milly groaned, as she
scalded her throat with hot coffee.</p>
<p>“Adelaide can say she didn’t write it, you
know,” Cynthia suggested cheerfully. “Winnie
wrote it; and she didn’t poke it under the
door either—Tib did that.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
<p>“Do you suppose, Cynthia Vaughn, that
Adelaide would do such a mean thing as not
to take the consequences of her own actions?”
Milly asked indignantly. Then she clasped
my hand, for Miss Noakes stood at Madame’s
table, and had opened her black bag and was
handing Madame the note. We could see
even at that distance that the seal was unbroken,
but this gave us scant comfort; it was
only putting off the evil day.</p>
<p>“Winnie might steal that note for us,”
Cynthia suggested, “before Madame has a
chance to read it.”</p>
<p>“Why are you always thinking up scrapes
for Winnie to get into?” Milly asked.</p>
<p>Winnie pricked her ears, at the other side
of the table. “What about Winnie?” she
asked.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Milly replied shortly; but as we
went up to the studio a little before ten
o’clock, I explained the situation. To my surprise
Winnie’s eyes danced with merriment.
“Snooks listened,” she exclaimed, “she heard
Adelaide, I knew she did, and now we know
how she finds out things that happen in the
Amen Corner; often and often I have thought
that I heard her, and have opened the door
quickly only to find the corridor empty. Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
course she is smart enough to know that she
would get caught if she listened at the door;
she would never in the world have time
enough to scuttle down to her own room
before we would see her. But the balcony!
Strange we never thought of that. I’ll lay a
trap for her—no, I need not; she has trapped
herself; this affair is proof enough that she
peeks and listens.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t see how this helps us,” I exclaimed.
“This is the worst scrape of the
season. Don’t you see it is? Such glee on
your part is positively idiotic. We may all
be expelled and Professor Waite too.”</p>
<p>“Fret not your dear little sympathetic,
apprehensive gizzard. Don’t say one word,
except to answer questions. Don’t volunteer
any confessions, or let Adelaide do so. Remember,
the prisoner is not obliged to criminate
himself, the burden of proof lies with
Snooks, and she will find it a pretty heavy
burden.”</p>
<p>“Not with that note!” I replied.</p>
<p>“That note! Ha! ha! But I won’t tell
you. It’s too good a joke.”</p>
<p>“And Professor Waite’s picture of Adelaide?”</p>
<p>“The picture, I had forgotten that,” and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
Winnie became grave at once. “He must
take it right away,” she added. “I will tell
him to.”</p>
<p>“You talk as if you could make him do
anything,” I said.</p>
<p>“Anything I choose to try,” Winnie replied
confidently. We were at the studio door a
little ahead of time, and Professor Waite
threw it open at our knock, and welcomed
us in with his palette still on his thumb.
“Come and see my picture,” he said, with
a smile.</p>
<p>“Poor man!” I thought, “he would not
look so happy if he knew how angry Adelaide
is, and what a mine is waiting to be exploded
beneath him.”</p>
<p>He led us to the easel and displayed the
canvas triumphantly.</p>
<p>It was an effective, striking picture, but it
did not in the least resemble Adelaide.</p>
<p>Winnie uttered an exclamation of disgust.
“There now, you’ve spoiled it. I knew you
would. It was just perfect, and you’ve ruined
it. I’m sure I never want to look at that
thing again. I told you not to touch it. Why
couldn’t you let it alone?” and a half dozen
other wails of the same order.</p>
<p>Professor Waite did not attempt to put a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
stop to her somewhat impertinent remarks.
He was plainly annoyed, however, and when
she had emptied the vials of her indignation,
he replied: “I thought you would approve of
the change, Miss DeWitt. It was a remark
of yours this morning which made me realize
that I had no right to paint Miss Armstrong’s
portrait without her permission; that probably
she would be unwilling that I should possess
it; and as I would gladly sacrifice any ambition
or pleasure of my own for the sake of
not offending her, I have, as you see, painted
in an entirely new face.”</p>
<p>“You are quite right, Professor,” I exclaimed
warmly; “and Adelaide will be grateful for
your consideration.”</p>
<p>At this juncture the girls trooped in and
took their places at their easels, and Professor
Waite laid the picture in the great chest in
front of our door. The correction of work
went on as usual until the latter part of the
hour, when an ominous knock was heard at
the door, and Madame, accompanied by Miss
Noakes, sailed majestically into the room.
Professor Waite bowed deeply and expressed
himself as highly honored. Madame lifted
her lorgnette and surveyed the class. Milly
was posing in her despised Italian costume.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
Madame smiled kindly at her, and then passed
about from easel to easel examining the girls’
work. “I do not know whether it is exactly
the thing for the young ladies to allow themselves
to be painted in this way,” she said,
“though to be sure the studies are hardly
recognizable as likenesses.”</p>
<p>“The young ladies have all asked the permission
of their parents to sit for each other,”
Professor Waite explained.</p>
<p>“For each other,” Madame repeated doubtfully;
“but do you never make sketches of them
also, Professor? A parent might well object
to having his daughter’s portrait exhibited in
a public place, sold to a stranger, or even
shown among studies of professional models
in your studio.”</p>
<p>“I have made no studies from life from any
of the young ladies,” Professor Waite replied
promptly.</p>
<p>Miss Noakes drew a long breath and seemed
to bristle with anticipated triumph.</p>
<p>“I am glad that you can assure me of this,”
Madame replied in her softest, most purring
accents. Then she glanced around the room
again and asked, “Are all of the art students
present? I do not see Miss Armstrong.”</p>
<p>“Miss Armstrong has not honoured me by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
joining the class,” Professor Waite replied
stiffly.</p>
<p>“But she at least sits for the others, does
she not? She is such a strikingly picturesque
girl, I should think you would ask her.”</p>
<p>“We have asked her,” Milly replied, “but
she is just as obstinate as she can be. I wish,
Madame, you would make her.”</p>
<p>Madame shook her little wiry curls. “This
is a matter which must be left entirely to individual
preference, my dear. It would be
very wrong, indeed, for any of you to
make a portrait of Miss Armstrong without
her consent. I have known young amateur
photographers to lay themselves open to an
action at law by taking photographs of people
without their knowledge. Our personality is
a very sacred thing, and whoever possesses
himself of that without warrant commits a
dishonorable action.”</p>
<p>Milly looked as if she were about to faint,
while Professor Waite, who felt the intention
of Madame’s remarks, and his own thoughtlessness,
bit his mustache nervously. Winnie
was tittering in an unseemly manner behind
her easel, but, thankful as I was that the professor
had changed the portrait, I still felt the
gravity of the occasion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
<p>Madame’s manner changed. “Miss
Vaughn,” she said to Cynthia, “will you ask
Miss Armstrong to step to the studio for a
moment.” Then turning to our teacher, she
added, “I have a very painful duty to perform,
my dear Professor, and you must pardon
me if my questions seem to you unwarranted.
Will you tell me whether, for any
reason whatever, you have carried on a written
correspondence with Miss Armstrong or
with any other member of this school?”</p>
<p>“I have not, Madame.”</p>
<p>“Have never either written to her or received
letters from her?”</p>
<p>“Never, Madame. Who has charged me
with such a clandestine and dishonourable
act?”</p>
<p>Madame did not reply, for Adelaide entered
the room. She was very stately and pale.
Cynthia had not had far to go, and Adelaide
had come instantly.</p>
<p>“Why have you sent for me?” she asked
resolutely.</p>
<p>“Merely to ask you one or two simple questions,”
Madame replied. “But first, Professor,
may we be permitted to see the picture which
you are preparing for the Academy exhibition?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
<p>Adelaide leaned forward eagerly. Professor
Waite was about to be punished for his
presumption and yet she was not so glad as
she fancied that she would be. Her anger
had faded out and she almost pitied him. A
hot blush swept up to his forehead as he felt
her gaze, and silently placed the painting
upon the easel. Madame examined it critically
through her lorgnette; it was evidently
not what she had expected to see.</p>
<p>Milly, who had not known of the change,
could hardly believe her eyes, and seemed to
fancy that a miracle had been performed to
save her dear professor. Miss Noakes stood
at the canvas with a look of disappointed
malignity on her unattractive features.</p>
<p>“Is this the only picture which you intend
to exhibit?” Madame asked, after a moment,
during which she had assured herself that the
face on the canvas was utterly unlike any of
her pupils.</p>
<p>“It is the only one that I have had time to
paint this season,” Professor Waite replied.
“The face bore at one time a resemblance to
Miss Armstrong’s, but I purposely destroyed
that resemblance and shall send it in as you
see it.”</p>
<p>Madame seemed somewhat relieved, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
she turned toward Adelaide, who had seated
herself and was staring at the picture, her
heart filled with a vague regret that she had
written so unkind a letter.</p>
<p>“Young ladies,” said Madame solemnly,
“you have heard the questions which I have
asked Professor Waite. Certain accusations
have been made which have greatly troubled
me. It has been suspected that a clandestine
flirtation and correspondence has for some
time been carried on between your professor
and one of the members of this school.
Hitherto I have paid no attention to these
reports, as they rested only on suspicion, but
this morning startling evidence has been produced,
and before bringing it forward I call
upon any young lady who has been guilty of
such an indiscretion to anticipate the discovery
of her fault by a full confession.” No
one responded. The accusation was so much
more serious than the truth, that Adelaide
did not imagine that she was the suspected
culprit. Dead silence, in the midst of which
Madame produced the fateful letter. Adelaide
started and Madame asked in awful
tones:</p>
<p>“Will any young lady present acknowledge
that she has written this letter?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
<p>Winnie and Adelaide each rose promptly.</p>
<p>Madame frowned. “Have we two claimants?”
she asked.</p>
<p>“I am responsible for the contents of that
note,” said Adelaide.</p>
<p>“But I wrote it,” added Winnie, “and I
demand that it be read aloud.”</p>
<p>It seemed to me that Winnie was absolutely
insane, and even Adelaide seemed to feel that
there was no necessity of rushing so recklessly
on the spears of the enemy.</p>
<p>Professor Waite looked completely mystified,
and Madame said very seriously:</p>
<p>“You will see, Professor, that this note is
directed to you, and that it has not been
opened. I could not take that liberty; but
Miss Noakes discovered it being sent in a
very irregular manner, which justified her in
confiscating it. There are other suspicious
matters connected with it, which I trust its
contents will fully explain.”</p>
<p>I felt that the crucial moment had arrived.
Miss Noakes was absolutely radiant, and sat
rubbing her hands with ghoulish glee. Madame
looked troubled but judicial. The professor
was a favourite of hers, but Miss Noakes
had brought too weighty an accusation to be
glossed over.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
<p>A silence like that before a thunder-clap
reigned. Winnie covered her face with her
handkerchief and shook—could it be with
suppressed laughter? If so, it seemed to me
that she must be going insane.</p>
<p>Professor Waite opened the letter and
glanced over its contents. “This note is
from Miss Winifred De Witt,” he said to
Madame, “and since I have her permission, I
will read it aloud.” And to our utter astonishment,
Professor Waite read—not the
indignant letter which Adelaide had dictated,
but the following:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Professor Waite.</span></p>
<p><cite>Dear Sir:</cite> May I have your permission to place my easel on
the balcony in front of the corridor window and make a study
of a sunrise effect as seen across the roofs? The view is so
very beautiful that Miss Noakes spends much of her time there
absorbed in its enjoyment.</p>
<p><span class="sign3">Very respectfully yours,</span><br />
<span class="sign2">Winifred De Witt.</span><br />
</p></div>
<p>Professor Waite politely handed this effusion
to Madame. Miss Noakes snatched it
from her hand and glared at it with the look
of a foiled assassin. Madame bit her lips with
annoyance and scowled at Miss Noakes. She
was evidently angry with her for having
caused her to arraign Professor Waite on insufficient
testimony and creating a scene derogatory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
to her own dignity. She quickly recovered
her self-possession, however, and remarked
loftily:</p>
<p>“Miss De Witt, when you have any future
communications to make with your professor,
pray do so in a more fitting manner. Placing
notes under doors is really unworthy of any
young lady in my school.”</p>
<p>“So is listening at windows,” Cynthia
whispered to Winnie. Madame turned to
Professor Waite and expressed herself as
much pleased that this very serious accusation
had been proved to be founded on an entire
mistake. She had herself felt perfect confidence
in the integrity of Professor Waite
and the propriety of her pupils throughout
the entire affair, and had only investigated
it to give the slander its proper refutation:
and her stiff silk dress rustled with dignity out
of the studio.</p>
<p>As for Miss Noakes, she simply disappeared,
“evaporated,” as Milly expressed it.
The door had hardly closed upon Madame
before our long-repressed feelings found vent
in laughter. Winnie congratulated Professor
Waite on the part of the school that he had
been found innocent of so heinous a crime.
The girls swarmed up to shake hands with him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
Those who could not grasp his hand shook
the skirts of his coat. Exuberant confusion
reigned. Milly was dissolved in happy tears,
and even Adelaide smiled when Professor
Waite expressed his regret that Miss Noakes
had connected their names in so disagreeable a
manner.</p>
<p>It was not until the occupants of the Amen
Corner had gathered in their study parlor that
Adelaide said:</p>
<p>“But I really do not understand what became
of my note; the one I dictated to Winnie
and tucked under the door.”</p>
<p>“Winnie, how did you manage to steal it?”
Cynthia asked.</p>
<p>“I didn’t take it from Snooks,” Winnie
replied. “It struck me that Adelaide had expressed
herself rather strongly, and that she
would regret it after she had cooled down,
and if she didn’t, she ought to. So while you
were investigating the eavesdropping I destroyed
that note, wrote one of my own and
sealed it up in its place.”</p>
<p>“And I’ve really put this note of yours
under the door?” Adelaide asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, my dear, and that is why I have not
shared Tib’s anxiety since we knew that it had
been confiscated. Don’t you think that dig<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
about Snooks enjoying the scenery of the
back yard was rather good?” and Winnie
chuckled with enjoyment of her own impertinence.
“You should have seen her face
when Professor Waite read that. Nebuchadnezzar’s
when he ordered Shadrach, Meshech,
and Abednego to the burning, fiery furnace
must have been amiable in comparison. She
would have seen me boiled in oil with pleasure.
I haven’t enjoyed anything so much for
ages.”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VIII.<br />
<small>IN THE MESHES OF A GOLDEN NET.</small></h2>
<div class="image8">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 200px; height: 100px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 160px; height: 220px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in3"><span class="upper">Of</span> course Adelaide did
not feel it necessary
to tell Mr. Mudge
all the consequences
of our Halloween
party, but only the facts
of our having used the
turret staircase on that
memorable night.</p>
<p>“And now,” she said,
with a laugh, “Mr. Mudge
has gone racing off to
investigate Professor
Waite. I seem doomed
to get that poor man into
trouble. Though of course he never could be
suspected of this robbery.”</p>
<p>Milly had entered while Adelaide was
speaking, and she uttered a little cry of dismay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
“Professor Waite suspected! that
could never be!”</p>
<p>“Circumstances are against him,” Winnie
replied. “Mr. Mudge believes that the robbery
was committed between twelve o’clock
and a quarter past. Now, if Professor Waite
was in the studio at that time——”</p>
<p>“He was earlier than usual,” Milly replied.
“I heard him come up the staircase. You
know the head of our bed is right against the
turret wall. Someway, I always hear his step
on the stair, and then he usually whistles an
air from one of the operas. Last night he
whistled the Wedding March in ‘Lohengrin.’”</p>
<p>“Then you were lying awake, too, last
night,” Winnie remarked. “Did you hear
me moving about in this room?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Milly replied hesitatingly.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you say so before?”</p>
<p>“There didn’t seem to be any necessity of
telling of it,” Milly replied.</p>
<p>“You thought it might throw suspicion on
me?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Milly disclaimed. “No one could
suspect you, Winnie, or Professor Waite,
either; the ideas are equally absurd.”</p>
<p>“Unless it is proved that the robbery
was committed before Professor Waite came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
up the stairs, it may not seem at all absurd to
Mr. Mudge,” Winnie continued mercilessly.
“Tib and I saw him examining the door into
the studio, and he seemed possessed with the
idea that the burglar entered the room from
the studio. I know, too, that Mr. Mudge examined
Professor Waite’s tool chest in the
studio, and that he found the broken lock in
it, with a screw-driver and other tools, showing
that Professor Waite had been tinkering
with the door, trying unsuccessfully to mend
the lock, as we all know.”</p>
<p>“You know this! How did you find it
out?” Adelaide asked, and Winnie replied:</p>
<p>“Professor Waite wanted to use his screw-driver
and went to his tool chest after it during
the painting lesson to-day. It was gone;
so was the lock to the door. He hunted
everywhere, and told me that he was afraid
that Miss Noakes had been in his studio and
had discovered the broken lock, and that we
would be called in question for that old scrape.
I felt sure from the first that it was Mr.
Mudge, but I did not mention him, for
Madame told us to say nothing about the robbery
outside of our own circle.”</p>
<p>“I would do anything to keep Professor
Waite out of trouble,” Milly said. “I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
the only one who knows that he was in the
studio, and I will not tell.”</p>
<p>“Nothing will help Professor Waite so much
as the entire truth,” Winnie replied. “Of
course he is not the one who took the money.
If the person really responsible can be discovered,
or will confess, the Professor and all
other innocent persons will be cleared from
suspicion.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Milly replied, looking at
Winnie in a puzzled way. “And I am sure,”
she added hopefully, “that Mr. Mudge will
find the guilty individual soon, if he is as
keen as you all seem to think him. I really
dread meeting him, and I am glad he has
gone away for to-day. There goes the
supper bell. What a long day this has
been!”</p>
<p>After supper Milly woke to a consciousness
that she had not prepared one of her lessons
for the next day. She sat puckering her
pretty forehead into ugly wrinkles, and repeating
helplessly, “‘Populi Romani!’ I am
sure I’ve had that before.” Then she began
a wild attempt at translation, with manifold
running comments. “‘Because Ariovistus,
King of the Germans, had sat down on their
boundaries—’ Now, was there anything ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
so absurd as that? Why did old Ariovistus
want to sit down on their boundaries?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps the word doesn’t mean boundaries
here,” Adelaide suggested, and Milly
turned patiently to her lexicon—“If <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">finibus</i>
comes from <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">finitimus</i> it may mean neighbors—and
then Ariovistus sat down on his
neighbors; well I must say that was cool——”</p>
<p>Milly worked on for a little while in silence,
and then exclaimed, “I’m getting into the
sensibility of it now—how’s this? ‘These
things having been known, Cæsar confirmed
the mind of all Gaul with words.’ He was
always very generous of his words. We have
a review to-morrow, and the ridiculosity of
the whole thing comes out. Now just listen
to this: ‘Wherefore it pleased him to send
legates to Ariovistus, who should ask him to
appoint some place in the middle of the
others for a colloquy. To these legates he
responded if it was too much trouble for him
to come to himself, himself would come to
him and he—Cæsar—would then find out
who ought to do the coming. Besides, he
would admire to see all Gaul in a row, and it
was no business of Cæsar’s or his old Populo
Romano.’ I rather like his pluck but I’m
afraid my translation is rather free. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
here is a place that I am not quite sure about;
‘The Helvetians, the Tulingians, and the
Lotobigians, and all the other igians, in their
boundaries or something, whence they had
something else—he commanded to—thingummy;
and because all their fruits were—were—frost
bitten, I guess, and at home
nothing was which could tolerate hunger—he
commanded the other ninkums that they
should make for them copious corn—’ I perfectly
hate Cæsar. He was always boasting
of his own benefits and clemency to one tribe
in making another support it, and then ‘pacifying’
the other tribes by slaying a few thousand
of their soldiers, and I just don’t see the use
of our muddling our heads with what that
stupid, cruel, conceited old bandit did, anyhow.
But if I don’t know this lesson I shall
not be able to pass in examination, and you
will all graduate and leave me behind for
ages and ages——”</p>
<p>Ordinarily Winnie could not have resisted
such an appeal as this. I have known her to
patiently translate all of Milly’s lessons for her,
and then as patiently explain them to her over
and over again, until some faint idea of their
meaning had penetrated her befogged little
brain. And having spent the evening thus,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
go unprepared to her geometry, and stoically
receive a cipher as her class mark, and see
Cynthia carry off the honors of the day. But
to-night Winnie did not seem to see the forget-me-not
eyes turned appealingly to her.
She appeared to be completely absorbed in
her Cicero. I endured Milly’s frowns as long
as I could, and finally pushed aside my own
studies, and said, “Come into my bedroom
where we will not disturb the other girls, and
I will straighten it out for you.”</p>
<p>Milly was delighted. She threw her arms
around my neck and thrust some cream peppermints
into my pocket.</p>
<p>We were in the midst of Cæsar’s negotiations
with Ariovistus, and had nearly finished
the paragraph, when Milly suddenly looked
up.</p>
<p>“Tib,” she said, “do you know whatever
became of Madame Celeste’s last bill? I
thought I put it in my bureau drawer, but I
must have left it around somewhere. Have
you seen it? I can’t find it.”</p>
<p>“Then you could not pay it this afternoon?”
I asked evasively.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes! she made out another bill and
receipted it for me, but I want to be sure
that the first one is destroyed.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
<p>“I thought all your money was taken;
where did you get enough to pay this bill?”</p>
<p>“Oh! that is a secret,” she replied, with a
pleased little flutter of importance. “It’s
no manner of consequence how I came by it.
I’ve paid the bill—that’s the essential thing—and
I’ve got out of that dreadful quicksand.
Oh, Tib, I have been so unhappy, and Cynthia
has been so mean! I did not think it
possible that any one could be so horrid.”</p>
<p>“Tell me all about it, dear,” I said, caressing
the curly blond head which nestled on my
knee.</p>
<p>“I believe I will. I feel like telling somebody,
and Winnie is so queer lately—she
freezes me. She has disapproved of me and
scolded me ever since she found out about
Cynthia’s dress, and I can’t bear to be disapproved
of. It isn’t one bit nice. Adelaide is
perfectly splendid; she likes me and pets me,
but perhaps she wouldn’t if she knew everything;
but you are just my dear old Tib.
You would always like me, wouldn’t you,
even if I were real wicked?”</p>
<p>“Yes indeed, Milly,” I replied; “and so
would Winnie; you don’t half realize her love
for you.”</p>
<p>“Then she has a very queer way of showing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
it. She makes me feel as if I had committed
some dreadful sin, and she was urging
me to confess. She is just about as pleasant
a companion as that Florentine monk—what’s
his name? who kept nagging Lorenzo de
Medici—even when the poor man was just as
busy as he could be a-dying.”</p>
<p>“Savonarola acted as he thought was kindest
and best for his poor guilty friend.
Sometimes the surgeon who probes our
wound is the truest friend—But you are
going to tell me about your trouble—I’ve
noticed how red your little nose has been
of late.”</p>
<p>“It was partly Celeste’s fault, too,” Milly
said. “Cynthia’s and Celeste’s and mine.
Of course the fault was mostly mine. You
see it all started with the minuet—with
which Professor Fafalata closed his dancing
class just before the Christmas holidays.
He wished us to be costumed in the Florentine
style of the early part of the sixteenth
century. I was talking it over with Celeste,
and she said I ought to have the front of my
petticoat covered with some jewelled net which
she had just imported from Paris. It was very
expensive, but very beautiful, and showy in
the evening. The net was made of gold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
thread set with imitation amethysts and rubies,
an arabesque design, copied from some mediæval
embroidery, and just the thing for me,
since I was to represent a young princess of
the house of Medici. I thought that I would
write mother, who was in Florida then, and
ask her to lend me one of her party dresses,
and that it would be just the thing to put
over it; and while I was admiring it and before
I had really ordered it, or realized what she was
doing, Celeste had cut me off a yard of it, and
had charged it to my account—fifteen dollars.
I brought it here, you remember, only to find
that Madame had interested Professor Waite
in the minuet, and that he had promised to
lend the girls some beautiful costumes of the
period which he had brought back from Paris.
There was that lovely heliotrope velvet edged
with ermine for Adelaide, and a faded pink
brocade sprigged with primroses for me.</p>
<p>“So of course there wasn’t the slightest
need for my golden net. I carried it to Celeste
to see if she would take it back. She
said that she would like to oblige me, but as
it was cut she couldn’t quite do that, but she
would try to dispose of it for me. And she
did sell it a few days later for ten dollars. I
thought that was better than to lose the entire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
sum. She handed me the money, saying that
it would put her to some trouble to change
her accounts, and I had better let the bill go
in just as she had made it out, and I could
hand mother the ten dollars and explain matters.
I really intended to do so, but I was
nearly bankrupt that month. My pocket
money just seemed to walk away. I had
invited Adelaide to see the play of the ‘Harvard
Hasty Pudding,’ and of course I had to
have Miss Noakes chaperone us, and I hadn’t
money enough left to buy the tickets.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell her so?” I asked.</p>
<p>“Oh! I couldn’t back out after I had asked
her; and I owed her a little treat of some
kind, for she invited me to see the cadet
drill at her brother’s school.</p>
<p>“Well, after I had broken the ten dollar
bill to get the tickets, the first thing I knew
it was all gone. I knew mother wouldn’t
mind, and that I could tell her any time
after she came home, but it never seemed
necessary to mention it in my letters and I
never did.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Milly!”</p>
<p>“Horrid of me, wasn’t it? But I had worse
temptations. My pocket money is so very
skimpy compared with what the other girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
have, and with what I have, too, in the way of
credit for certain things, that I am often really
embarrassed and have to turn and twist and
borrow and pinch to make it stretch out.
When you girls clubbed together and paid
for Polo’s sisters at the Home, I wanted
awfully to help, but I couldn’t. You see
father lets me subscribe so much annually to
the Home and he sends in a check every year
for me, and thinks that ought to be enough.
But I don’t feel as though I was giving it at
all, for it does not even pass through my
hands. I don’t deny myself to give it, as
Adelaide does for her charities, and I haven’t
a penny for any special case of distress or
sudden emergency which I may happen to
hear of.</p>
<p>“Do you know, Tib, that Satan actually
suggested to me how easily I might have
extra pocket money by ordering things from
Celeste, and letting her sell them again in
just the same way that she managed with the
golden net? I knew that she would be glad
enough to do it, for I found out afterward that
Rosario Ricos bought that net of Celeste and
paid her full price for it! So you see she
kept back five dollars on the second sale, besides
making a good commission on the first.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
<p>“But you didn’t do it, Milly dear; you
surely did not obtain your charity money in
any such dishonest way as that?”</p>
<p>“No, Tib. I didn’t do it for charity. I
some way felt that God would not accept such
a gift from me; but there came a time when
I had a worse temptation still. You know
all last term papa used to ride with me every
Saturday afternoon either at the riding academy
or in the Park. Well, something is the
matter with his liver; it hurts him to trot, and
he has had to give it up, and Wiggins took
me out. But I hate riding with a groom, and
so one day when papa called I told him I
didn’t care for any more riding this winter.
This happened the week you went home to
help tend your mother when she was sick, and
that is the reason you never heard of it. I
was taking father up to the studio when I said
it, to show him Professor Waite’s Academy
picture, and papa was so vexed with me
about my not wanting to ride that he didn’t
half notice the pictures.</p>
<p>“He took to Professor Waite, though, right
away; and just as he was leaving asked him
if he rode. ‘When I am so fortunate as to
have the opportunity,’ Professor Waite replied.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
<p>“‘Very good,’ said papa. ‘Then possibly
you will oblige me by accompanying my
daughter and one of her friends on an occasional
ride in the park.’ He explained that
he had a good saddle horse, which needed
exercise, which he would be glad to have him
use; and that, what was more important, I
needed exercise too, and was so perverse that
I did not want to take it alone. ‘And now,’
said he, ‘the cruel parent proposes, Milly, to
pay for another horse for one of your other
girl friends. I suppose you will choose Adelaide,
and if Professor Waite will act as
your escort occasionally, I think you can
manage to extract some pleasure from the
exercise.’</p>
<p>“Of course I was perfectly delighted, and
hugged papa, and called him a dear old thing.
Professor Waite, who had looked awfully
bored and had even begun to mumble something
about being too busy, began to take an
interest in the matter as soon as Adelaide’s
name was mentioned, and papa had an interview
with Madame and got her permission to
let us ride every Saturday morning. Adelaide
was down at her tenement, and it was
left that I was to tell her when she returned,
and I thought everything was settled. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
when Adelaide came in she was looking
troubled over some of her tenants’ tribulations
and she only half listened to me.</p>
<p>“‘I would like above all things to ride
again,’ she said ‘as I used to on the plains
when I lived out West; but there is no use
talking about it, Milly dear, I can’t do it. I
have no riding habit, and I cannot afford to
have one made. Thank you just as much,
but don’t say another word about it.’</p>
<p>“You can imagine how disappointed I was.
I knew very well that neither Madame nor
mamma would let me ride alone with Professor
Waite, even if papa would permit it; and I
knew, too, that the Professor would lose every
bit of interest in the plan if Adelaide did not
go. I was not thoroughly selfish, Tib. I
wanted Adelaide to have a good time too,
and I wanted Professor Waite to be happy.
I told myself that if he loved Adelaide, I
would do all I could to help him, and perhaps
some day he would remember that it
was through me that he had won her, and like
me a little for it, and never suspect that I—that
I——”</p>
<p>Her voice broke and she buried her head
on my shoulder. “Dear Milly,” I said,
caressing and soothing her as best I could.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
“Of course you were not selfish. Well, and
what happened next?”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t give up the plan, Tib, and I
thought that if all that kept Adelaide from
joining in it was the lack of a habit, that could
be easily arranged. I would make her a present
of it. I was sure that father would give
me twenty-five dollars for my next birthday
present, and I thought it would do no harm
to spend it in advance. So I asked Celeste
how much cloth it would take, and I had it
sent her from Arnold’s, a beautiful fine dark-green
broadcloth. And then I told Adelaide
what I had done and that she must go
around to Celeste’s with me and be fitted.
Do you believe it, she would not? She said
that it would be wrong for her to accept such
a present from me; and besides, nothing would
induce her to ride with Professor Waite, for
she couldn’t endure him. That put an end to
the ride in the Park. Cynthia would have
taken Adelaide’s place, but when I told Professor
Waite that Adelaide would not go, he
looked so angry that I saw he wanted to get
out of the arrangement, and I suggested that
perhaps we had better give up the plan. He
said, very well, just as I pleased, and looked so
relieved that I almost cried then and there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
Papa was so provoked when I told him of it
that I did not dare say a word about the riding-habit,
especially as he had just handed me
my little Swiss watch as my birthday present.
So I pretended to be pleased with it, and
there was that dreadful cloth for the riding-habit
on my hands, and I didn’t know what to
do. Mamma was still in Florida, and papa
said that she was not very strong and must
not be worried—I must only write cheerful
letters to her. I didn’t feel very cheerful, I
assure you. Then Cynthia told me one day
that she had twenty dollars with which she
wanted to purchase a winter suit and she
would like my advice about it. I was in
debt just twenty dollars for the cloth for the
habit, and I told her about it and begged her
to take it off my hands. She went with me
to Celeste’s and liked it very much. The
only trouble was that her mother had intended
the twenty dollars to pay for both
material and making, and of course she
ought to get something not nearly so nice.</p>
<p>“She said at last that if I would get Celeste
to wait for her pay she would take the dress
and pay her later. I thought only of paying
for the material at Arnold’s, for I had expected
to have the money by that time, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
had asked them to make a separate bill out,
and not put it on my book that goes every
month to papa. So we arranged it. Cynthia
gave me her twenty dollars and I settled
for the cloth, and Celeste made the dress for
her, and furnished the trimmings. But how
she did run them up! She had a band of real
sable around the hem of the skirt and trimmed
the jacket with it too; and made her that cute
little toque with heads and tails on it, and
when the bill came in it was sixty dollars.
Cynthia was frightened. ‘I never can pay
it in the world,’ she said. ‘I think your
dressmaker is frightfully extortionate; and I
had no idea it would be so much.’ I felt sorry
for her and I felt, too, that I was to blame
for getting her into the predicament; so I said
we would divide the expense, and she should
only pay half. But she grumbled at that, and
said that I had inveigled her into the trouble,
and that she had a dressmaker on 125th Street
who would have made the suit for ten dollars.
When I reminded her of the fur, she said she
did not believe it was real sable, and she
didn’t want it any way.</p>
<p>“I offered to take it to Gunther’s and see
if I could get something for it, if she would
rip it off, but she said she would do no such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
thing; the dress would be a fright without it.
It was all a miserable mess, and I was so unhappy.
It would have been some consolation
if Cynthia had been grateful, but she blamed
me for everything, and I think that, considering
all I have done for her, she treated me very
shabbily when she said that Adelaide was the
only lady in the Amen Corner, and she did
not care to speak to any of us again.”</p>
<p>“That was like Cynthia, and I am sure that
the loss of her friendship can only be a benefit
to you. But, Milly, you must bravely
shoulder the greater part of the blame yourself.
Your first wrong step was in getting
the golden net without permission, then in
letting Celeste pay you for it and yet having
it charged to your father. Then, again, in
getting the cloth for Adelaide’s habit without
consulting your father you deliberately did
wrong; and in bargaining with Cynthia, instead
of going straight to your father and
confessing your fault, you waded still more
deeply in——”</p>
<p>“I know it; but there you are scolding me
just like Winnie, and it doesn’t make the
trouble a bit easier to bear to be told that I
deserve it all, and am a miserable little sinner.
You needn’t imagine that I did not realize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
what a wretch I was; only I didn’t seem to
see the way out. Everything I did to extricate
myself got me deeper into the quicksand.
I saved every way, all that I could; one month
I laid by two dollars and thirty-seven cents,
but the next I slipped back three and a quarter,
and Cynthia handed me a five dollar bill
one day, and told me that was every cent that
she could pay, and I must let her off from the
rest. And to crown it all, Winnie found out
about it, and nearly drove me wild. Oh, Tib,
I have been in such trouble, what with this
dreadful bill that I didn’t dare tell papa
about, and Professor Waite, and all my lessons
so hard, and my marks getting worse than
ever, and Winnie turning on me. It just
seemed as if I would die, and I almost wished
I could. I thought seriously about killing
myself only the night before last. I think if
I could have found any poison that would not
have hurt I would have taken it.”</p>
<p>“Don’t talk so, Milly; it is wicked. You
would have done nothing of the sort.”</p>
<p>“But I would. I went into the chemical
laboratory and looked at the green and blue
stuff in the test tubes, but I couldn’t quite
screw my courage up to do more than taste
just a little bit of one kind that looked more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
deadly than the rest. It was horrid, and took
the skin off of the tip of my tongue. I ate a
quarter of a pound of assorted mints before
I could get the taste out of my mouth. If I
could have found some laudanum, or something
that would not have tasted so bad, or
would have killed me by putting me to sleep,
I would have taken it that night, for I was
miserable enough to do anything, however unscrupulous
and reckless. If I hadn’t been so
very desperate perhaps I would never have
dared to do what I did do; the thing which
really broke the meshes of the golden net
which seemed to have me in its toils. I didn’t
mean to tell any one, but I was just driven to
it, and I know you will keep my secret—besides
I have told you so much that you might
as well know all. Tib, I——”</p>
<p>“Milly, it is time we were all in bed.” It
was Winnie who spoke. She stood in the
doorway, cold and commanding, and Milly
cowered before her. She did not offer to
kiss her, but shrank, frightened, away to her
room.</p>
<p>“Oh, Winnie,” I said, “why did you come
in just then? Milly was just about to confess
to me what she did to get the money with
which she has just paid Celeste.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
<p>“You have no business to coax her secret
from her,” Winnie replied angrily. “Whatever
it is, you have no right to know it unless
she has wronged you. I am afraid our dear
Milly is in deep waters. But whatever she
may have done lies between her own conscience
and God, and I believe that He will
show her how to make restitution and keep,
in the future, strictly to the right. Oh, my
poor, precious Milly! I wish I could suffer
all the consequences of your wrong doing for
you, but I can’t. Every sin brings suffering,
and it is the suffering that purifies. I can’t
save you that experience, but I will shield
you from open shame if I can. I forbid you,
Tib, to pry into Milly’s affairs any further, to
question her, or allow her to confide in you,
or even suspect her. Only pray for her, and
love her; that is all you can do.”</p>
<p>“It is you who suspect her,” I exclaimed
hotly, “and unjustly, Winnie. Milly has been
extravagant and thoughtless; worse than that,
she has been underhanded and deceitful in
regard to expenditures, but she did not take
the money from the cabinet; of that I am
positive.”</p>
<p>“Have I ever charged her with anything
so dreadful?” Winnie asked. “Have I not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
tried in every way to keep that suspicion from
every one? Give me credit for that, at least.”</p>
<p>“In words, Winnie; but in your secret
thought you have wronged her. I know that
you love her with a sort of a fierce, maternal
love which makes you want her to be perfect,
and which fears the worst and tortures yourself
with imaginary impossibilities. I tell you that
Milly has learned a very thorough lesson in
regard to deception; she will never offend in
that way again; and as to this affair of the
cabinet, I would as soon suspect you as her.”</p>
<p>“Suspect me, then,” Winnie cried. “I
wish you would. I hoped that Cynthia was
going to lead suspicion my way, but it seems
she can’t do it. I have too good a reputation.”
And Winnie laughed cynically.
“Well, the time may come when you may
not think so well of me. Meantime, I thank
you with all my heart for believing in Milly.”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IX.<br />
<small>“POLO.”</small></h2>
<div class="image9">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 190px; height: 90px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 170px; height: 230px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in3"><span class="upper">It</span> must not be inferred
that our life that
winter was all intense
and tragical; if it had
been so we could not
have endured it. There
were patches of clear
sky, and the sunlight of
generous acts glinted
through the storm. We
had all merry hearts and
good digestions, and
these bore us up under
our troubles with the
buoyancy which is so
mercifully granted to youth and inexperience.
Then, too, our thoughts were not entirely
taken up with ourselves and our own affairs.
For a few days after this we saw nothing of
Mr. Mudge, and our attention was partly
diverted to another matter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
<p>One day, earlier in the school year, Mrs.
Booth, of the Salvation Army, had addressed
Madame’s school on the need of
work among the poor of New York. One
little parable which she gave made a great
impression upon us. I cannot repeat Mrs.
Booth’s eloquent language, but will give the
main points of the story.</p>
<p>“As a young girl,” said Mrs. Booth, “I was
very selfish and hard-hearted. I did not care
for the suffering and anguish of others. It
was not that I was naturally cruel, but I did
not think of them at all. I thought and cared
only for myself, of parties and dresses, and of
having a good time—and this Dead Sea of
selfishness was numbing every generous impulse
within me. My heart was growing to
resemble a certain spring which my mother
took me to see when a little child. I remember
the walk through the wood beside a little
brook which babbled over the stones, and how
the light of the sky shone down into its clear
amber waters, and the trees and the clouds
were reflected in its quiet pools; how long
mosses fringed its stones, and water plants
made a little forest under its ripples; and how
its depths were all alive with tiny fish and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
happy living creatures seeking their food and
sporting among the cresses. But we came
presently to a spring quite apart and very different
from the brook. The water was deep,
and quiet, and clear, but when I looked
into it I was struck by a death-like influence,
weird and sinister. There were no
minnows darting through the depths like
silver needles, or craw-fish burrowing in
the banks, or water beetles skimming the
surface like oarsmen rowing their light
wherries. There was no life to be seen anywhere.
The very stones had a strange,
unnatural look; they were white as marble;
no mosses covered them, no water-lilies or
algae grew through the deadly water. The
very leaves which had fallen into the pool
were white and heavy, as though carved in
marble. The grasses which grew downward
and dipped into the spring were marble
grasses, more like clumsy branching coral
than the delicate bending sprays above the
waves. It was a petrifying spring, and everything
dipped in its waters was presently
coated with a fine, stony sediment and practically
turned to stone.</p>
<p>“So the deadly, petrifying spring of selfishness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
will turn the heart to stone, and while
having the form of life it will be cold and
hard and dead.”</p>
<p>This was Mrs. Booth’s little parable, and
while none of our hearts had been dipped in
this petrifying spring, it woke us to new desires
to do more for the suffering poor.</p>
<p>Something happened a little after this talk,
and several weeks previous to the robbery,
which gave a direction to our impulses. Milly
and I were returning from a shopping excursion
one very cold and rainy Saturday, when
we were approached by a poor girl who was
selling pencils on a corner. “They are always
useful,” I said; “suppose we take some.”</p>
<p>“I should perfectly love to,” Milly replied,
“but I haven’t a cent.”</p>
<p>The girl had noticed our hesitation and
came to us. “Please buy some, young ladies,”
she said; “I haven’t had a thing to eat to-day.”</p>
<p>“Then come right along with me,” said
Milly. “Mother lets me lunch at Sherry’s,
whenever I am out shopping.”</p>
<p>The girl followed us but stopped beneath
the awning of the handsome entrance.
“That’s too fine a place for me, Miss,” she
said. “Only swells go there. It costs the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
eyes out of your head just for a clean plate
and napkin in there. How much do you
s’pose now, a lunch would cost in that there
palace?”</p>
<p>“Not more than a dollar,” Milly replied
cheerfully.</p>
<p>“Glory!” exclaimed the girl, “if you mean
to lay out as much as that on me, why ten
cents will get me all I want to eat at a bakery
on Third Avenue, and I’ll take the balance
home to the children.”</p>
<p>“That is just where the awkwardness of
papa’s way of doing comes in,” Milly said to
me. “You see,” she explained to the girl,
“I’ve spent all my money to-day, but I can
have a lunch charged here.”</p>
<p>Still the girl hesitated. “I’m not fit,” she
said, looking at her dripping, ragged clothes.
We were sheltered from view by the awning,
and in an instant Milly had taken off her
handsome London-made mackintosh and had
thrown it around the girl. “There, that
covers you all up,” she said, “and your hat
isn’t so very bad.”</p>
<p>It was a tarpaulin, and, though a little frayed
at the edges, its glazed surface had shed the
rain and it was not conspicuously shabby.</p>
<p>We passed into the ladies’ restaurant and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
seated ourselves at one of the little tables.
Milly took up a menu and looked it over
critically. “Now I am going to order a very
sensible, plain luncheon,” she announced.
“No frills, but something hot and nourishing.
We will begin with soup. Papa would approve
of that. He is always provoked when
I cut the soup. Green turtle? Yes, waiter,
three plates of green turtle soup.”</p>
<p>“Please excuse me,” I interrupted. “I do
not care for anything.”</p>
<p>“No? Well, two plates. I usually loathe
turtle soup, but I’m determined to be sensible
and have a solid lunch. Some way, I don’t
know why, I’m not very hungry this afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps the ice-cream soda we had at
Huyler’s has taken away your appetite,” I suggested.</p>
<p>The soup was brought and Milly sipped a
little daintily, as she afterward said merely to
keep her guest company. The guest devoured
it ravenously; she had evidently never tasted
anything so delicious; but perhaps plain beef-stew
would have seemed as good, for her feast
was seasoned with that most appetizing of
sauces—hunger.</p>
<p>“What will you have next?” Milly asked
politely, as the waiter removed their plates.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
<p>“Whatever you take, Miss,” the girl replied.
“I ain’t particular. I guess anything here’s
good enough for me.”</p>
<p>“I declare I don’t feel as if I could worry
down another morsel,” Milly answered. “There
is nothing so surfeiting as green turtle. It
makes me almost sick to think of crabs or birds,
or even shrimp salad. Let’s skip all that, and
take the desert. Waiter, bring us two ices.
Which flavor do you prefer?” she asked of the
pencil vender, and again the bewildered girl
left the choice to her hostess.</p>
<p>“Strawberry, mousse, and chocolate are
too cloying,” Milly remarked meditatively.
“Bring us lemon water ice and pistache.
Don’t you just dote on pistache?”</p>
<p>“I never ate any, Miss.”</p>
<p>“Then I shall have the pleasure of introducing
you to something new. You’ll be sure to
like it.”</p>
<p>The girl did like it. She ate every morsel.
Possibly something more solid would have
proved as satisfying, but Milly was pleased
with her evident appreciation.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you eat the macaroons?
Don’t you like them? Would you rather have
kisses?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
<p>“If you please Miss, might I take them
home to the children?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I suppose so. It isn’t exactly good
form to put things in your pocket, but they
will be charged for just the same, even if we
leave them, so take them, quick, now that the
waiter is not looking.”</p>
<p>Although the waiter was not watching us,
some one else was. A faultlessly dressed
gentleman approached at this juncture and
greeted Milly in an impressive manner.</p>
<p>“Why, Mr. Van Silver!” she exclaimed, a
little fluttered by the unexpected meeting. “I
haven’t seen you since last summer at Narragansett
Pier.”</p>
<p>“And whose fault is that?” Mr. Van Silver
asked plaintively. “If young ladies will shut
themselves up in convents, and never send
their adoring friends any invitation to a four
o’clock tea or a reception or even a school examination
or a prayer meeting, where they
might catch a glimpse of them, it is the poor
adorer’s misfortune, and not his fault, if he is
forgotten. Won’t you introduce me to your
friends?”</p>
<p>“Certainly. Tib, this is Mr. Van Silver.
Mr. Van Silver, allow me to present you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
Tib—I mean to Miss Smith. I can’t introduce
you to the other young lady, because I don’t
know her name.”</p>
<p>We had all risen and the last remark was
made <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">sotto voce</i>. As we left the building Mr.
Van Silver sheltered Milly with his umbrella
and the waif followed with me. “Come with
us to Madame’s,” I had said, “and perhaps we
can do something for you.”</p>
<p>As we walked on together Milly and Mr.
Van Silver carried on a lively conversation,
part of which I overheard, and the remainder
Milly reported afterward. She first told him
of how we had met our new acquaintance, and
he seemed much interested.</p>
<p>“And so you have just given her a very
solid and sensible lunch, consisting of green
turtle soup and ice cream.” He laughed a low,
gurgling laugh and appeared infinitely amused.</p>
<p>“And macaroons,” Milly added; “she has
at least five macaroons in her pocket for the
children.”</p>
<p>“Oh! yes, a macaroon a piece for the children.
I wonder if I couldn’t contribute a cigarette
for each of them,” and he gurgled again
in a purring, pleasant way.</p>
<p>“You are making fun of me,” Milly pouted,
in an aggrieved way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
<p>“Not at all. I think it was just like you,
Miss Milly, to do such a lovely thing. You
are one of the most kind-hearted girls I
know,—to beggars, I mean,—but the young
men tell a different story. There’s poor
Stacey Fitz Simmons. I saw him the other
day and he was complaining bitterly of your
hard-heartedness. He said you hardly spoke
to him at Professor Fafalata’s costume dance.”</p>
<p>“How unfair! he was my partner in the
minuet. What more could he ask?”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing mean about Stacey. He
probably wanted you to dance all the other
dances with him. I told him that he was a
lucky young dog to be invited at all. Why
did you leave me out?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t think that a grown-up gentleman,
in society, would care for a little dance
at a boarding-school, where he would only
meet bread-and-butter school girls.”</p>
<p>“Oh! I’m too old, am I? Well, I must say
you are complimentary. And it’s a fault that
doesn’t decrease as time passes. Well, I shall
tell Stacey that there’s hope for him. You
only care for very young men. Why did you
send back the tickets which he sent you for
the Inter-scholastic Games! You nearly broke
his heart. He has been training for the past<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
six months simply and solely in the hope that
you will see him win the mile run.”</p>
<p>“But I will see him. I wrote him that
Adelaide’s brother, Jim, had already sent her
tickets, which we should use, and as he might
like to bestow his elsewhere, I returned them.”</p>
<p>“‘Bestow them elsewhere?’ Not he. Stacey
is constant as the pole. He’s as loyal as
he is thoroughbred. He was telling me about
the serenade that the cadet band gave your
school last year. Some girl let down a scrap
basket from her window full of buttonhole
bouquets. He wore one pinned to the breast
of his uniform for a week because he thought
you had a hand in it; and you never saw a fellow
so cut up as he was when he heard last
summer that you had nothing to do with it,
and even slept sweetly through the entire serenade.”</p>
<p>“Stacey is too silly for anything. It is perfectly
ridiculous for a little boy like him to
talk that way.”</p>
<p>“Little boy—let me see, just how old
is Stacey, anyway! About seventeen. Six
months your senior, is he not? At what
age should you say that one might fall quite
seriously and sensibly in love?”</p>
<p>“Oh! not till one is twenty at least,” Milly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
answered quickly; but she blushed furiously
while she spoke.</p>
<p>“Sensible girl! But to return to the subject
of the Inter-scholastic Games. I am glad that
you and your friend Miss Adelaide are going.
They are to take place out at the Berkeley
Oval, you know. I have no doubt that the
roads will be settled and we shall have fine
weather by that time. May I have the pleasure
of driving you out on my coach?”</p>
<p>“Certainly. That is, I must coax papa to
write a note to Madame, asking her to let us
go.”</p>
<p>“I will call at the bank and see your papa
about it to-morrow, and meantime do beam
upon poor Stacey. And, by the way, here is
something which you may as well add to the
macaroons for those poor children,” and he
pressed a dollar bill into Milly’s hand. Some
one passed us rapidly at that instant and gave
the young man so questioning a glance that he
raised his hat, asking Milly a moment later if
she knew the lady.</p>
<p>“Why, that is Miss Noakes!” Milly exclaimed,
in dismay. “You must not go a
step further with us, Mr. Van Silver, or we
will be reported for ‘conduct.’”</p>
<p>“Far be it from me to gratify the evidently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
malicious desire of that estimable person to
report you young ladies. Good-by until
the games,” and with another bow he was
gone.</p>
<p>As we approached the school building we saw
Professor Waite leaving by the turret door,
and I asked him to allow us to enter by it, at
the same time requesting him to buy some of
our new friend’s pencils. He looked at the girl
closely, and as Milly led the way with her I
explained how we had found her.</p>
<p>“She is a picturesque creature,” Professor
Waite remarked. “I could make her useful
as a model. The girls pose so badly and dislike
to do it so much, it might be well to try
this waif. Tell her to come on Monday, and
if the class like her well enough to club together
and pay a small amount for her services,
we will engage her to sit for us.”</p>
<p>He scribbled a line on one of his visiting
cards for her to show Cerberus, as we called
our dignified janitor, who was very particular
about whom he admitted to the building; and
I hastily followed our <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">protégé</i> to the Amen
Corner, where I found Adelaide talking with
her while Milly ransacked her wardrobe for
cast-off clothing, finding only a Tam O’Shanter,
a parasol, and some soiled gloves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>
<p>“Can’t you find her a pair of rubbers?”
Adelaide asked. “The girl’s feet are soaked.”</p>
<p>“Do you keep your own rubbers?” the
waif asked. “That was my father’s business.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” inquired Adelaide.</p>
<p>“My father was a rubber—a massage man
for the Earl of Cairngorm.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” said Adelaide, a light beginning to
dawn upon her mind. “I meant rubber overshoes,
not a bath woman.”</p>
<p>“We call those galoshes,” said the girl, as
Milly produced a pair which were not mates.
“I’m sure you’ve given me a fine setting out,
young ladies. I’ll do as much for you if I
ever has the chance. Who knowses? Maybe
some day I’ll be a swell and you poor. Then
you just call on me, and don’t you forget it.”
With which cheerful suggestion she left us,
grateful and happy. I took her down to the
main entrance, and, showing the card to Cerberus,
explained that she had been engaged
by Professor Waite, and was to be allowed to
enter every morning. He granted a grudging
consent, not at all approving of her appearance
without the waterproof, and I flew
back to the Amen Corner to join in the
general conference. She had told Adelaide
that her name was Pauline Terwilliger. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
father had been English, her mother Swiss.
They had knocked about the world as foot-balls
of fortune, but had lived longest in London,
where her father had died. Her brother
had come to New York some years previous,
and her mother had brought the family over
on his insistence. But this brother had failed
to meet them, as he had promised to do, on
their landing at Castle Garden. Their mother
had lost his address, and they were stranded
in a strange city. They had advertised in
the papers, and had left their own address
at the Barge Office, but her brother had never
appeared. They had taken a room in a tenement
house, and the mother had obtained
some work, scrubbing offices and cleaning
windows. But she had taken cold and was
now in a hospital, and Polo was trying to
support the two younger children.</p>
<p>“They are living in one of the worst tenement
houses in Mulberry Bend,” said Adelaide.
“I would like to give them a room in
my house, but it is full; and cheap as the rent
is, they could never pay it.”</p>
<p>“The younger children ought to go to the
Home,” I suggested.</p>
<p>“The Home is full,” Winnie replied. “I
called there to-day. Emma Jane says it just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
breaks her heart to look at the list of applications
waiting for a vacancy. Our dear
Princess<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> has in mind a little old-fashioned
house which fronts on a side street, whose
yard backs against ours. She would like to
have it rented as an annex. She says the
Home ought to have a nursery for very little
babies. You know it does not now take
children under two years of age, on account
of the expense of nurses; but this would be
such a charming place for them, and we could
call it the ‘Manger,’ and have it connected
with the main building with a long glass
piazza. The scheme is a perfect one. All
it needs is money to carry it out. Unfortunately,
that is lacking. I have corresponded
with all our out-of-town circles of King’s
Daughters. They are doing all they can,
and have pledged enough, with our other
subscriptions, to carry the Home through the
coming year on its old basis; but there isn’t
a cent to spare for a ‘manger.’”</p>
<p>“Would all of the new house be taken up
by the nursery?” Adelaide asked.</p>
<p>“No; the Princess proposed that the upper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
story, which consists of four little bedrooms,
should be used as ‘guest chambers’ for emergency
cases, convalescent children returned
from hospitals, and children who, on account
of peculiar distress,—like Polo’s sisters,—it
seemed best to receive for a short time entirely
free. The Princess thought that we
might like to club together and pay for one
such room, and then we could designate at
any time the persons we would like to have
occupy it. There is always a list of applicants,
which would be submitted to us to
choose from, in case we had no candidates of
our own to suggest. The occupants of such
a room would then be as truly our guests as
if we entertained them in our own home. It
would come in very nicely now in Polo’s
case.”</p>
<p>Milly gave a deep sigh. “I wish I could
help you, girls, but you know just how I am
situated.”</p>
<p>Adelaide knitted her brows. “We must
get up some sort of an entertainment. It
makes me tired to think of it, but there’s no
other way.”</p>
<p>“And in the mean time, Emma Jane must
find room for those children some way,” said
Winnie. “I will call a meeting of the Hornets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
in our corner to-night, and we will pledge
ourselves to raise money enough for one guest
chamber for these children, and until it is arranged
for, Emma Jane must make up beds
for them on the school desks, or we can buy a
<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">retroussé</i> bedstead for the parlor.”</p>
<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Retroussé</i> bedstead! What’s that?” Milly
asked, in a puzzled way.</p>
<p>“Don’t be dense, Milly; it’s vulgar to speak
of a turn-up nose, you know; and I don’t know
why we should insult a parlor organ bedstead
in the same way. If we can’t afford that sort
of thing, they might turn the dining tables
upside down; they would make better cribs
than the children have now, I’ll venture to
say.”</p>
<p>“You will tuck them up, I suppose, with
napkins and table-cloths,” Cynthia sneered.
But Winnie paid no attention to the interruption.</p>
<p>“They will not mind a little crowding, and
the thing will march right along if we only
plunge into it. They must not stay another
night in that old tenement. Polo said there
was a rag-picker under them, and a woman
who had delirium tremens in the next room.
I am going down to-morrow afternoon to take
them to the Home.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>
<p>A meeting of our own particular circle of
King’s Daughters, which was made up of ourselves
and the “Hornets,” took place that
evening in the Hornets’ Nest. The Hornets
were a coterie of mischievous girls rooming
in a little family like the Amen Corner, but in
the attic story under the very eaves. They
took up the idea of the guest chamber with
great enthusiasm, but they were nearly as impecunious
as ourselves. Suddenly Little
Breeze—our pet name for Tina Gale—exclaimed,
“I have a notion! We will invite
the school to a ‘Catacomb Party, and the
underground Feast of the Ghouls.’”</p>
<p>“How very scareful that sounds!” said
Trude Middleton. “What is it, anyway?”</p>
<p>“Oh! it’s a mystery, a blood-curdling mystery.
It will cost everybody fifty cents, but it
will be worth it. I want Witch Winnie to be
on the committee of arrangements with me,
and you must all give us full authority to do
just as we please; and it is to be a surprise,
and you must ask no questions.”</p>
<p>“We trust you. Where’s it to be? In the
sewers, or the cathedral crypts?”</p>
<p>But Little Breeze refused to waft the least
zephyr of information our way, and there was
nothing for it but to wait.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
<p>As we were returning rather noisily from
the Hornets’ Nest, we passed Miss Noakes’s
open door, and she rang her little bell in a
peremptory manner. This meant that we
were to report ourselves immediately to her,
and we did so.</p>
<p>“Young ladies,” said Miss Noakes in her
most disagreeable manner, “before reporting
you to Madame, I would like to give you an
opportunity of explaining a very irregular
performance. As I was returning from a
meeting of the Young Women’s Christian
Association this afternoon, I saw three occupants
of your corner taking a promenade with
a gentleman. This is, as you know, an infringement
of school rules, and I would like
to inquire whether the young man has any
authorization from your parents for such attention.”</p>
<p>“Only two of us were concerned in this
matter,” I replied. “We met Mr. Van Silver
quite by chance, and he very politely offered
Milly the protection of his umbrella for a
part of the way home, as she had none. He
is an old friend of her family and thoroughly
approved of by Mr. Roseveldt.”</p>
<p>“How often have I told you young ladies
never to go out, on the pleasantest day, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
an umbrella or waterproof, since a storm
may come up at any minute?”</p>
<p>“I did take my waterproof,” Milly replied.</p>
<p>“Then you had no occasion to accept the
gentleman’s umbrella,” Miss Noakes said
sternly.</p>
<p>“But I gave it to Polo,” Milly stammered,
quite fluttered.</p>
<p>“Polo! Who is Polo? and how can you
tell me, Miss Smith, that Miss Roseveldt and
you were the only ones implicated in this disgraceful
affair, when I saw three of you enter
the turret door?”</p>
<p>“The third girl was Polo, the new model
whom Professor Waite has engaged to pose
for the portrait class.”</p>
<p>“A professional model? Worse and worse!
and how comes it that you were walking with
such a questionable character?”</p>
<p>I related the entire story as simply as possible;
but it was evident that Miss Noakes did
not approve.</p>
<p>“A most extraordinary performance,” she
commented. “I feel it my duty to report it
to Madame.”</p>
<p>“You may spare yourself that trouble, Miss
Noakes,” Adelaide replied. “Tib, Winnie,
and I are going to tell Madame all about it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
at her next office hour. We want to ask her
permission to get up a little entertainment in
behalf of Polo’s little brother and sisters.”</p>
<p>“And I shall suggest to Madame,” Miss
Noakes added, “the advisability of inquiring
into the character and antecedents of this girl,
before she allows her to become an accredited
dependent of her establishment, or authorizes
the bestowal of charity upon her family.
Artists’ models are often disreputable people
with whom your parents would not be willing
that you should associate, and I advise you
not to become too intimate with a perfect
stranger.”</p>
<p>We had come through the ordeal on the
whole quite triumphantly, but Polo had excited
Miss Noakes’s enmity. She could never be
won to regard her as anything but a vagabond,
and always spoke of her as ‘that model girl’ in
a tone that belied the literal signification of the
words; and later, when by dint of spying and
listening Miss Noakes learned that a robbery
had been committed in the Amen Corner, her
dislike and suspicion of poor Polo led to very
painful consequences. The relation of which,
however, belongs to a later chapter.</p></div>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/gs03.jpg" width="400" height="637" alt="Professor Waite raised the portière for her to pass." title="" />
</div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER X.<br />
<small>THE CATACOMB PARTY.</small></h2>
<div class="image10">
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<div class="sandbag" style="width: 160px; height: 25px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 150px; height: 25px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 140px; height: 50px;"> </div>
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<div class="sandbag" style="width: 120px; height: 60px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in2"><span class="upper">Polo</span> came on Monday
and posed to the
satisfaction of Professor
Waite and of
the class. Winnie was
successful in entering
the two children at the
Home, and Adelaide had
a happy thought for Polo
herself, who was too old
to be received there. One
of the smallest apartments
in her tenement had been
taken by Miss Billings and
Miss Cohens, two seamstresses,
honest, industrious old maids, who
had lived and worked together since they
were girls. Adelaide called them the two
turtle doves, the odd combination of their
name suggesting the nickname, and their
fondness for each other bearing it out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
They were a cheerful pair, and their rooms
were bright with flowers and canaries. One
morning Miss Billings woke to find her
friend dead at her side, having passed from
life in sleep so peacefully that she neither
woke nor disturbed the faithful friend close
beside her.</p>
<p>The poor old lady was very lonely and was
glad to take Polo in. The young girl brightened
her life, and her own influence on the
nearly friendless waif was excellent. In the
intervals of posing Miss Billings taught Polo
how to cut and fit dresses. Polo helped her
with her sewing, and Miss Billings promised
to take her into partnership by and by. Polo
was very happy and grateful, and the girls all
liked her immensely. She was a character in
her way, an irresistible mimic. She would
take off Miss Noakes to the life, while she
had a talent which I have never seen equalled
for making the most ludicrous and horrible
faces. She was almost pretty, and with Miss
Billings’s help, made over the odds and ends
of clothing bestowed upon her very nicely.
Her one trinket was a string of coral beads
and a little cross which her brother had sent
her before she left England. She never gave
up her faith in this brother. “Albert Edward’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
turn up some day rich,” she said.
She flouted the idea that he might be dead.
“He ain’t the dying kind,” she said, when
Cynthia suggested the possibility. “None of
our family ain’t, except father. Why, I’ve
been through enough to kill a cat, and I
haven’t died yet.”</p>
<p>She was especially devoted to Milly, to
whom she felt, with reason, that she owed all
her good fortune. Professor Waite found
her remarkably serviceable as a model, from
her versatility and ability to adapt herself to
any character, giving a great variety of types
for us to copy. When she wore the Italian
costume, one would have thought her an Italian,
and a complete change came over her
when she donned the German cap and wooden
shoes. “May be that’s because I’ve lived
amongst all sorts of foreigners so much,” she
said, “and Albert Edward always said I’d
make an actress equal to the best. He said
I had talent. I do pity them as hasn’t. I
wouldn’t be one of the common herd for anything.”</p>
<p>Polo was certainly uncommon. Her use of
the English language had an individuality of
its own. She hated Miss Noakes and said
she had no business to be “tryannic” (meaning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
tyrannical). She spoke of native Americans
as abor-jines (a distortion of aborigines),
and intermingled these little variations of her
own with cockney phrases which were new to
our untravelled ears.</p>
<p>She found difficulty in understanding our
words and expressions, and once when Professor
Waite told her to set up a screen she astonished
us all by uttering a most blood-curdling
yell, under the impression that he had
commanded her to set up a <em>scream</em>.</p>
<p>She disliked Cerberus, and to save her
from his scornful scrutiny and contemptuous
remarks, Professor Waite had a duplicate key
made to the turret door, by which Polo entered
each morning and mounted directly to
the studio.</p>
<p>She was very diverting, but much as we
liked her we could not forget that we had assumed
a grave responsibility in taking the
support of her little sisters upon our hands,
and we now began to actively agitate the
plans for the Catacomb Party, which was to
raise funds for the Annex with its “Manger
and Guest Chambers.”</p>
<p>One event of interest to us occurred before
the evening of the Catacomb Party. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
was the Annual Drill of the Cadet School.
All of the Amen Corner and the Hornets had
invitations. We occupied front seats in the
east balcony of the great armory, vigilantly
chaperoned by Miss Noakes. Her best intentions
could not prevent the young cadets from
paying their respects to us during the intervals
of the drill.</p>
<p>The young men looked handsomely in their
gala uniforms of white trousers and gloves,
blue coats, and caps set off with plenty of frogging
and brass buttons. They performed their
evolutions with a precision which would have
done credit to a regiment of regulars—and received
the praise of General Howard, who reviewed
them.</p>
<p>Out of all the battalion there were two boys
in whom we were chiefly interested: Adelaide’s
younger brother Jim, color sergeant of the baby
company, and Milly’s friend Stacey Fitz Simmons,
the handsome drum-major.</p>
<p>Winnie insisted that Malcolm Douglas must
have been thinking of the practising of this
cadet drum corps when he wrote:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“And all of the people for blocks around,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Boom-tidera-da-boom!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Kept time at their tasks to the martial sound,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Boom-tidera-da-boom!</span><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
<span class="i0">While children to windows and stoops would fly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Expecting to see a procession pass by,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And they couldn’t make out why it never drew nigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With its boom-tidera-da—boom-a-diddle-dee;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Boom-tidera-da-boom!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It would seem such vigor must soon abate;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Boom-tidera-da-boom!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But they still keep at it, early and late;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Boom-tidera-da-boom!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So if it should be that a war breaks out,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They’ll all be ready, I have no doubt,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To help in putting the foe to rout,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With their boom-tidera-da-boom—<br /></span>
<span class="i2"><em>Boom-tidera-da-boom—</em><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Boom-tidera-da—boom-a-diddle-dee,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Boom-Boom-<em>Boom!”</em><br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Stacey was seventeen, tall for his age, with
a little feathery mustache outlining his finely
cut upper lip. He was elegant in appearance
and manners, and we all admired and liked him
with the exception of perverse, wilful Milly.
Jim was thirteen and small for his years. The
life of privation which he had led during a
period when he had been lost, the account
of which has been given in the previous volume,
had stunted his growth, and given him an appearance
of delicacy. But Jim was wiry, and
possessed great endurance, and his drilling that
evening was noticeable for its accuracy and
spirit. Adelaide and Jim were deeply attached
to one another. They wrote each other long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
letters every week, remarkable for their perfect
confidence. As Jim’s letters give an insight
not only into his life at the cadet school, but
also into the relations which subsisted between
several of the cadets and members of our own
school, as well as into a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">contretemps</i> which introduced
great consternation into the Catacomb
Party, I will choose two from Adelaide’s
packet and insert them before describing the
mystic entertainment of the Council of Ten.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Letter No. 1.</span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sister:</span></p>
<p>I like the barracks better than I did. I almost have gotten
over being homesick, and the fellows are awfully nice now that
I have come to know them. I miss mother, but I would rather
die than let any one know it. I’ve put her photograph down
at the bottom of my trunk, for it gave me the snuffles to see
it, and Stacey Fitz Simmons caught me kissing it once, and I
was so ashamed. He is one of the nicest fellows here, and he
didn’t rough me a bit about it, only whistled, and said: “You’ve
got a mighty pretty mother; I guess she takes after your sister.
Pity there wasn’t more beauty left for the rest of the family.”
He knows you, and I guess you must remember meeting him
when you visited the Roseveldts last summer at Narragansett
Pier. He asked if you and Milly Roseveldt were at the same
school, and would I please send his regards when I wrote. He
is one of the Senior A boys, and is going to college next year.
I am only Middle C, but he is ever so good to me, I am sure I
don’t know why. We are drilling, drilling all the time now for
the annual drill at the Seventh Regiment Armory.</p>
<p>Stacey is an awfully good fellow. He’s the head of everything.
He’s drum-major, and you just ought to see him in his uniform
leading the drum corps [Jim spelled it <cite>core</cite>]. He’s the cockatoo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
of the school. Stacey’s folks are rich, and his mother wrote the
military tailor not to spare expense, but to get Stacey up just
as fine as they make ’em, and I don’t believe there’s a drum-major
of any of the crack regiments that can hold a candle
to him for style. In the first place he has a high furry hat
that looks like the big muffs they carried at the old folks’ concerts.
Then he has a bright scarlet coat all frogged and padded
and laced with lots of gold cord, and the nattiest trousers
and patent leather boots. But his baton—oh, Adelaide! words
cannot express. I don’t believe old Ahasuerus ever had a
sceptre half as gorgeous, with a great gold ball on the top, and
it will do your eyes good to see him swing it. Doesn’t he put
on airs, though! Put on isn’t the word, for Stacey is airy
naturally, and dignified, too. Buttertub says he walks as if he
owned the earth. When he marches backward holding his
baton crosswise, I’m always afraid that he will fall and that
somebody might laugh, and that would kill him. But he never
does fall. He seems to see with the buttons on the small of
his back, and he stepped over a banana skin while marching to
the armory just as dandified as you please. And he never fails
to catch his baton when he tosses it into the air, and makes it
whirl around twice before it comes down. He never bows to
any of the fellows or seems to see them—except me. They are
going to have Gilmore’s Band at the drill, and Stacey was
practising leading them around the armory. I was in the lower
balcony, hanging over and watching him. He was going
through his fanciest evolutions when he passed me. He looked
straight ahead and never winked an eye. I didn’t think he saw
me till I heard him say, “How’s that, dear boy?” and I clapped
so hard that I nearly fell over.</p>
<p>Buttertub hates Stacey; he wanted to be drum-major himself.</p>
<p>He calls Stacey wasp-waist, but it only calls attention to his
own big stomach. He is always eating, and he won’t train, and
he can’t run without having a fit of apoplexy. He weighs too
much for the crew and he can’t even ride a bicycle, or do anything
except the heavy work on the foot ball team and study.
Yes, he can study; that’s the disgusting part.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
<p>Stacy can do everything. He’s a splendid sprinter. There’s
only one other boy in the school that can equal him, and that’s a
red-headed boy they call Woodpecker. He has longer legs than
Stacey and of course takes a longer stride, and that counts. But
Stacey is livelier and puts in four strides to three of the Woodpecker’s,
so they are pretty nearly equal. Stacey is a prettier
runner, too. He does it just as <em>easy</em>, while the Woodpecker
works all over, arms <em>and</em> legs, and bites on his handkerchief,
and his eyes pop out, and when it’s all over he falls in a heap
and looks as if he were dying, while Stacey takes another lap in
better time than the last, just for fun.</p>
<p>Stacey rides the bicycle, too, splendidly. He has one of those
big wheels and he can manage it with his feet and do all sorts
of tricks with his hands. He has been giving me points on bicycle
riding. He picked out my safety for me, and has been
coaching me how to manage it. He says I am the best rider
for a little chap that he ever saw, and that he means to make
me win the race at the inter-scholastic. I tell you Stacey is a
trump. He’s an all-around athlete. He dances, and he rides,
and he shoots in the summer when he goes hunting with his
uncle; and he fences, and he’s stroke on the crew, and he’s our
best high jump and there isn’t anything that he can’t do, except
his lessons—sometimes—but they don’t count. He says that if
it wasn’t for the beastly lessons school would be heavenly, and
we all agree with him. Ricos said that he would head a petition
to have lessons abolished and the boys would all sign it, but
Stacey said that parents were so unprogressive he didn’t believe
they would, and he was afraid the head master wouldn’t pay much
attention to such a petition unless it bore the parents’ signatures.</p>
<p>I’ve written an awfully long letter, but I like to write to you,
and it was rainy to-day, and we couldn’t go to the grounds, and
I’ve hurt my ankle by falling from my bicycle so that I could
not practise in the gymnasium. Now don’t go and get scared,
like a girl, and disapprove of athletics for such a little thing as
that. It was only a little sprain, that will all be well before the
drill, and I only barked my shin the least bit, nothing at all to
what the Woodpecker does most every day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>
<p>I hope I shall be big enough to go on the foot-ball team next
year. I know you think it’s dangerous, but I’ve calculated the
chances of getting hurt and they are so very slight that I guess
I’ll risk it. Why, out of the whole eleven last year there were
only nine that got hurt.</p>
<p>Be sure you all come to the exhibition drill. I enclose
two tickets and Stacey sends two more. He wants it distinctly
understood that you and Miss Roseveldt are his guests. So you
can give mine with my compliments to Miss T. Smith and Miss
Winnie De Witt. I don’t send any for that Vaughn girl, for
Buttertub knows her and told me he was going to invite her.</p>
<p>No more at present,<br />
<span class="sign4">From your affectionate brother,</span><br />
<span class="sign2">James Halsey Armstrong.</span><br />
</p>
<p>P. S. Stacey sends his regards to Miss Roseveldt.</p>
<p>P. S. No. 2. And to you.</p></div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Letter No. 2.</span></p>
<p class="right"><span class="smcap">The Barracks</span>, April.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sister:</span></p>
<p>Wasn’t the drill splendid? I knew you would enjoy it.
How I wish father and mother had been in New York so they
could have seen it.</p>
<p>You looked just stunning in that stylish hat. Stacey said so.
You must excuse him if he didn’t pay you very much attention.
He could only leave the band during the intermission and of
course he had to be polite to Miss Roseveldt. Besides he said
I stuck so close to you that he hadn’t any chance. He says he
never saw a fellow so spooney over his own sister as I am. I
tell him there aren’t many chaps who have such a nice sister as
you are, and then we were separated so long that I am making
up for lost time.</p>
<p>I am glad you liked the French Army Bicycle drill. That
was something quite new. Stacey was detailed to command it
because he’s a splendid cyclist himself, and he knew how to put
us through. I didn’t know till the day before that he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
going to call me out to skirmish. He said: “Jimmy, you can
manage your wheel better than any one else except the Woodpecker,
and I am going to have you two go through with a
little fancy business that will bring the house down.” And
didn’t it? When I fired off my gun going at full speed, they
clapped so that I nearly lost my head. Ricos was mad because
he wasn’t selected for the special manœuvres. Ricos is better
for speed than I am, and he’s awfully quick-tempered—he’s a
Spaniard, you know, and he said to me, “Never mind, youngster,
I’ll pay you up for this at the inter-scholastic races.” I suppose
he means to win the gold medal, and I told Stacey that I
believed he would, and I should be thankful to be second, or
even third, for there are the best cyclists from all the other
schools in the city to contend against. But Stacey says, “He
can’t do it, you know,” meaning Ricos; and our trainer says
that if he enters me at all he enters me to win. So I am going
to try my level best.</p>
<p>Wasn’t Cynthia Vaughn stunning in that green dress trimmed
with fur! Buttertub said she was the most stylish girl at the
drill. Stacey made him mad by saying that she was hardly that,
though, as a Harvard chap once said of some one else, he had
no doubt that she was a well-meaning girl and a comfort to her
mother!</p>
<p>Ricos invited all the Hornets, and some one of them told him
that you girls are going to have a great lark—a Catacombing
Party. He thought it was to represent the games of the
Roman arena with cats instead of lions and tigers. I told
him it must be a mistake, and that if he supposed Madame’s
young ladies, and my sister especially, would do anything so
low as to look on at a cat-fight, he didn’t know what he was
talking about. But Stacey said that there was something up,
he knew, for when he asked Milly Roseveldt if the girls were
going to have a Venetian Fête for the benefit of the Home, as
they did last year, she said it was a sheet and pillow-case party
this time, and boys were not admitted. He told her he would
surely disguise himself in a sheet and pillow-case and come;
but he only said so to tease her, and when he saw how distressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
she was he told her he was only fooling. Buttertub said Cynthia
mentioned it too, and Stacey’s idea was a good one and he believed
he should try it. But Stacey said he would like to see
him do it and that he would have him court-martialled for ungentlemanly
conduct, and reduced to the ranks if he attempted
to play the spy at one of the girl’s frolics.</p>
<p>Stacey wanted me to be sure to tell you to tell Milly Roseveldt
not to worry about what he said, for the cadets are all gentlemen
and wouldn’t think of going anywhere where they were not
invited. That’s so as far as Stacey is concerned, but I don’t
know about Ricos.</p>
<p>Do tell me what you are going to do, anyway—and for pity’s
sake don’t have any cats in it.</p>
<p><span class="sign3">Your affectionate brother,</span><br />
<span class="sign2">J. H. Armstrong.</span><br /></p>
</div>
<p>Jim’s misunderstanding of the Catacomb
Party amused us very much. No one was
alarmed by the boys’ threats to attend it but
Milly, who insisted that she had no confidence
in Stacey and believed him fully capable of
committing even this atrocious act.</p>
<p>As soon as the drill was over our interest
centred on this party. The committee from
our circle of King’s Daughters waited upon
Madame, and obtained her permission for the
projected entertainment. She stipulated, however,
that it must be strictly confined to members
of the school and no outsiders admitted.</p>
<p>“The Literary Society,” she said, “will give
its public entertainment in the spring, and we
do not wish to have the reputation of spending<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
our entire time in getting up charity bazaars,
and imposing on our friends to buy tickets.
Anything in reason which you care to do among
yourselves, I will consent to. It does young
girls good to have an occasional frolic.”</p>
<p>Emboldened by the unusually happy frame
of mind in which Madame seemed to be basking,
Winnie asked if we might act a play and
have “gentlemen characters” in it. Formerly
the assumption of masculine attire had been
prohibited, and at one of our Literary Society
dramas, a half curtain had been stretched across
the stage, giving a view of only the upper portion
of the persons of the actors. The young
ladies taking the part of the male personages in
the play, wore cutaway coats outside their
dresses, and riding hats or Tam O’Shanter caps.</p>
<p>Madame laughed as she recalled that absurd
spectacle. “Since your audience is strictly
limited to your associates, I think I may suspend
that rule for this occasion,” she said
leniently. “When do you intend to give the
play? I cannot allow you to use the chapel.
How would the studio do?”</p>
<p>“If you please,” said Winnie, “we would like
the laundry.”</p>
<p>“The laundry!” Madame exclaimed in surprise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p>
<p>“Yes, Madame. Tina Gale explored the
lower regions under the school building one
day, and the furnace room, and the long dim
galleries connecting the coal bins, the cellars,
and the laundry seemed to her so mysterious
and pokerish that she thought it would be a
nice idea to call it a Catacomb Party, especially
as the girls have been so much interested in
Professor Todd’s early history of the Christian
Church.”</p>
<p>Madame’s eyes twinkled as she heard this, for
Professor Todd had been generally voted a
prosy old nuisance; but Winnie was earnestness
itself.</p>
<p>“Very well,” said Madame kindly. “I do
not want the girls to think that I am a cruel
tyrant, or unduly strict or suspicious. [“She
was thinking of the way in which she arraigned
Adelaide for corresponding with Professor
Waite,” Winnie commented afterward.] If
your committee will submit the programme to
me, I have no doubt I shall be able to approve
of everything. Let me see—the laundry will
be your circus maximus, or theatre. Where
will you have your refreshments?”</p>
<p>We had not thought of that.</p>
<p>“I will give you the key to the preserve
closet; it is at the end of the drying-room, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
you may make a raid upon it for your provisions.
Only please be careful not to waste or
destroy any more than you can dispose of. I
will have some tables placed in the drying-room,
and you may partake of your collation
there.”</p>
<p>This was all we needed. The preparations
for the Catacomb Party went merrily on.</p>
<p>Trude Middleton dramatized Cardinal Wiseman’s
novel, “Fabiola.” We who had remained
at school during the Christmas Holidays
had read it aloud together, and its thrilling
pictures of the persecutions of the
martyrs, the games of the arena, and all the
life of imperial Rome, had made a deep impression
upon us. Trude Middleton had a
genius for writing, and Little Breeze distributed
the parts, rehearsed the play, took the
rôle of the sorceress <cite>Afra</cite>, and acted as stage
manager. The classical costumes were easily
arranged. Professor Waite showed us how
to drape crinkled cheese cloth and to manage
the folds of peplum and toga, to trace a key-pattern
border, to fillet our hair, and lace our
sandals. The rehearsals were carried on in
the most secret manner. Only the actors
knew exactly what the play was to be. Expectancy
was on the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">qui vive</i>. Winnie had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
written some mysteriously attractive admission
tickets, and had ornamented each one with a
tiny white wire skeleton. These tickets the
ten sold to the other members of the school
to the number of one hundred and twenty,
not a single member of the school declining
to patronize us.</p>
<p>The sale of these tickets had been materially
aided by a manifesto, printed in red ink,
supposed to simulate blood, and left dangling
conspicuously from the wrist of old “Bonaparte”
(Bonypart), the anatomy class skeleton.</p>
<p>This manifesto read as follows:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>The Council of Ten, in secret session assembled, hereby summon
you, each and all, severally and individually, to the Torture
Chambers of the Inquisition (otherwise known as the studio),
on the ringing of the great tocsin (sometimes called the eight
o’clock study bell). At that hour let each be prepared to render
up her earthly goods to the amount of one ticket, vouching
for fifty cents; and having donned a winding sheet, and likewise
a winding pillow-case as headgear, submit to the office of the
Inquisition, which will transform her, with that happy despatch
due to long experience, into a disembodied spirit. At the same
time the Arch Witch Winnie will turn back the clock of Time
to the first century, and each ghost, being first securely blindfolded,
will be led by a spirit guide, experienced in the charge
of personally conducting spirits, into the great amphitheatre of
the Coliseum, where she will mingle with the most renowned
personages of ancient Rome, and will be permitted to live a
short and exciting life under the cheerful persecution of the
amiable and playful Cæsars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p>
<p>After the final scene of the gladiatorial combat in the arena
each spirit will be led by her guide through the grewsome and
labyrinthine Catacombs—faint not! fear not! to the</p>
<p class="center"><cite>Feast of the Ghouls!</cite></p>
<p>Thence, conducted by Orpheus with his lute, and Beatrice, the
guide of Dante, they will cross the Styx and join in the</p>
<p class="center"><cite>Dance of the Dead</cite></p>
<p>in the shadowy Purgatorio.</p>
<p>At the stroke of midnight each spirit who has passed through
this ordeal with a steadfast mind will be wafted to upper regions
to the rest of the blessed.</p>
<p>Signed by the Council of Ten, as represented by Witch
Winnie, of the Amen Corner, and Little Breeze, of the Hornets;
and sealed with the great seal of our office, this —— day of
—— 18—.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Seal.</span></p></div>
<p>These preparations were going on simultaneously
with the investigation of the robbery,
and served in a measure to relieve the tension
to which we were all subjected. Still the
trouble was there, and we never quite forgot
it. Mr. Mudge called twice, and made inquiries,
from which Winnie inferred that he
was hopelessly puzzled. Milly was sure that
he had found a clew, but if so, he did not impart
his discoveries.</p>
<p>The mystic evening arrived. Cynthia, who,
for some reason inexplicable to us, was in a
highly self-satisfied and gracious mood, invited
Polo to sleep with her in order that she might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
be able to attend the party. It was necessary
to prefer this request to our corridor teacher,
Miss Noakes, who gave us a very grudging
consent; but we cared very little for her iciness
since we had effected our wishes.</p>
<p>The girls met in the studio, where all were
draped in sheets, a small mask cut from white
cotton cloth tied on, and a pillow case fitted
about the back of the head in the fashion of
a long capuchin hood. When thus robed our
dearest friends were unrecognizable. Then,
marshalled by Winnie, the company of spectres
paraded through the hall and down the
main staircase. Miss Noakes and the other
teachers stood in their doors and watched the
procession, but as it was known that we had
Madame’s permission no attempt was made to
stop us, and we passed on unabashed. Arrived
at the lower floor each of the guests
was securely blindfolded and conducted by
one of our ten down the cellar stairs, and
through winding passages to the laundry,
which had been converted for the evening into
an auditorium, sheets having been hung on
clothes-lines across one end, and the space in
front filled with camp chairs brought from the
recitation rooms. The set tubs on one side
of the improvised stage were fitted up as boxes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
while a semi-circle of clothes-baskets marked
the space assigned to the comb orchestra. As
fast as the girls arrived in the laundry they
were seated, and when the last instalment was
in position the lights were turned nearly out,
and they were told to remove the handkerchiefs
which bandaged their eyes. At the
same time the comb orchestra, led by Cynthia,
struck up a dismal dirge-like overture, broken
in upon at intervals by a tremendous thump
with a potato masher on the great copper
boiler. The curtain was drawn slowly aside,
the lights suddenly turned on, and the play
began. Adelaide made a very beautiful <cite>Fabiola</cite>.
Winnie acted the part of <cite>Pancratius</cite> with
great expression. Milly looked the saintly
<cite>Agnes</cite> to perfection. I was <cite>Sebastian</cite>. We
did not indulge in all the dialogue with
which the book is overloaded. Our play
was rather a series of tableaux, for which
I had painted the scenery with the assistance
of the other art students. Professor Waite
had borrowed various classical properties from
his brother artists for us. The plaster casts
of the studio were made to serve as marble
statues, and Madame had sent us several palms
in urn-shaped pots.</p>
<p>When the play was nearly over, Polo, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
had acted as doorkeeper, made her way behind
the scenes and took my attention from
the prompter’s book with the horrified whisper,
“If you please, there are two girls out
there that are boys.”</p>
<p>“Who? Where? How do you know it?”
I asked in a breath.</p>
<p>“They came in at the end of the procession,
without any guides, and sat down near
the door, apart from the others. One is little
enough to be a girl, but the other is taller,
even, than Miss Adelaide.”</p>
<p>“It is Snooks,” Winnie exclaimed. “Just
like her to come spying and speculating here
to see what we are up to.”</p>
<p>“If that’s so, Miss Noakes has bigger feet
than I ever gave her credit for,” Polo replied;
“and she wears boots too.”</p>
<p>“Then those cadets have actually dared!”
Winnie exclaimed, and Milly gave a little
shriek. “Oh, that horrid Stacey Fitz Simmons!”</p>
<p>“Hush!” commanded Winnie. “We will
make them wish they had never been born.
Oh, I will manage these gay young gentlemen.
Go back to your post, Polo. Keep the
door locked, and be sure that no one leaves except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
in the regular order and conducted by
her guide.”</p>
<p>A few moments later and the curtains were
drawn at the close of the final act, tremendous
applause testifying the approval of the audience.
Winnie now stepped to the front of
the curtain and announced that the ghosts
must now each submit once more to be blindfolded
and “to be led through the grewsome
and labyrinthine catacombs to the Feast of
the Ghouls.”</p>
<p>Little Breeze and Milly first led away two
of the girls, and then Winnie stepped boldly
up to the taller of the two suspected intruders
and offered to blindfold him. The
rogue could only follow the example of those
who had preceded him, and submit with a
good grace, as any other course would have
led to detection. I followed with the shorter
impostor, tying the handkerchief very tight,
and detecting the odor of cigarettes as I did
so. Winnie beckoned to me to follow, and
conducted her victim to the root cellar, a
dark, unwholesome little room, with a small
orated window—a veritable dungeon. We
led our prisoners into the centre of this
gloomy cell, and, making them kneel on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
the cemented floor, bade them remain there
until the coming of the ghouls. Hastening
from the place, we chained and padlocked the
door securely.</p>
<p>“Now that we have secured our prisoners,
what do you propose to do with them?” I
asked of Winnie.</p>
<p>“Call the Amen Corner together after supper
to deliberate on their fate. In the mean
time they are very well off where they are. I
fancy they will hardly care to repeat this experiment.”</p>
<p>We returned to the laundry and continued
the ceremony of leading our guests to the
supper. When all had been led in, the bandages
were removed from their eyes, and they
found themselves before tables provided with
plates, knives, and forks, but no edibles. Little
Breeze, beating upon a tin pan with a
great beef bone, called the meeting to order,
and, indicating the preserve closet, announced
that the ghouls would now search the neighboring
tombs for their prey. At the same
time the door of the preserve closet was
thrown open, and Trude Middleton set the
example by capturing a can of peaches. The
girls fancied that they were robbing the
pantry, and this gave zest to the performance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
to a few of the more reckless ones, but the
rest held back, and Winnie found it necessary
to circulate the whisper that even this
apparently high-handed proceeding was authorized
by Madame, before the raid became
general. A very heterogeneous repast, consisting
of pickles, crackers, dried apples,
canned fruit, prunes, dried beef, and lemonade
hastily mixed in a great earthen bowl, was now
participated in by the hilarious ghouls. One
bowl of the lemonade was ruined, after the
lemons and sugar were mingled, by a ludicrous
mistake. Milly, mistaking it for water, filled
the bowl from a jar of liquid bluing. The
error was discovered when we began filling
some empty jelly tumblers with the strange
blue mixture, and, fortunately, no one was
poisoned by drinking the ghoulish liquor.</p>
<p>Under cover of the confusion I managed to
tell Adelaide of the captives in the cellar, and
later in the evening, while the ghosts were
engaged in a Virginia Reel in the long underground
passage leading from the furnace
room to the other end of the school building,
met in solemn conclave to deliberate on their
fate. Adelaide was for delivering the keys
to Madame with a statement of the case.
Cynthia argued strongly in favor of releasing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
the young men, sending them home, and
saying nothing about it. While we were in
the midst of the argument, a far away cry
was heard. It was from Polo, who had
been left to guard the door of the root cellar.
We rushed to the spot, only to find that
the rusty staple had yielded to the efforts
of two athletic boys, one of whom was heavy
of weight as well as strong of muscle, and
had been forced out of the wall, and our captives
had escaped. Polo had followed them
in their flight, and returned breathless to
report that they had made a dash, not for the
outside door, but straight up the great staircase
to the studio and had then descended
the turret staircase, showing clearly that they
had made their entrance in the same way.</p>
<p>We talked the matter over for a long time.
How could they have known of this staircase,
and have timed their coming so as to follow
the procession of sheeted ghosts as they left
the studio for their march to the lower
regions? The suspicion instantly suggested
itself that some one of the ten had furnished
the information, and this suspicion deepened
to certainty as we considered the excellence
of their disguise, the sheets draped exactly
as ours had been, the pillow-case Capuchin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
hood fitted about the mask cut from cotton
cloth. How, too, could they have entered,
since Polo declared that she had locked the
turret door when she came in that afternoon,
and had left the key on a nail in the
studio?</p>
<p>“Show me the nail,” Winnie commanded
promptly, and Polo led her to the studio.
The nail was there, but the key had gone.
We descended the staircase and found the
lower door locked.</p>
<p>As we were returning to the studio we
heard the door open and Professor Waite
mounted the stairs, as was his usual custom
at this time. “Heigho!” he exclaimed,
“what are you all doing in the studio at this
time of night? Oh! I forgot; this is the
evening of the lark. Has it been a jovial
bird? Why do you all look so solemn? By
the way, Polo, I found your key in the lock
on the outside of the door. It was very
careless of you to leave it there; you must
not let such a thing happen again. Some
thief might have entered the house. I met
two young men running with all their might
as I came across the park. They made something
of a detour to avoid me—I thought at
the time that they had a suspicious look. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
you are so thoughtless a second time I shall
take the key from you.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t leave it there,” Polo protested.
“I hung it on the nail, Miss Cynthia saw me.
Didn’t you, Miss Cynthia?”</p>
<p>But Cynthia had gone, and as the quarter-bell
struck we were all reminded that we must
descend to our dancers to be present at the
unmasking and close the frolic. We hurried
unceremoniously away without replying to
Professor Waite’s questions.</p>
<p>After we had dismissed our guests, we
adjourned to the Amen Corner and we again
discussed the affair. It was agreed that it
was sufficiently serious to report to Madame,
and to this there was only one dissenting
voice—that of Cynthia’s. It was too late to
disturb Madame that night, but we presented
ourselves at her morning office hour and told
her all the circumstances of the case.</p>
<p>She looked very grave, but did not blame
us. “I am very sorry,” she said, “that some
one of my pupils has abused my leniency in
this way. It will of course make me hesitate
to grant you such frolics in the future. The
matter shall be thoroughly investigated and
the offender severely punished. Again I
must ask you to keep this affair strictly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
among yourselves. You have kept the secret
of the robbery wonderfully; be equally discrete
with this. We do not as yet know
certainly that these young men were cadets,
and I shall not make any complaint to the
head master until we have ascertained the
culprits. Mr. Mudge will call to-morrow.
He writes me that he has found a clue to the
robbery, and we will place this matter also in
his hands. You have done right to bring it
directly to me, and your action only confirms
the confidence I have always reposed in the
Amen Corner. Be assured that the truth will
out at last. Meantime don’t talk this over
too much, even among yourselves, for Tennyson
never wrote truer lines than these:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">I never whispered a private affair<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Within the hearing of cat or mouse,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">No, not to myself in the closet alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I heard it shouted at once from the top of the house.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Everything came to be known.”<br /></span>
</div></div></div></div>
<hr class="l1" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XI.<br />
<small>A FALSE SCENT.</small></h2>
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<p class="cap in2"><span class="upper">I think</span>
the visit
of Mr.
Mudge
was much
dreaded
by all of
us, even
though we
longed to
have the mystery
cleared up.
I know that Winnie,
at least, trembled
for the result, and she turned quite
pale the next morning when she received
a message from Madame to meet
Mr. Mudge in her office. It was only a few
moments before she returned.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mudge wishes to see us all,” she said.
“Where are the other girls? He’s coming to
this room in five minutes.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p>
<p>“Milly is in the studio, Adelaide in the
music-room. Cynthia, I don’t know where.”</p>
<p>“Please summon Adelaide and Milly, I will
wait for you here—I feel almost faint.”</p>
<p>“What is the matter, Winnie?” I asked
anxiously.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mudge says that he now knows to a
certainty who the thief is, and that he will
announce the name to us this morning. I am
afraid, Tib, that he suspects Milly. He put
me on oath this morning and made me confess
something which I did not mean he
should know.”</p>
<p>“Never mind, Winnie,” I replied, as reassuringly
as I could, “we both know that Milly
is perfectly innocent, and, as Madame said, the
truth will come out at last.”</p>
<p>Winnie shaded her face with her hands but
did not reply. I brought Adelaide and Milly
to the Corner, and chancing to find Cynthia,
summoned her also. Mr. Mudge was in the
little study parlor when I returned. He
greeted me cheerfully as he stood by the cabinet
polishing his glasses with a large silk
handkerchief. Then he stepped across the
room and examined the door leading into the
studio.</p>
<p>“So,” he said. “You have had a little bolt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
put on this door. It is an old proverb that
people always lock the stable after the horse
has been stolen. But it is just as well, just as
well. I agree with you that the thief came
from that quarter, and having been so successful
he may come again.”</p>
<p>“He!” Winnie gasped.</p>
<p>“Yes; much as it may pain you to learn
the fact, I must inform you that all indications
now make it a certainty that the thief can be
no other than your Professor of Art, Carrington
Waite.”</p>
<p>Milly gave a little cry and fainted dead
away. The others all sprang to her assistance,
but as I was quite a distance from her
I did not move, and I heard Mr. Mudge give
a suppressed chuckle, and remark below his
breath: “Ah! my little lady, I thought that
would make you show your hand.”</p>
<p>Milly speedily recovered; and with her
first breath exclaimed, “Oh, no, no! You
are mistaken; it cannot be so.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Mr. Mudge asked. “Was
not Professor Waite in the studio at the
time that the robbery was committed? Did
I not find the lock of this door in his tool
chest? Is it not a well-known fact that he is
a poor man, and yet a few days after the robbery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
did he not deposit in the savings bank
just one hundred dollars more than his quarter’s
salary? What stronger proof do we
require?”</p>
<p>“I can explain all these circumstances.”
Milly replied eagerly, and she told the story
of the broken lock, which amused Mr. Mudge
greatly.</p>
<p>“That disposes of one bit of circumstantial
evidence,” he admitted; “but the other
items?”</p>
<p>“As to the money,” Milly continued, with a
slight flush, “papa bought one of Mr. Waite’s
small pictures, and sent him a check for a
hundred dollars just at the time you speak of.
I think if you inquire more particularly at the
bank you will find that it was papa’s check
which he deposited; and I can testify that he
was not in the studio at the time the robbery
was committed. I was lying awake and I
heard him come up the stairs. He was
earlier than usual. It was some time before
twelve. He hardly remained a moment,
merely left his canvases and paint-box, and
went right away.”</p>
<p>“That is all very well under the supposition
that the robbery was committed between
the time that Miss Winnie looked into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
cabinet and Miss Cynthia’s discovery. But
Miss Winnie has just admitted to me that the
money was gone when she opened the cabinet,
so the theft must have occurred before that
time.” Winnie threw a piteous glance at
Milly, which Milly did not notice.</p>
<p>“But still, after Professor Waite went
away,” Milly insisted.</p>
<p>“Why are you so sure of this?” asked Mr.
Mudge.</p>
<p>“Because, when I went to the cabinet fully
five minutes after he had gone it was all
there.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge’s gray eyes gave a snap which
reminded me of the springing of a trap.
“Indeed!” he said. “How many more of
you young ladies investigated the cabinet
during that eventful night? Will you kindly
inform me, Miss Roseveldt, for what purpose
you opened the cabinet, and why we are only
informed of the fact in this inadvertent way.”</p>
<p>Winnie crossed the room and deliberately
placed her arm around Milly. “Milly, dear,”
she said, “the truth is always the best way,
though it may seem the hardest way; and,
whatever you may have to confess, I for one
shall love you just the same.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps it is just as well,” Milly replied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
cheerfully, “though Adelaide and I did not
intend that Tib should know it. You remember
that it was the eve of Tib’s birthday; Adelaide
and I each wanted to give her fifty dollars
toward her European fund. So after we
were sure that she must be asleep, I slipped
out into the parlor and took the money from
Adelaide’s pigeon-hole and from my purse, and
laid it on Tib’s shelf, where we intended she
should find it in the morning. Professor
Waite had gone when I did this, so he could
not have taken it. Adelaide told me to put
hers with mine, for she didn’t see the use of
both of us going into the parlor. We were
afraid we might wake the other girls.”</p>
<p>“You did waken me, Milly dear,” Winnie
said. “I heard you, and standing just behind
my door I saw you go to the cabinet as you
have said, and take out Adelaide’s money and
count out fifty dollars, and then take the gold
pieces from your own little purse. Then I
went back to bed and did not see any more
until you went away, when I stepped out and
examined the cabinet, and the money was
gone.”</p>
<p>Milly did not then comprehend the terrible
suspicion which had been in Winnie’s mind,
and she was very much pleased to find her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
testimony corroborated. “Adelaide saw me,
too,” she said. “You were watching me all
the time, weren’t you, Adelaide?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Adelaide replied. “Tell about the
note, too, Milly.”</p>
<p>“Oh! that isn’t of any consequence.
After I had put the money in Tib’s compartment,
I thought it would be a good idea to
write her a note with it, and I pulled out the
shelf in the cabinet that serves as a writing
desk, but I didn’t write anything for I heard a
noise in Tib’s room. It must have been Winnie
going back to bed. So I shoved the shelf
in and scooted back to my own room. We
didn’t say anything about it in the morning
because Adelaide and I didn’t feel like boasting
of the presents we had given Tib, especially
as she never received them.”</p>
<p>There was a great light in Winnie’s eyes.
It was evident that the suspicion which had
poisoned her life ever since the robbery had
vanished. To Winnie’s satisfaction, at least,
Milly had cleared herself.</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge, too, had certainly shared this
suspicion. His announcement that Professor
Waite was the culprit had been only a clever
trick to make Milly criminate herself, for he
had guessed her attachment to the Professor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
and felt sure that, rather than let the blame
rest with him, she would confess her crime.
His next question showed that he was not yet
fully satisfied.</p>
<p>“Miss Roseveldt,” he asked, “will you tell
me where you obtained the money with which
you paid Madame Celeste’s bill for Miss Cynthia’s
costume the day after the robbery?”</p>
<p>“I would rather not tell that,” Milly replied.</p>
<p>“I must insist upon it.”</p>
<p>“Papa called the day before, and I confessed
all about the bill to him, and he forgave
me, and gave me the money.”</p>
<p>“We know that he gave you the gold pieces
which you placed in your purse, but these
were stolen, and you were apparently penniless
on the morning after the robbery.”</p>
<p>“Papa drew a check for Celeste for the
amount of the bill, and that was in my pocket.
I did not put it in the cabinet at all. Then he
said that it was a very sad, disgraceful affair,
but he knew that I would never do so again,
and he was glad I told him, and he forgave
me freely, and now it was all over we would
bury it in the Dead Sea and never let mortal
man or woman know a word about it, and that
is why I could not tell Winnie how I had paid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
the debt. Papa said too—what was not true—that
it was partly his own fault, for keeping
me so short in pocket money and leaving me
free to run up large bills. And then he said
that he would change his tactics and give me
an allowance in cash every month, and I am
not to have anything charged any more, but
manage my expenses as Adelaide does. And
with that he gave me the gold pieces, and I
told him that I wanted to give them to Tib,
and he said, ‘Very well, do what you please,
but you will have nothing more for a fortnight,
when I will give you your allowance for the
coming month.’”</p>
<p>We each of us drew a long breath. It all
seemed so simple now that Milly explained it
that I wondered how we could ever have mistrusted
her. Winnie clasped her more tightly.
There was a look of remorse in her eyes,
which told how she reproached herself for
having wronged her darling.</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge tapped the table with his pencil
thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“I must acknowledge, Miss Roseveldt,” he
said, “that you have completely cleared Professor
Waite. It is perfectly evident that he
could not have taken the money; but the question
still remains, Who did? How long an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
interval was there, Miss De Witt, between the
time that Miss Roseveldt returned to her bedroom,
and your examination of the cabinet?”</p>
<p>“I do not know exactly. I waited only
until I fancied Milly might be asleep, then I
slipped out softly, closed the doors opening
into all the bedrooms, lighted my candle, and
examined the cabinet.”</p>
<p>“And when Miss Roseveldt left the room
the money was there, and when you looked——”</p>
<p>“It was gone.”</p>
<p>“It seems to me,” said Cynthia maliciously,
“that Winnie is placed in a very disagreeable
position by these revelations. Her testimony
has been very contradictory and her manner
from the first, to say the least, peculiar. She
acknowledges that she was awake during the
time that intervened between Milly’s visit to
the safe and her own. If a thief came in it is
very strange that she did not hear him.”</p>
<p>“It is strange,” Winnie acknowledged. “I
can hardly believe it possible, but these are
the facts in the case. I certainly did not take
the money, as Cynthia implies.”</p>
<p>“Tut, tut,” Mr. Mudge remarked sharply.
“I am convinced that the thief is not a member
of the Amen Corner. I have in turn
taken up the supposition that the robbery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
might have been committed by each of you
young ladies, beginning with Miss Cynthia
and ending just now with Miss Milly, and I
have proved to my own satisfaction that you
are all innocent. Miss Winnie may have
fallen asleep, and during her brief nap some
one may have slipped in from the studio.
Professor Waite had gone, but he may have
left the turret door unlocked.”</p>
<p>“I heard no one mount the stairs,” said
Milly.</p>
<p>“True, but a sneak thief might steal up so
softly as to disturb no one. A man bent on
such an errand does not usually whistle opera
tunes, and then again the rogue may have been
in the studio during Professor Waite’s hasty
call. You told me, Miss Armstrong, that the
Professor was the only one who had a key to
the turret door.”</p>
<p>“I did,” Adelaide replied, “but I was mistaken;
Polo has a duplicate key.”</p>
<p>“And who is this lawn tennis girl?”</p>
<p>“Polo, Mr. Mudge, not tennis. Her name
is Polo, a contraction for Pauline,” said
Adelaide.</p>
<p>“Very extraordinary name. Lawn tennis
is a much more suitable game for a young
lady. Who is she, anyway?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
<p>“She is a model, and a very good girl.
Polo is above suspicion,” Winnie remarked
authoritatively.</p>
<p>“Hum—of course,” replied Mr. Mudge.
“Let me see, this Base-ball must be the
young lady of whom Miss Noakes spoke to
Madame as having conducted herself in a
rather peculiar manner night before last, the
evening of the subterranean entertainment.”</p>
<p>We all looked up in surprise, and Mr.
Mudge continued:</p>
<p>“Madame has confided to me the fact that
you young ladies were unpleasantly intruded
upon by certain unknown persons, who may,
or may not, have been connected with one of
our well known schools. Madame felt that
they could not have effected their entrance
and disguise without the connivance of some
member of this household. This individual
need not necessarily have been one of the
young ladies; it may have been a servant. I
have known it to be a fact that the chamber-maids
at Vassar have carried on flirtations
with young gentlemen who supposed themselves
to be in correspondence with Vassar
girls. Now it is quite possible that your
chambermaid may have heard of this frolic
and have mentioned it to her admirers.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p>
<p>“Oh, no,” we all exclaimed; while Adelaide
continued: “We never mentioned it in her
presence; besides, she is as stupid and honest
as she is old and homely. I would as soon
suspect Miss Noakes.”</p>
<p>“But this Lawn Tennis, I beg pardon, Base-ball,
of whom we were just speaking, is
neither stupid, nor old, nor ugly, and we know
very little in regard to her honesty——”</p>
<p>“That is so,” Cynthia assented, and we all
turned and scowled upon her.</p>
<p>“You tell me that she possesses a key to
the turret door, and now Miss Noakes’s testimony
fits in like the pieces in a Chinese
puzzle. On the afternoon of your entertainment
Miss Noakes says that a request was
preferred from you to allow Lawn Tennis—no,
Croquet—to share Miss Vaughn’s bedroom
for the night. Miss Noakes says she
felt a strange hesitancy about granting this
request——”</p>
<p>“Not at all strange,” Winnie interrupted.
“It is a hesitancy which is quite habitual in
her case.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge waved his hand in a deprecatory
manner and continued. “Miss Noakes
further testifies that in the early evening, as
she was sitting at her open window, the night<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
being especially balmy for the season, she was
startled by a long whistle, which was not that
of the postman. As there was no light in
her own room she could look out without
being observed. The gas was lighted in Miss
Vaughn’s room, and though from its oblique
position she could not see what passed within
she could recognize any one leaning from it.”
[<a href="images/gs02-h.jpg">See plan of Amen Corner.</a>]</p>
<p>Cynthia straightened herself up, and as it
seemed to me turned a trifle pale, while Mr.
Mudge went on.</p>
<p>“Miss Noakes says that the first whistle
did not appear to be noticed, and stepping on
to her balcony she saw two young men, or
boys, standing at the foot of the tower, looking
up at Miss Vaughn’s windows. She
instantly retreated into her own room and
awaited further developments. A second
whistle, and some one in Miss Vaughn’s room
turned down the gas, and coming to the window
gave an answering whistle. Miss Noakes
says she could hardly credit her senses, for
she has looked upon Miss Vaughn as a model
of propriety; an instant later she observed
that the girl now leaning out of the window
and talking with the boys wore a dark blue
Tam O’Shanter cap, and she comprehended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
that it was not Miss Vaughn, but Lawn Tennis,
or Cricket, or whatever her name is, who had
been given permission to pass the night in
Miss Vaughn’s room. She could not hear
the entire conversation, her desire to remain
undiscovered keeping her well within her own
room, but she distinctly heard one of the
young men say, ‘Throw it out—I’ll catch it.’
The girl replied, ‘Here it is,’ and said something
about the sheets and things being on
the upper landing. She added quite distinctly,
‘Don’t come into the studio until I give the
signal.’</p>
<p>“Miss Noakes says she was too horrified to
act promptly, as she should have done; but
that a few moments later she visited the
Amen Corner and found it deserted by all the
young ladies with the exception of Miss
Vaughn, who was studying quietly in the
parlor. She asked where the others were,
and was told that they were in the studio,
where the procession was to form. On asking
Miss Vaughn why she had not joined them,
she replied that she intended to do so in a
short time, but had been improving every
moment for study. Miss Noakes asked for
Lawn Tennis and was told that she had been
appointed door-keeper for the evening. On<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
intimating that she had seen her in Miss
Vaughn’s room, Miss Vaughn had replied that
this was very possible as she had just left the
room.”</p>
<p>During this relation of Mr. Mudge’s, Cynthia
had turned different colors, from livid purple
to greenish pallor. And had several times
been on the point of replying, but the lawyer-detective
had continued his narrative in a
sing-song, monotonous way, as though reading
it from a written deposition, and had left
her no opportunity for interrupting. He now
turned to her and remarked:</p>
<p>“I repeat all this here, Miss Vaughn, in
order to hear your side of the story.”</p>
<p>“I have nothing to say,” Cynthia replied
sullenly.</p>
<p>“Then Miss Noakes’s statement is substantially
correct?”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand what you are driving
at.” Cynthia flashed out passionately. “If
you mean to insinuate that I threw the key
out to some of the cadets, and helped disguise
them, and gave them the signal when to join
in the procession—why then all I have to say
is that it is a very pretty story, but you will
find it very hard to prove it.”</p>
<p>“Not so hasty, not so hasty,” replied Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
Mudge. “My dear young lady, if you will
reflect a moment, you will perceive that nothing
of this kind has been charged against you.
The question does not concern you at all, but
this athletic young lady—Lawn Tennis.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge had become so firmly convinced
in his own mind that Polo’s name was Lawn
Tennis that we saw the futility of correcting
him and gave up the attempt.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mudge,” Winnie exclaimed, “we
protest! Cynthia, I call upon you to own up.
It wasn’t such a very bad frolic. You meant
no particular harm. We will all sign a petition
to Madame asking her to let you off. Don’t
let Polo be unjustly suspected. You know
you did it; own up to it like a man.”</p>
<p>But Cynthia was in no mood to own up to
anything like a man, or like a decent girl. She
simply turned her nose several degrees higher
and remained silent.</p>
<p>“Your cowardly silence will not shield you,”
Adelaide exclaimed scornfully. “I have some
letters from my brother which make me very
positive that this is one of your scrapes, and
I will show them to Mr. Mudge unless you
confess instantly.”</p>
<p>“I have nothing to confess,” Cynthia replied
in a low voice, but the words seemed to
stick in her throat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
<p>Mr. Mudge next asked us, in a thoughtful
manner, whether “Lawn Tennis” was connected
with the institution at the time of the
robbery. I replied that she was, but that I
could not see any relation between that crime
and the present escapade.</p>
<p>“Perhaps not,” Mr. Mudge replied; “and
then again we never can tell what apparently
trifling circumstance may lead up to the great
discovery. As I have previously remarked, it
is more than probable that the thief having
been once successful will try the same game
again. Then, too, if your thief happens to be
a kleptomaniac, she could not refrain from
pilfering. Have you lost anything since that
eventful night?”</p>
<p>“Nothing whatever.”</p>
<p>“And you have used the cabinet since as a
depository for your funds?”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” I replied. “We consider that
we have used sufficient precaution in having
the bolt put upon the door. The result
seems to justify our confidence. To be sure,
until night before last we have had no important
sums to deposit.”</p>
<p>“How about night before last?” Mr.
Mudge asked.</p>
<p>“I had charge of the ticket money for the
Home that we gained by the Catacomb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
Party,” I replied, “and I placed it in my
division of the cabinet. There is just sixty
dollars of it, and it is there now.”</p>
<p>“And was there during the night that
Lawn Tennis slept in this apartment? And
she knew it?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Then that is very good evidence that she
was not the thief on the previous occasion.”</p>
<p>So confident was I in our security and in
Polo’s honesty that I unlocked the cabinet to
give Mr. Mudge convincing proof. What was
our astonishment to find my compartment
again empty. The floor of the cabinet was as
clean as though swept by a brush. The sixty
dollars which we held in trust for the Home
were gone!</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XII.<br />
<small>THE INTER-SCHOLASTIC GAMES.</small></h2>
<div class="image12">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 260px; height: 110px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 210px; height: 230px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in3"><span class="upper">Mr. Mudge</span>
informed us
that he did
not intend
to arrest
Polo immediately,
but merely to have
her “shadowed,”
which meant that
all her habits and
those of her friends
and relatives were
to be ascertained
and every movement
watched.</p>
<p>“You will not
hurt her feelings by letting her know that you
suspect her?” Milly begged, and Mr. Mudge
assured her that such a thing was furthest
from his intention, and in his turn he urged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
us not to allow Polo to imagine that we suspected
her.</p>
<p>“We can’t let her see that,” Winnie replied,
“since we do not suspect her in the least.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge coughed. “I hope your confidence
will be proved to be not misplaced,” he
replied; “but Miss Noakes does not share it,
and I deem Miss Noakes to be a very discriminating
woman.”</p>
<p>He bowed stiffly, and for that day the conference
was ended. Cynthia retired to her
room, and shut the door with a bang. Milly
threw herself into Winnie’s arms, and Winnie
caressed her and cried over her in mingled
happiness and remorse—joy that Milly had
been proved innocent, and repentance that
she had ever doubted her.</p>
<p>“Oh! my darling, my darling,” she sobbed;
“can you ever forgive me for believing you
capable of so dreadful a thing? I could not
blame you if you refused to ever speak to me
again.”</p>
<p>“Don’t feel so badly,” Milly pleaded. “Appearances
were awfully against me, and if
papa had not come and helped me out just in
the nick of time, I don’t know what I might
have been tempted to do. I have been so bad,
Winnie, that I am very humble. I shall never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
say I never could have done such a thing, for
I cannot know what the temptation might
have been. I am almost glad that you believed
me so wicked, because it shows me that
you would have stood by me even then. I
am going to try to be a better girl for this experience,
and worthier of your love.”</p>
<p>Adelaide and I retired discretely, and talked
over the new aspects of the second robbery.
The trust funds must be made up between us.
To help do this I subscribed the twenty dollars
which Winnie had given me on my birthday,
and which fortunately had been placed
in my portfolio before we had regained our
confidence in the cabinet, and had never been
transferred to my compartment. As the other
girls had not suffered this time, they made up
the amount, though it necessitated considerable
self-denial. It took some time for Milly
to become accustomed to properly dividing
her spending money, so that she need not
come short before the date for receiving her
allowance, but the practice was good for her
and in the end she became an excellent manager.</p>
<p>One peculiar circumstance in regard to this
robbery was remarked by Winnie—the fact
that on both occasions money had only been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
taken from my shelf. It was true that Adelaide
and Milly had each lost fifty dollars the
first night, but not until it had been taken
by Milly from their hoards and placed with
mine.</p>
<p>“It would seem,” said Adelaide, “as if the
thief had a special grudge against Tib; a determination
that she shall not save up enough
to go to Europe next year.”</p>
<p>“It can’t be that,” Winnie replied, “for
although the last sum stolen was taken from
Tib’s compartment, it was not her money.
The whole thing is very peculiar, and seems
to be the work of some unreasoning agent,
for this time, as the last, Adelaide had some
bills lying loosely in her pigeon hole in full
sight, which were not touched at all. I have
heard of things having been stolen by jackdaws
and mice—and monkeys—and I believe
there has been some monkey business here.”</p>
<p>“I heard a story when I was in Boston,”
said Adelaide. “It was told me by a member
of a prominent firm of jewellers. It is
the custom at the close of the day for one
of the clerks to lock up all the jewelry in the
safe for the night. He had done so, and was
just about to leave the store when a box
containing a valuable pair of diamond sleeve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
buttons was handed him. It was late, and as it
would take some time to go over the combination
which locked and unlocked the safe, he
tucked the little box far under the safe and
thrust some old newspapers in front of it. In
the morning when he searched for it, what
was his consternation to find that the sleeve
buttons were gone. The box was there, but
some one had opened it and abstracted the
sleeve buttons. He reported the loss at once
to one of the members of the firm, who reproved
him for his carelessness in not unlocking
the safe and placing the box where it
would have been secure. Then the gentlemen
put their heads together to track the thief;
and some one suggested that he had seen mice
in the store, and this might be their work.
The safe was moved, and a small hole was
discovered in the base-board of the room. A
carpenter was sent for and the wall opened,
and there, cozily established in a nest formed
of twine and nibbled paper, and other odds
and ends, a family of little pink mice was
discovered, and in their nest were the missing
sleeve buttons. The mother mouse had evidently
been attracted by the glitter of the
gems, for she had taken great pains to convey
them to her home. She had stored here many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
other curious articles: pieces of shiny tin foil,
which she may have used as mirrors; bits of
broken glass, and scraps of narrow, bright
ribbon, intended for tying the boxes, all showing
that she had an eye for decorative art. I
am very sorry that it was considered best to
kill her, for I believe that mouse could have
been educated. Now, the reason that I have
told this long story is that I half suspect that
this is a case of mouse, and not, as Winnie
says, of monkey business.”</p>
<p>Winnie immediately examined the cabinet.
The panelling was intact, not even worm-eaten;
it fitted apparently as closely as the
covering of a drum; not a crevice large
enough for even a cricket to penetrate.</p>
<p>“It is very mysterious, all the same,”
Winnie remarked; “but I here and now vow,
in the presence of these witnesses, to make this
mystery mine, and to unravel it before the
close of school, so surely as my name is Witch
Winnie.”</p>
<p>From that time we spoke of the affair of
the cabinet as Witch Winnie’s mystery, and we
all had faith that some way or other Winnie
would find the clue if Mr. Mudge did not.</p>
<p>One day in May she said: “I feel as if
there was something uncanny about the cabinet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
itself. I wonder who was its first owner.
Perhaps Lucrezia Borgia kept her poisons in
it, and it is haunted by dreadful secrets of the
middle ages. It may be that Lorenzo de
Medici confided to its keeping a will, giving
back to Florence the city’s liberties, and that
this will was stolen by the Magnificent’s heir
while the poor man lay dying. We can imagine
that the ghost of the guilty man having, as
Mr. Mudge says, been once successful, has
contracted a habit of stealing from the cabinet,
and comes in the wee small hours with
stealthy tread to take whatever occupies the
spot where once Lorenzo’s testament reposed.”</p>
<p>“What a romantic idea!” Milly murmured.
“You could make a lovely composition out of
it, Winnie.”</p>
<p>“Good idea!” Winnie exclaimed. “I
will. I have got to have something for the
closing exercises of school, and Madame advised
me to write on Raphael. She said that
Professor Waite’s lectures on the Italian
artists ought to inspire me. Some way they
never have, but this old cabinet does. I shall
pretend that I have found a package of letters
in a secret compartment; and in this package
I shall tell all the early history of Raphael—which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
is not known to the world—his love
story with Maria Bibbiena, and all the criticism
and envy which he must have undergone
before he arrived at success. It will be great
fun and I shall go to work at once. No, I
shall not go to see the inter-scholastic games
to-morrow. I shall have a solid quiet afternoon
to myself while you girls are skylarking,
and I shall have to work like a house on fire
on every Saturday I can get to make my essay
the success which I mean it shall be.”</p>
<p>From this decision we could not move her,
though it greatly disappointed Milly, who
desired that Mr. Van Silver should meet Winnie.
Mrs. Roseveldt had returned from the
South, and had consented to chaperone the
girls, Mr. Van Silver taking us out on his
handsome coach.</p>
<p>It was a perfect day and the drive to the
Berkeley Oval, where the games took place,
was a delightful one.</p>
<p>Mr. Van Silver’s Brewster coach was a
glorious affair. It was painted canary yellow.
The four horses were perfectly matched
roans. The grooms were in liveries of bottle-green
coats with white breeches and top
boots faced with yellow. Mr. Van Silver wore
a light-coloured overcoat, and the lap robe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
was of white broadcloth. All the brass
about the harness had been burnished till it
shone like gold. Mrs. Roseveldt and Milly
sat beside him on the box. Mrs. Roseveldt
wore a Paris costume of white cloth with
Louis XVI jacket with velvet sleeves and
vest heavily embroidered in gold. A little
bonnet formed of gold beads fitted her aristocratic
head like a coronet. Milly was bewitchingly
pretty in a fawn coloured shoulder
cape, and a pancake hat piled with yellow
buttercups. She seemed, as Adelaide said, cut
out of a piece with her surroundings. Adelaide
and I occupied the back seat, with Little
Breeze beside us in the place which had been
intended for Winnie. Little Breeze wore a
simple spring suit and I had only one best
gown—a gray cashmere; but Adelaide made
up for our simplicity. Her dress was not
very expensive, but Milly’s exclamation that
it was “too exasperatingly, excruciatingly becoming”
will give an idea of its effect. It was
a white foulard, sprigged in black and caught
here and there with black velvet bows; there
was a vest of fluffy white chiffon, and her hat
was trimmed with white marabout pompons
powdered with black. The costume was her
own design, executed by Miss Billings. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
carried a cheap white silk parasol, made to
look elaborate by a cover constructed from
an old black lace flounce.</p>
<p>“Papa has forbidden me ever to enter
Celeste’s rooms again,” Milly said to Adelaide;
“and I am sure if Miss Billings can
make me look as <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">recherché</i> as you do, she is
good enough for me.”</p>
<p>“I seem fated never to meet Miss Winnie,”
Mr. Van Silver said as he started.</p>
<p>“She is to visit us during the summer,”
said Mrs. Roseveldt, “and you must come out
to the Pier and see her.”</p>
<p>“You are very good, but I am going to
take my coach over to the other side this
summer. My mother is visiting at the castle
of the Earl of Cairngorm and wants me to
take a lot of people for a coaching trip through
the Scottish Highlands.”</p>
<p>“How many of our friends are going to
Europe in the summer,” Adelaide remarked.
“Professor Waite told me he intended to
return to France for a term of years, and Tib
here is going over to study——”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid not,” I replied doubtfully.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes you are,” Milly insisted; “that
will all come out right.”</p>
<p>“What a lovely day for the games,” Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
Roseveldt remarked. “What is your favorite
school, Milly? Columbia, Berkeley, Cutler,
Morse? Oh! yes, I remember—the cadets.
But where is your badge? I see that Miss
Armstrong and Miss Smith wear theirs quite
conspicuously, and Mr. Van Silver, too, has
decorated his whip and the coach horn with
the cadet colours.”</p>
<p>“Adelaide has a brother among the cadets,
which accounts for her preference,” Milly replied
evasively; “but I don’t see why I should
prefer them to any other school.”</p>
<p>“Why, have you forgotten,” Mrs. Roseveldt
asked, much surprised, “your old friend
Stacey Fitz Simmons is a cadet?”</p>
<p>Milly tossed her head disdainfully. She
could not tell the story of the intrusion of the
two boys whom we believed to be cadets, for
we had promised Madame not to bruit it
abroad; but her reason for not wearing the
cadet colours was her indignation on account
of this act. She believed, or affected to believe,
that one of these boys was Stacey, and
she had determined to punish him for the outrage.
“Girls,” she had said, before leaving,
“after the insult which our school has received
from the cadets, I do not see how any of you
can wear their colours.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p>
<p>“We do not know certainly that those interlopers
were cadets,” Adelaide replied; “and,
even if they were, my brother is still a member
of the school. He rides in the bicycle
race and he expects to see me wear his colours.”</p>
<p>I sympathized with Adelaide and made myself
a badge to encourage little Jim.</p>
<p>“Stacey is a friend of mine,” Mr. Van Silver
asserted. “I expect to see him carry off several
events to-day, and I have come out prepared
to wave and cheer and bawl myself
hoarse in his honour.”</p>
<p>What a charming drive it was through the
park, where many of the trees and shrubs were
in blossom. We passed many a merry party
bound in the same direction, and several great
stages laden with boys, who carried flags,
tooted horns, and shook immense rattles. Arrived
at Morris Heights the sight was even
still more inspiring, for every train emptied
several carloads of passengers, who hastened
to the grounds to be in time for the opening.
As we drove in we could see that the grand
stand and the long rows of seats on either
side were well filled. There were at least four
thousand spectators gathered to witness this
athletic contest between the champions of the
principal schools of the city. Some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
contestants were grouped on the verandas of
the Pavilion waiting for their turn to take
part. Others were already on the field, practising
the long jumps, or pacing about with
“sweaters,” or knit woollen blouses, over their
scanty running costumes.</p>
<p>On the grand stand and the “bleaching
boards” the adherents of the different schools
had collected in groups, which displayed the
school colours as prominently as possible.
These groups were now engaged in making
as hideous an instrumental and vocal din as
possible. Each orchestra, if it might be
called so, was led by a sort of master of
discord, who called at intervals upon his constituency
for cheers for the different school
favorites, as, “Now, boys, a loud one for
Harrison. One, two, three, ’rah! ’rah! ’rah!
C-u-t-l-e-r, Cutler!—Harrison!” While the
Columbia grammar boys would reply, “C-o-l-u-m-b-i-a—Burke!”
and the Berkeleys would
yell forth the name of Allen, who has so long
covered the school with glory.</p>
<p>Buttertub was conspicuous as leader of
the chorus for the cadets. He wore an immense
cockade, made of sash ribbon, pinned
to the front of his coat, while his hat and a
great cane with a knobby handle, too large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
for insertion even in his wide mouth, also
flaunted the school colours. Our coach had
hardly taken its position before Stacey and
Jim spied it and came toward us. Stacey was
in running costume—“undress uniform,” he
called it—but he had knotted a rose-coloured
Russian bath gown about him to keep him
from taking cold.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t he look exactly like a girl?” Milly
remarked as he approached, and then she
gave him a curt little bow and turned with
great <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">empressement</i> to Professor Waite, who
had come out on horseback, and who now
rode up, hoping for a word with Adelaide.
But Jim had clambered up on the wheel on
the other side of the coach, and Adelaide was
glad of this excuse to turn her back squarely
on Professor Waite, who felt the avoidance
and would have turned instantly away had not
Milly insisted on introducing him to her
mother. Meantime Stacey stood quite neglected.
I longed to speak to him, but as I
had never been introduced, did not dare to do
so. Just as a hot flush was sweeping up
toward his forehead, Mr. Van Silver, whose
attention had been taken up with his horses,
noticed him. “Hello, Stacey,” he cried,
“make that little chap get down off that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
wheel, will you? These horses are pretty
nervous, even with the grooms at their heads.
They are not used to all this racket. See how
they are pawing up the driveway.”</p>
<p>Stacey laughed. “Jim is a splendid wheel-man,”
he said. “You needn’t be afraid for
him. But aren’t you going to get down?
You can see ever so much better from the
grand stand. Did the girls get the tickets
that Jim and I sent?”</p>
<p>Adelaide acknowledged the receipt of the
tickets, and spoke so pleasantly that Stacey
seemed a little comforted. One of the grooms
set up the steps and we all climbed down,
Stacey assisting. When it was Milly’s turn
he spoke to her very earnestly in a low tone,
but Milly did not reply. Mr. Van Silver
called to us to keep together, and led the way
to seats near the centre of the stand; and
Stacey retired to the field, much displeased
and puzzled by Milly’s conduct.</p>
<p>Professor Waite looked after us longingly.
He did not dare to leave his horse, and he
was disappointed that we had left the coach,
near which he had intended to hover.</p>
<p>“How very provokingly things do arrange
themselves,” I thought to myself. “Cupid
must certainly be playing a game of cross purposes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
with us. Here is Stacey longing for a
kind word from Milly, and Milly breaking her
little heart for Professor Waite, and Professor
Waite desperate because of Adelaide’s indifference,
Adelaide trying politely to entertain
Mr. Van Silver, who, in his turn, is provoked
because Winnie has not come; and I, who
would be very grateful if any of these gentlemen
would be agreeable to me—left quite out
in the cold, without the shadow of an admirer.”</p>
<p>I soon forgot this circumstance, however, in
my interest in the games.</p>
<p>“There is the cup,” said Mr. Van Silver,
“on that table with the gold and silver medals,
Berkeley holds it now. See, it is draped with
blue and gold ribbons, the Berkeley colours.
The school which wins the greatest number
of points will take it after the games are over.
This is the first heat of the hundred yard
dash. Now we shall see some fun. It’s a
foregone conclusion that Allen of Berkeley
will win. He does not enter for long distances,
but as a sprinter he has no equal in
the other schools.” Very easily and handsomely
Allen won this race and several
others.</p>
<p>Then we admired the light and graceful way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
in which an agile youth took the hurdles, and
the professional style of two walkers, and
after this my glance wandered for a time over
the spectators.</p>
<p>Cynthia Vaughn and Rosario Ricos had
come out in the cars, chaperoned by Miss
Noakes. They did not desire her company,
and it was a great bore to her to come, but
Madame would not let the girls come unattended.
I was much surprised presently to
see a gentleman make his way to her side.
I nudged Adelaide, exclaiming under my
breath, “Only see, Miss Noakes actually
has an admirer!”</p>
<p>Adelaide lifted her opera-glass. “Tib,” she
ejaculated, “it is Mr. Mudge. You know he
said she was a most discriminating woman.
See, she is so much entertained that she does
not notice that Ricos and Buttertub have
made their way to Cynthia and are talking
with her.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Mudge notices them, though,” I replied;
“see how sharply he eyes them.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge came to us presently, and
chatted pleasantly in regard to the games.</p>
<p>“I did not know that you were so much
interested in athletics,” I remarked.</p>
<p>“A lawyer and a detective must be interested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
in everything which interests his
clients,” he replied.</p>
<p>“Did you come out alone?” I asked, more
for the purpose of making conversation than
from any desire to know.</p>
<p>“No; I had very charming company,” he
replied.</p>
<p>“Miss Noakes?” Adelaide asked mischievously.</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge looked at her with stern reproof
in his gray eyes.</p>
<p>“Lawn Tennis,” he remarked snappishly.
“I came out with that young lady, though
she is quite unconscious of my escort.”</p>
<p>“What! is Polo here?” I asked.</p>
<p>“One of the most interested spectators.
Her eyes are nearly popping out of her head
with every strain of the muscles of that tug-of-war
team.”</p>
<p>The team to which Mr. Mudge referred was
now pulling, and was made up of members of
the Cadet School. They were finely developed
young men, and in their leather apron-like
protections, with their muscular arms and
glowing faces, looked like blacksmiths’ apprentices.
They lay on the cleats, pulling at
the great rope, and the cords swelled in their
necks, as from time to time they ground their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
teeth, and threw their heads back with a jerk,
which told how intense was the strain. The
trainer of the team, a wiry, eager young man,
in a jockey cap, stood with his hands on
his knees, watching the white mark on the
rope, which the team were very slowly working
toward their side.</p>
<p>“That is a professional trainer,” said Mr.
Van Silver. “He has coached the cadets,
and is intensely interested in their success.”</p>
<p>At intervals, the captain and anchor of the
cadets uttered exclamations of encouragement
to his team, or vituperated at the other.
“We’re in it, boys, we’re in it,” he shrieked,
as he gave another twist to the rope. “Steady,
hold your own, and you’ll pull ’em right off the
cleats. Heave, now—heave! Oh! those
fellows don’t know how to pull,” he cried again;
“they’re weakening! See how purple they’re
getting in the face. Hold on another two
seconds, and you’ll pull them into the middle
of next week.”</p>
<p>“What a noisy fellow!” Adelaide remarked.
“Why doesn’t Colonel Grey shut him up?”</p>
<p>“Not he,” replied Mr. Van Silver. “See
how his ribald and irreverent remarks put new
courage into the team. I should not wonder
if they won back that three inches which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
other side pulled away from them during the
first minute. Time’s up. Which side won?”
for the announcement of the judges was
drowned in a roar of the cadet claque, led by
Buttertub, who had struggled back to his
place in time to head the ’Rah! ’Rah! ’Rah!</p>
<p>Stacey had been looking on close to the
rope, and he now shouted across to Mr. Van
Silver, “The cadets have it by half an inch!”
and waving the skirts of his bath-robe with
great <em>abandon</em>, he threw himself into the arms
of the little man in the jockey cap, and
hugged him enthusiastically.</p>
<p>“Now, notice your friend,” Mr. Mudge said
to me, in a low voice; and, looking in the direction
in which he pointed, I saw Polo standing
on one of the front seats of the bleaching
boards, waving her Tam O’Shanter, and shouting
as wildly as the cadets.</p>
<p>“I did not know that Polo knew any of the
boys who go to that school,” I said, much
puzzled.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe she does,” Mr. Mudge replied,
“but Terwilliger, the trainer there, is her
brother, and he hasn’t the best record that was
ever known. He was a jockey in England, but
outgrew that profession, and has been a little
of everything since. He came over to this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
country on the Earl of Cairngorm’s yacht.
He was associated shortly after with a noted
pickpocket called Limber Tim, and some
months since was sent with him to the Island
to serve a term of imprisonment for participation
in a confidence swindle. All of which,
you see, has a rather damaging look for your
friend Lawn Tennis. What I would like to
know is, how he ever came to get the position
of trainer at the Cadet School.”</p>
<p>“The boys seem to be very fond of him,” I
ventured.</p>
<p>“Naturally; it was his training which has
just won the school this event. Did you notice
that young swell, Fitz Simmons, give him
a greenback as soon as the victory was assured.
I have not been able to discover yet
whether Terwilliger has renewed his friendship
with Limber Tim. If he has, it is more than
likely that they are the two unknown boys
who introduced themselves into your school
on the night of your party.”</p>
<p>“Has Adelaide shown you her brother’s
letters?” I asked. “We think that the young
man who leads the applause and Rosario
Ricos’s brother are the scamps.”</p>
<p>“That supposition might be entertained
provided it had been only a boyish caper;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
but the two robberies can hardly be attributed
to these young gentlemen.”</p>
<p>I groaned. So our poor Polo was beginning
to be “shadowed.” She had told us with
such delight, a few days before this, that she
had found her brother. He had been away
from New York for two years, but had left no
stone unturned on his return in his search for
them. He had a kind friend who had secured
him a fine position, and she was so happy.
The good news had nearly cured her mother.</p>
<p>I was drawn from my reverie by Adelaide’s
announcement that the time had come for the
one mile safety bicycle race for boys under
fifteen, in which Jim was to take part. This
was the great event of the day for us. There
were two entries from the Cadet School—Jim
and Ricos.</p>
<p>“Ricos is certainly over fifteen,” I said to
Adelaide.</p>
<p>“He is no taller than Jim,” Adelaide replied
doubtfully.</p>
<p>“He is a little fellow,” I admitted, “but those
Cubans are all stunted, weazened little monkeys.”</p>
<p>Adelaide smiled faintly, but watched the
preparations for the race with straining eyes.
So did all the cadets. There were many entries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
from the other schools, but they were
confident in the prowess of their own champions.
The only question was which would
be successful.</p>
<p>“Come boys,” shouted Buttertub, “let’s
give them a rousing send-off. Whoop her up
for Ricos! One, two, three,—’Rah! ’Rah!
’Rah! <em>Ricos!</em>”</p>
<p>A red-haired boy, whom I at once recognized
as the Woodpecker, shouted from the
field, “Cheer Armstrong, too!” but Buttertub
either did not hear him, or wilfully disregarded
his request.</p>
<p>Stacey’s rose-coloured bath-gown was conspicuous,
fluttering here and there; he got a
bottle of alcohol from the trainer and was
presently seen kneeling on the track, vigorously
rubbing down Jim’s legs. He mounted
him carefully, and scrutinized every part of
his little safety bicycle, with the most zealous
care. The starter gave Jim the inside of the
track, which was an advantage loudly contested
by Ricos.</p>
<p>“No use kicking,” Stacey remarked.
“You’ve had one medal for cycling, and Jim
is the youngest chap entered. I should
like to know now just when you passed your
fourteenth birthday.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
<p>Ricos was silent and sullenly took his place.
Jim turned and waved his hand to his sister.
Stacey was holding his bicycle, ready to push
it off at the signal. How jaunty and gay he
looked in his dark blue jersey, with the silver
C on his breast, and with the wind blowing
his blonde hair from his eager face.</p>
<p>“He’s a jolly little chap,” Mr. Van Silver
remarked admiringly; and Milly murmured,
“I think he’s perfectly sweet.”</p>
<p>Adelaide said nothing, but the tears came
to her eyes. I think that just for that moment
she was perfectly happy. Her mood
was contagious. The glamour of spring was
in the hazy atmosphere. The plum trees
were blossoming white out beyond the track,
and the blue of bursting buds and the tender
green of the earliest leafage spread itself in a
shimmering haze over all the sweet spring
landscape. It was a good world, after all.</p>
<p>At the report of the starter’s pistol, all of
the boys were off in line, but they had hardly
made half a lap when two, Jim and Ricos, shot
from the rank and sped on in advance of the
others.</p>
<p>“’Rah! ’Rah! for the cadets!” shouted Buttertub.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p>
<p>“’Rah! for Armstrong!” yelled the Woodpecker.</p>
<p>“He’s second!” shouted Buttertub.</p>
<p>“He’s first!” shrieked the Woodpecker,
“and gaining every instant. ’Rah! ’Rah!
’Rah!”</p>
<p>“He can’t keep it! Ricos won’t let himself
be beaten as easily as that,” replied Buttertub.
“See him bend to it. There, he’s up
with him! They’re even! He’s trying to
get the inside! ’Rah! ’Rah!”</p>
<p>“Look out! there’ll be a smash-up!” cried
the trainer. “Keep to the right, you lummox.”</p>
<p>“Hi!” cried Mr. Van Silver, springing to
his feet, “that’s a bad tumble.”</p>
<p>“Ricos fouled him on purpose,” cried the
Woodpecker.</p>
<p>A groan ran round the stand. “They are
both down—no, only one.”</p>
<p>“Which one?” cried Adelaide.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” I replied, but I held her
down firmly on my shoulder, for I saw a rose-coloured
bath-robe skimming across the field
like a pink comet, and I knew that Stacey
would not have manifested such concern if
an accident had happened to Ricos.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>
<p>“Armstrong’s up!” yelled the trainer in the
jockey cap. “He’s mounting again!”</p>
<p>“He is!” ejaculated Mr. Van Silver. “By
George! Jim’s the pluckiest little fellow I
ever saw in my life!”</p>
<p>For an instant the spectators went crazy
with cheers, then they quieted down and
watched.</p>
<p>Ricos swept by, he had gained the first lap
easily; but only a faint cheer greeted him.
It was thought by many that the collision
was intended, and all eyes were fixed on the
little figure in the blue jersey, now the very
last in the race, but who, having been assisted
to his seat by the rose-coloured bath-robe, was
now wheeling manfully along in the rear.
Adelaide opened her eyes and waved her
handkerchief as he passed the stand.</p>
<p>“Go it, Jim; go it! You’ve got the
sand,” yelled the Woodpecker; while Stacey,
the bath-robe cast aside, came forging up, running
at Jim’s side; in his friendly anxiety to
see that all was right, unconsciously breaking
his own previous record as a sprinter. If he
had been timed just then even his most enthusiastic
friends would have been astonished.
But, convinced that Jim was gaining, he contented
himself with cutting across the Oval to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
note his place at the end of the second lap.
Ricos had held his own, and passed the stand
well ahead of all the other competitors; but
Jim was making up and had distanced two of
the laggards, his legs propelling like the driving-bars
of an engine.</p>
<p>“He’s gaining!” cried Mr. Van Silver. “I
should not wonder if he caught up with the
other fellow; for, see, he has two more rounds
to make.”</p>
<p>When he passed the stand for the third
time and the starter rang the bell which announced
that this was the last lap, Jim had
passed all the others and was following Ricos
at a distance of only a few rods. He looked
up toward us with a pitiful smile on his wan
face. “Cheer, boys, cheer!” cried the Woodpecker,
“you don’t applaud half enough.
Whoop ’em up, Tub! Hurry up, Jim! Hurry
up! Go it for all you’re worth!”</p>
<p>“Take it easy—easy!” roared Stacey, who
saw that the boy was straining every nerve.
“Take your time, Jim. You’ve got him, now.
Take—your—time!”</p>
<p>The spectators were nearly all silent. The
boys belonging to other schools, seeing that
there was no hope for their own champions,
had ceased to applaud and were now deeply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
interested in the two cadets. Rosario Ricos
had fainted, and Miss Noakes was calling
shrilly for water, but even Mr. Mudge was so
much absorbed in the contest that he paid no
attention to her appeal. People near me
held their breath in suspense. It reminded
me of Gérome’s picture of the chariot race,
and the fall had been not unlike the one
described in “Ben Hur.”</p>
<p>“Why is it,” whispered Adelaide, “that
Jim has tied a crimson ribbon just below his
knee? Red is not a cadet colour; see it flutter
against his leg.”</p>
<p>I saw the crimson streak to which she referred;
but a swift intimation flashed upon
me that this was no ribbon, but a little rill of
blood flowing from a gash cut by Ricos’s wheel.
I contrasted Jim’s face, deadly pale, with that
of Ricos’s, flushed to a dark purple, and wondered
whether his strength would hold out to
the end. I need have had no fear, Jim was
clear grit through and through. As he neared
the goal he set his teeth and bent nearly flat,
throwing no glance this time in our direction,
but with graze fixed straight before him, he
worked the pedals with wonderful velocity and
swooped forward, like a little hawk, far beyond
Ricos, and past the finish, on, on, as though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
the momentum of that final spurt would
never be exhausted. The thunder of applause
which burst forth at this exploit
was something which I had never heard
equalled. The spectators all stood upon the
benches, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs,
hats, and scarfs, crying and laughing
hysterically. The men yelled and shouted
themselves hoarse. Every kazoo, tin horn,
rattle, and other instrument of torture sounded
forth its discordant triumph. The boys
stamped and hooted. The cadets, to a man,
acted like raving maniacs. Even Buttertub,
who had no love for Jim, led his gang with
“Bully for Armstrong!” “Hi—yi—whoop,
three times three and a tiger!” “Hooray!
Hooray! Hooray! What’s the matter with
Armstrong? He’s all right!”</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“’Rah, ’Rah, ’Rah—ta-tara-da<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Boomerum a boom-er-um.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Boom, boom, bang!”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>But Jim was not all right. He heard the
great roar of applause, but it sounded far,
far away to his numbing senses. Then all
the light went out of the sweet spring landscape,
and he toppled over, bicycle and all,
into Stacey’s friendly arms. No one was surprised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
to see him stretched upon the grass
wrapped in the rose-coloured bath-gown, for it
was a common thing for victors to faint just
as they secured their laurels. “He’ll be up in
a minute; Stacey is rubbing his feet,” Mr. Van
Silver asserted reassuringly. “Good-hearted
fellow, that Stacey. He’s devoted to your
brother.” But Adelaide watched him anxiously,
until a crowd of boys closed around
him and hid him from her view. How terribly
long he lay there—could anything serious
be the matter? Suddenly Polo’s brother
came running toward us. “Is there any
doctor on the grand stand!” he shouted; “if
so, he’s wanted <cite>immejiently</cite>.”</p>
<p>Adelaide sprang to her feet and clambered
down the ranks of seats. I followed. I have
no clear idea of how we reached the ground,
but we hurried on together, the boys making
way for us as we came. They had an instinctive
feeling that this handsome, imperious girl,
with the white face, had a right to pass. A
panting boy, lying with his face to the ground,
looked up and asked, “What’s up?”</p>
<p>“They can’t bring Armstrong to,” replied
the trainer. “Looks like he is going to die.”</p>
<p>“Glad of it,” retorted the other, turning his
face to the sod again. It was Ricos, deserted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
by every one, unnoticed in his defeat. But
through his humiliation and resentment there
presently shot a pang of conscience. “What
if Jim should die? Would I not be a murderer?”
and with pallid face he staggered to
his feet and tottered after us. The crowd
around Jim opened for us. There he lay with
his head on Stacey’s lap. A portly surgeon,
with a river of watch-chain flowing around his
vest, knelt at Jim’s side examining the wound
below his knee. Colonel Grey, the principal
of the school, a retired army officer, and a tall
soldierly man, bent his white head over the
doctor and inquired into Jim’s condition.</p>
<p>“The wound is not a serious one, only a
minor artery cut, which I have just tied. The
only question is whether the little fellow has
lost too much blood.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my darling brother!” Adelaide cried.</p>
<p>“For Heaven’s sake, control yourself, my
dear Miss Armstrong!” exclaimed Colonel
Grey. He realized the importance of not exciting
Jim, and he loved the boy tenderly.
He offered his arm to Adelaide now, while
four of the cadets lifted Jim and bore him
very gently to the piazza of the pavilion.
“To think,” said the Colonel, “that I was just
congratulating myself on the number of points<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
he was winning for the school. Why, I would
rather the school had not gained a single
point than have had this happen.”</p>
<p>“Darn the games,” muttered Stacey, switching
his bath-robe about savagely.</p>
<p>When we reached the piazza and Jim had
been stretched on a bench, his eyes opened
feebly. He recognized Adelaide fanning him
and smiled.</p>
<p>“They are calling the mile run,” said the
trainer. “You entered for that, Mr. Fitz
Simmons. They say you are sure of winning
the race, and if you do you’ll gain the cup for
the school.”</p>
<p>“Confound the race!” ejaculated Stacey.
“Do you suppose I am going to leave Jim
in this condition?”</p>
<p>“I cannot ask it, my boy,” said the Colonel.
But Jim’s forehead furrowed slightly, and he
said very feebly: “Go, Stacey; don’t—let the
school—lose the cup.”</p>
<p>“Go!” cried Adelaide. “He wishes it.”
And Stacey strode out to the track.</p>
<p>Milly told me afterward that she was
greatly surprised, and not a little indignant, to
see him take his place with the runners, who
were mustering just in front of us.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p>
<p>“How’s Armstrong?” Mr. Van Silver
called to him.</p>
<p>Stacey came nearer. “Badly hurt, I’m
afraid,” he replied.</p>
<p>“Then I think it is very heartless in you to
run,” Milly exclaimed. It was the only thing
she had said to him that day. He flushed
violently. “Jim begged me to do so,” he said,
“or else you may be sure that I would not be
here.”</p>
<p>The race was called, and Stacey threw himself
into the “set,” his chin protruding with
bull-dog determination, but Milly’s thoughtless
remark had taken all of the spirit out of
him. “He was the very last to get off,” said
the trainer. “He’s running in awful bad form,
too. Fifth from the front. What’s he thinking
of to let Harrison pass him?”</p>
<p>Around they came, and Stacey looked appealingly
to Milly, but with nose turned in
the air, she was waving the Morse colours,
snatched from a girl sitting near her, and applauding
the Morse champion, Emerson.</p>
<p>The sight stung him. He would show her
that he was a better runner than the boy she
had selected as her favorite, and he put forth
every energy, and gained rapidly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p>
<p>“I told ’em,” said the trainer oracularly,
“that Fitz Simmons would wake up, and
sprint further on. <em>He</em> wasn’t running this
first lap. He ain’t a-running now, he’s just
taking it easy, to show us some tall running
toward the finish, when he’ll have it all to
himself.”</p>
<p>The cadets evidently thought so too, and
Stacey’s own drum corps, who had brought
out their drums on the top of a stage in expectation
of this event, beat an encouraging
charge as he came around for the second time.
Stacey smiled as he recognized the familiar:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Boom a tid-e-ra-da<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Boom a diddle dee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Boom a tid-e-ra-da<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Boom!<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>He turned for an instant, waved his hand
to the boys, and then buckled down to his
very best effort.</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“It’s one in a million<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If any civilian<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His figure and form can surpass,”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>hummed Mr. Van Silver.</p>
<p>“How’s that for the cup?” shouted Buttertub,
who forgot personal animosities in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
school triumph. He flapped his arms like a
rooster about to crow, and yelled across to the
drum corps, “Who’s Fitz Simmons?”</p>
<p>It was a well-known school cry and the boys
on the stage responded lustily:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“First in peace, first in war;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He’ll be there again, he’s been there before;<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><em>First in the hearts of his own drum corps;</em><br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s Fitz Simmons!”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Stacey was leading—only a little way now
to the finish. He said to himself, “Now’s
the time to sprint.” How strange that his
muscles would <em>not</em> obey the command telegraphed
to them by his brain. Strain
every nerve as he did, he could not increase
the pace. Emerson, the Morse flyer, shot
by him with his magnificent stride, as fresh
and unwearied in this final burst of speed as
Milton’s conception of a young archangel.
Stacey staggered on, but the drum corps was
suddenly silent, and there was no shout as he
passed the cadet contingent. They and he
knew that the contest was now hopeless. He
did not look up at Milly. He knew, without
looking, that she was applauding his rival,
who had won the race and was now being
borne off the field on the shoulders of his rejoicing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
comrades, amidst their delirious cheers.
Stacey finished the course, then stalked moodily
a little distance and sat down upon the
grass, with his forehead resting on his knees.
His disappointment was very bitter. The
Woodpecker, who had not run in this race,
came up to Stacey with his bath-gown, which
he threw thoughtfully about the exhausted
runner.</p>
<p>“Played out, are you, Stacey?” he asked
kindly. “Well, I don’t wonder; you tired
yourself out keeping up with Armstrong in the
bicycle race. You made staving good time
then, but you’d ought to have saved yourself
and put in the licks now, old chap. Never
mind, we all know what your record has
been.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care beans for my own record,”
groaned Stacey, “but I’ve lost the school the
cup, and I can never look the fellows in the
face again.”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XIII.<br />
<small>POLO IS SHADOWED.</small></h2>
<div class="image13">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 290px; height: 50px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 280px; height: 25px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 270px; height: 25px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 250px; height: 25px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 230px; height: 180px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in2"><span class="upper">Polo</span> ran
up and
with her
was her brother,
and Mrs.
Roseveldt left
her seat on the
stand, as soon as
the mile run was
decided, and
joined us as we
stood around
Jim. She was a
woman of kindly
impulses in spite of her fondness for fashionable
life.</p>
<p>“You must let me have the boy conveyed to
my house,” she said to Colonel Grey. “His
father and mother are abroad, and you have no
conveniences at the ‘Barracks’ for sickness.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p>
<p>“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Roseveldt,” Adelaide
murmured, “and will you let me come too and
nurse him?”</p>
<p>“You had better not sacrifice your studies,”
Mrs. Roseveldt replied kindly. “We
will have a trained nurse and you shall
come and sit with him for a time every afternoon.
The hospitalities of my house are
just now taxed by company. I shall have to
give Jim Milly’s old room and put a cot in my
dressing-room for the nurse.”</p>
<p>“But my studies are of no consequence
whatever in comparison with Jim,” Adelaide
pleaded; “and the cot in the dressing-room
will do finely for me. Please let me be the
nurse, Mrs. Roseveldt.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Roseveldt, seeing how much in earnest
Adelaide was, turned to the physician and
asked, “Doctor, do you think that an untrained
girl like Miss Adelaide, with all the good intentions
in the world, is capable of nursing your
patient?”</p>
<p>“Perfectly,” the physician replied. “I am
assured now that the boy will recover. The
artery cut was an unimportant one, but the
gash just missed the tibialis; he has had a very
fortunate escape. All he needs now is rest,
and careful attendance, to recuperate. I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
no doubt that his sister’s society would enliven
and benefit him far more than that of a
stranger.”</p>
<p>“How shall I get him to my home?” Mrs.
Roseveldt asked. “He is hardly able to ride
on the coach.”</p>
<p>“Some one must go to the station and telegraph
for an ambulance,” said the physician.</p>
<p>“I will undertake that service. I have a
good horse here,” volunteered Professor
Waite, who had hurried to the pavilion as
soon as he saw that Adelaide was in trouble.
No one had noticed him up to this time, but
Adelaide now accepted his offer very gratefully.</p>
<p>“Anything that I can do for you, Miss
Armstrong——” Professor Waite replied; but
Adelaide was not listening to him, and he left
his remark unfinished.</p>
<p>“If we can do nothing further here,” said
Mrs. Roseveldt, “I will ask Mr. Van Silver to
take us home at once. I would like to order
some preparations for the reception of my
little guest.”</p>
<p>“If you please, Mrs. Roseveldt,” said
Adelaide. “I would rather wait for the ambulance
and ride down with Jim.”</p>
<p>“I will take charge of Miss Armstrong and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
her brother until the arrival of the ambulance,”
said Colonel Grey. And so Adelaide
was left.</p>
<p>Mrs. Roseveldt collected her party and Mr.
Van Silver gathered up the reins; but before
we started Milly noticed that Miss Noakes
was fanning Rosario Ricos, who had only
partially recovered from her fainting fit, and
that the poor woman looked dejected and
puzzled. “Oh, Mr. Van Silver,” said Milly,
“won’t you invite Rosario to take Adelaide’s
place? She doesn’t look able to go back in
the cars.”</p>
<p>“Anything you please, Miss Milly,” Mr.
Van Silver replied; and Milly was down from
her seat in a moment, Miss Noakes accepting
the offer most joyfully.</p>
<p>Stacey came up just as we were leaving.
He made no attempt to speak to Milly, but
asked Mrs. Roseveldt if he might call on Jim
occasionally.</p>
<p>“My house is always open to you, Stacey,”
Mrs. Roseveldt replied kindly, and Stacey
thanked her and assisted Rosario to climb
up beside her.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you going to compete for the high
jump?” asked Mr. Van Silver. Stacey shook
his head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p>
<p>“That accident took all the starch out of
you, didn’t it?” Mr. Van Silver continued.
“Well, I don’t wonder; a nervous shock like
that makes a fellow as weak as a rag. Never
mind, Stacey, we’ll hear from you next year
at Harvard. I shouldn’t wonder if you got
on the ’Varsity crew.”</p>
<p>On our way home, Mrs. Roseveldt condoled
with Rosario. “I am sorry for your
brother’s disappointment,” she said; “though
we were all interested in Adelaide’s brother.
It is the great pity in these contests that
every one cannot win.”</p>
<p>“It was not him to lose the race what
troubled me,” said Rosario. “It was that he
to hurt little Jim Armstrong, and some so
bad boys near by to me did say he to do it
upon purpose. They called him one ‘chump’
and ‘mucker.’ I know not what these words
to mean, but I think that they are not of
compliment.”</p>
<p>We assured her that we did not believe
it possible that her brother had intentionally
hurt Jim, and she was somewhat comforted.</p>
<p>“Fabrique is one little wild,” she said, “and
his temper is not of the angels, but he could
not be so bad.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>
<p>“Who was that old gentleman who came
and spoke to you during the games?” Mr.
Van Silver asked of me.</p>
<p>“He is Madame’s lawyer,” I replied. “We
see him sometimes at the school.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t I hear him mention the Earl of
Cairngorm?”</p>
<p>“Did he? Oh, yes! I remember, he said
that the Earl of Cairngorm brought Polo’s
brother to this country on his yacht.”</p>
<p>“He must mean Terwilliger, the ex-jockey
and cabin-boy, now trainer at the Cadet
School.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. Do you know him?”</p>
<p>“Rather. I got him his present position.
If it had not been for me I don’t think Colonel
Grey would have engaged him.”</p>
<p>“I’m so glad,” I cried, “if you can vouch
for his character. You see——” and then I
hesitated, bound by Madame’s orders not to
mention our trouble.</p>
<p>“What interests you particularly in Terwilliger?”
asked Mr. Van Silver.</p>
<p>“He is Polo’s brother, for one thing.”</p>
<p>“And Polo is the young lady that Miss
Milly was lunching so sumptuously on turtle-soup
and ice-cream the afternoon I saw you
at Sherry’s? I wanted to inquire whether that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
large family of starving children were still subsisting
on macaroons.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Van Silver, you are just as mean as
you can be,” Milly pouted.</p>
<p>“Oh, no! you have yet to learn my capabilities
in that direction. I am glad to know
that your <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">protégé</i> is a sister of my favorite, for
I like Terwilliger, and I think he has had a
harder time than he deserves. There is one
portion of his history that I could have testified
to if I had been in the city and possibly
have saved his being sent unjustly to prison,
so I feel that I owe it to him to do him any
kindness that I can.”</p>
<p>“What was it, Mr. Van Silver?” I asked
eagerly.</p>
<p>“Oh! it’s my secret; and as it is too late
to help Terwilliger now, I shan’t confess.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps it is not too late to help him,” I
exclaimed. “Mr. Van Silver, I can’t tell you
now, but Mr. Mudge will explain everything,
and when I send him to you will you please
tell him all you can in Terwilliger’s favor.
Indeed, he never needed your friendship
more.”</p>
<p>“I’m there,” Mr. Van Silver replied; “and
in return what will you do for me?”</p>
<p>“Winnie is writing a composition on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
life of Raphael. I will copy it and send it to
you,” said Milly.</p>
<p>Mr. Van Silver made a wry face; he had
not a very favorable opinion of school-girl
compositions. “I would rather see the young
lady herself,” he replied; “but I don’t believe
there is any Witch Winnie. She is a Will-o’-the-Wisp,
Margery Daw sort of girl.”</p>
<p>“She is thoroughly real, I do assure you.”</p>
<p>“What does she look like? How does she
dress?”</p>
<p>“Well, out of doors she likes to wear a
boy’s jockey cap of white cloth and a jaunty
little jacket, and I regret to say that she is
not unfrequently seen with her hands in its
pockets, and her elbows making aggressive
angles.”</p>
<p>“And, I presume, she also wears stiffly-laundried
shirt waists, with men’s ties, and
divided skirts, and her hair is short and
parted on the side, and she rides a bicycle.
I know the type—the young lady who affects
the masculine in her attire.”</p>
<p>“She has just the loveliest long hair in the
world, and her skirts are not divided, and
she doesn’t ride a bicycle, nor wear shirt
waists, at least not horrid, starched, manny
ones. She likes the soft, washable silk kind;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
and she is a great deal more lady-like than you
are, and lovely, and just splendid; so there!”</p>
<p>Mr. Van Silver chuckled; he liked to tease
Milly.</p>
<p>Adelaide remained at Mrs. Roseveldt’s for
two weeks. Jim did not gain as fast as the
physician had expected. The nervous shock
and the great strain of the race after the accident
had been more than the boy’s slight physique
could well endure.</p>
<p>Adelaide read to him, and played endless
games of halma and backgammon, and discussed
plans for the summer, or told him of
the people in her tenement, in whom Jim was
even more interested, if that were possible,
than Adelaide herself. Polo called and
brought a bouquet, for which she had paid
seven cents on Fourteenth Street. Jim was
glad to meet Polo when he knew that she was
Terwilliger’s sister, for the trainer had been
especially proud of Jim, and had given him
many points on bicycling.</p>
<p>One day when Polo was present, Jim suddenly
asked Adelaide, “Say, sister, did the
boys really go to your cat-combing party?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Adelaide replied. “There
were two suspicious characters there, but we
never found out who they were.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p>
<p>“They was boys,” Polo insisted; “and one
of ’em was fat, and trod on my toe, and one of
’em was little, and smelled of cigarettes.”</p>
<p>“If I was only back at school,” Jim replied,
a little fretfully, “I’d find out for you, fast
enough, whether it was Buttertub and Ricos.
But what can a fellow do penned up here?”</p>
<p>“Never mind, Jim,” Adelaide replied soothingly.
“The truth will all come out at last.”</p>
<p>Polo’s great eyes snapped. “Albert Edward
could find out,” she said. “The boys
tell him lots of things.”</p>
<p>Adelaide did not tell Polo that her brother’s
testimony would count for little, as he was
himself suspected, and the girl went away determined
to assist in unravelling the mystery.</p>
<p>Stacey called frequently and Adelaide could
but admire his patience with the whims of the
sick boy. Jim asked him to try to find out
whether Buttertub and Ricos were the intruders
on our Catacomb party, and this was one
of the very few requests which Jim made that
Stacey refused.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to have anything to do with
those fellows,” he said, “and you know I
never could act the spy.”</p>
<p>“I have been thinking,” Stacey said, after
Adelaide had told him Polo’s history and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
needs of the Home, “that we boys might get
up some sort of an athletic entertainment in
behalf of the Home of the Elder Brother.
The cadets all like Terwilliger, and if they
knew that his little brother and sister were
supported by the Home, they would all chip
in willingly.”</p>
<p>“Terwilliger has such a good salary,” Adelaide
replied, “that Polo tells me they intend,
as soon as their mother is able to leave the
hospital, to take the children from the Home,
rent an apartment in my tenement, and set
up housekeeping for themselves. But, if the
Terwilligers do not need it, you may be sure
there will always be poor children enough who
do. And something might happen, Terwilliger
might lose his place at your gymnasium, and
not be able to support his brother and sister,
after all.”</p>
<p>Adelaide was thinking uneasily as she spoke
of the cloud which shadowed Polo and her
brother. What if it should be proved that
the ex-convict had committed the two robberies
in the Amen Corner with the assistance
of his sister.</p>
<p>“Oh, Terwilliger won’t lose his situation,”
Stacey remarked confidently. “Colonel Grey
likes him, and so do all the fellows. He’s up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
on every kind of athletics; knows all the
English ways of doing things, for he has been
a jockey at the Ascot races and a coach to the
Cambridge crew. He’s so good-natured too;
doesn’t mind helping fellows outside of hours.
He goes out rowing with me every Wednesday
night in a two-oared gig on the Harlem.”</p>
<p>“Were you rowing with him on the 10th?”
Adelaide inquired eagerly, for this was the
night of the Catacomb party.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Stacey laughed, “and we were late,
and I got a special blowing up for it, too.
You see, they lock the door at ten, and I had
to ring the janitor up, and he was raving, for
he had already been disturbed to let Ricos and
Buttertub in, and he was in no mood to pass
it over. He reported us all to Colonel Grey,
who gave us order marks for it.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” thought Adelaide, “this is encouraging.
Buttertub and Ricos were out late on
the night of our party, and Stacey can prove
an alibi for Terwilliger. I shall report all this
to Mr. Mudge.”</p>
<p>Jim returned persistently to the idea of the
entertainment for the Home of the Elder
Brother. “I wish you would see to it, Stacey.
What are the boys doing now?”</p>
<p>“Tennis, and base-ball. You ought to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
Woodpecker; he is going to be our tennis
champion; he can make the neatest underhand
cut. He’s simply great.”</p>
<p>“Any better than the club down at the
Pier?” Jim asked.</p>
<p>“What! the Sand-flies? They can’t hold
a candle to us.”</p>
<p>“It would be nice to have the Cadets play
the Sand-flies,” Jim suggested. “Colonel Grey
would give the tennis club a field-day if you
asked him, and the excursion to the Pier by
boat would be lovely. Mrs. Roseveldt says
she’s going to open her cottage earlier than
usual this year, and she will get the Sand-flies
interested. Say, is it a go?”</p>
<p>Stacey lashed his boots lightly with his
riding-whip; for he was on his way to the
Park for a ride.</p>
<p>“We couldn’t make a success of the affair
without Miss Milly’s help,” he said, “and after
the way she treated me at the games I’ll never
ask another favor of her—never.”</p>
<p>Jim was much distressed.</p>
<p>“That tournament scheme was such a good
one,” he said. “The Sand-flies are already
interested in the Home of the Elder Brother,
and we could make a big affair of it and rake
in lots of money for the Home. I mean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
to talk with Mrs. Roseveldt about it, any
way.”</p>
<p>“All right,” Stacey replied as he rose to
take his leave; “so long as you don’t talk
with Miss Milly. She would think it a put-up
job between us.”</p>
<p>“Now it was real vexatious in Stacey to
say that,” Jim remarked, after his friend had
left. “I meant to have it out with Miss Milly
the next time I saw her. Won’t you wrestle
with her, Adelaide?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid it’s of no use,” Adelaide replied,
but Jim would not give up the idea so easily.
He talked it over with Mrs. Roseveldt, who
approved of the tennis tournament. It would
be just the thing with which to open the season.
The Cadet team would be a great attraction.
She would intercede with Colonel
Grey to allow them to remain several days.
“It must take place early in June,” she
said, “just after Milly’s commencement exercises,
and while Adelaide and you are visiting
us, before your father and mother return and
take you away. I will drop a line to Milly
that I want her to come home for my last reception
this season, and I’ll invite Stacey to
talk it over.”</p>
<p>Jim was afraid that Milly might not be inclined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
to receive Stacey’s proposal with favor,
and he accordingly wrote her a long and labored
epistle, urging her, for the sake of the
Home of the Elder Brother, to bury the war
hatchet. Jim’s intentions were better than
his spelling, which was even worse than
Milly’s, and his letter amused her very much.
One phrase struck her as especially diverting:
“Stacey says you treated him worse than a
Niger.”</p>
<p>Jim had spelled the word with an economy
of g’s, and a capital letter, which suggested
visions of Darkest Africa. Milly laughed till
she cried.</p>
<p>“Perhaps I have been impolite to him,” she
thought. Milly had a horror of being discourteous,
and she wrote Jim that if Stacey
would not be “soft,” she would be nice to him
for the sake of the Home of the Elder Brother.
Jim considered this quite a triumph, and
showed the letter to Stacey on the occasion of
his next visit.</p>
<p>Stacey did not look as pleased as Jim had
expected.</p>
<p>“Catch me being soft with her,” he muttered.
“I’ll show Miss Milly how much I care
for her airs. By the way, Jim, we are to have
two invitations each to give away for the prize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
essays and declamations at the close of school.
I intend to invite Miss Winnie De Witt and
Miss Vaughn. I thought I would mention it,
as it might influence your invitations.”</p>
<p>Jim opened his eyes aghast at what he
heard. “You don’t mean to say that you are
not going to send Miss Milly one of your
tickets?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do.”</p>
<p>“And you are going to invite that hateful,
horrid Vaughn girl?”</p>
<p>“I heard Buttertub boast that he was going
to invite her, and I thought it would be rather
a pleasant thing for him to receive his ticket
back again with the information that as she
had already accepted mine she had no need
for it.”</p>
<p>Jim could hardly believe his ears. “Well,
of all things,” he said. “You shan’t do it, Stacey;
you shan’t do it! I’ll invite Miss Milly,
with sister, if you don’t want to, but it’s a
downright insult to fill her place with such a
pimply faced, common, loud——”</p>
<p>“I do not see that it is the young lady’s
fault if she has a <em>humorous disposition</em>, and as
for her being loud——”</p>
<p>“You said yourself that you could hear her
hat at the Battery if she was walking in Central<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
Park. Sister says she toadies fearfully, and
she flirted like a silly at the games, and at the
drill. I think you must be hard up to ask
her.”</p>
<p>Stacey coloured, but was too proud to back
down, and he left Jim in tears. Poor little
fellow, as he expressed it, it seemed as if all
the sticks which he tried to stand up straight
were determined to fall down. He could see
that something was wrong with his hero, for
Stacey’s disappointment at the games had cut
deeply, and the boy was on the verge of falling
into a dangerous state of “don’t care.”
When Jim asked him what subject he intended
to choose for his essay, Stacey said that he
had about decided not to compete. The subject
must be connected with Greek history or
life, and he despised the whole business, and
the honour wasn’t worth the trouble.</p>
<p>Adelaide took Stacey in hand and suggested
a subject, in which he manifested some interest,
but all this worried Jim and kept him from
recovery.</p>
<p>Adelaide watched him anxiously. She had
at first thought it best not to notify her parents
of Jim’s accident, fearing to spoil their
tour; but as she felt certain that he was not
improving she sent a cablegram, and received<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
an answering one stating that they would sail
for America at once. Adelaide watched
eagerly for their coming. Jim pined for his
mother, and one day, to give her little invalid
something pleasant to look forward to, Adelaide
told him that their parents were on the
way home. The news did him more good
than all the physician’s tonics. He brightened
every day and talked of his mother incessantly.
Once it seemed to occur to him
that his delight was a poor return for Adelaide’s
care, and he asked her anxiously,
“You don’t mind, do you, sister, that I am so
glad mother is coming? You are the very
best sister in all the world, but then you are not
quite mother. You never can know just what
she was to me when we were so very poor.”</p>
<p>“Of course, I am not jealous, dear Jim,”
Adelaide replied. “I can well understand that
you and mother are bound together even more
closely than most mothers and sons, by that
long fight together with poverty. I only wish
that I had been with you to help you bear it.
But then I do not know what father would
have done. He suffered so much while you
were lost to us, that if I had not been there to
live for I think he would have died or have
gone insane.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p>
<p>“I don’t wonder that father loves you so
much and is so proud of you, sister. I am
very glad you were not with us when we were
so very wretched. You ought not to know
what it is to be poor, Adelaide. You ought
to be a queen.”</p>
<p>“I am a queen now, Jim, and I think I do
know what it is to be poor. When you told
me all your bitter experiences, I felt them as
keenly, it seemed to me, as if I had passed
through them myself. I believe that God
sent us this intimate knowledge of how the
poor suffer in order that we might sympathize
with and help them.” Then Adelaide told
him of the tenement and described each of
the families. Some of them Jim had known
in that other life which has been related in
a former volume, and he inquired eagerly for
the inventor, Stephen Trimble, and for the
Rumples, and others. Adelaide told him, too,
of the two turtle-doves, and of the sad death
of Miss Cohens, and how the Terwilligers
were soon to be established in one of the best
suites. This last information pleased Jim
very much.</p>
<p>“I like Terwilliger,” he said. “He is so
funny; he drops all his h’s, and calls everything
‘bloomin’.’ Buttertub is a ‘bloomin’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
fool,’ and Stacey is a ‘bloomin’ swell,’ and
when I got hurt he said it was a ‘bloomin’
shame,’ and Ricos was a ‘bloomin’ cad,’ and
the fellows ought to have made a ‘bloomin’
row’ about it.”</p>
<p>That evening it happened that Mrs. Roseveldt
was to give a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">musicale</i>, and as Jim was
feeling very bright, Adelaide had consented
to take part. She was a creditable performer
upon the violin, and had decided upon a
romance by Rubenstein. She came to the
school early in the afternoon for her music,
and, to give her more of a visit with us, Mrs.
Roseveldt had suggested that she should
remain until after dinner, promising to send
the carriage for her. Stacey was expected
to call that afternoon and would keep Jim
from being lonely.</p>
<p>We were all delighted to have Adelaide
with us once more, for we had missed her
greatly.</p>
<p>I was painting in the studio, and Professor
Waite had just told me that it was all for the
best that I could not probably go to Europe
in vacation.</p>
<p>“You are not ready for it,” he said. “You
will profit far more by European instruction
after a year of thorough training in the Art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
Students’ League. I would advise you to
attend it next winter. Our disappointments
are often blessings in disguise. Providence
keeps the things for which we are not prepared,
saved on an upper shelf for us until we
deserve them.”</p>
<p>As he said this, a joyful hub-bub rang out
in the Amen Corner, led by a wild, Comanche
shriek from Polo, who happened to be in the
corridor: “Miss Adelaide’s come! Glory!
Oh, glory!”</p>
<p>Professor Waite flushed and paled, took
two steps impulsively toward the door, and
then sat down before my easel, and began insanely
to spoil a sky with idiotic dabs of green
paint. I wondered whether Providence was
saving up Adelaide until he deserved her. If
so, the shelf was for the present a very high
one.</p>
<p>To my surprise, Adelaide tapped at the
studio door a moment later. She greeted
Professor Waite cordially. “I am so glad to
find you,” she said, “for I want to impose
upon you for a little help.”</p>
<p>Professor Waite beamed.</p>
<p>“Stacey Fitz Simmons has asked me for a
subject for an essay and I have suggested
‘The Athletic Contests of Ancient Greece,’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
as giving a subject in which he is greatly interested—athletic
sports—a classical turn, suitable
for the dignified occasion. At first he
thought he could make nothing original of it,
but would have to crib everything from books
of reference; but it occurred to me that he
might treat it from a rather new standpoint
by taking his information from remains of ancient
sculpture. I told him he had better
study the casts at the Metropolitan Museum,
as that would be the next best thing to attending
the games at Corinth. Can you give him
any additional sources of information?”</p>
<p>Professor Waite threw himself into the idea
with enthusiasm and poured forth at once a
dissertation which would have taken the highest
honours at the competition. Then he made
a memorandum of several works on art, which
Stacey would do well to consult, and rummaged
about in his portfolios for photographs
of ancient statues of athletes and heroes, the
procession from the frieze of the Parthenon,
and the like.</p>
<p>When we finally got Adelaide into the
Amen Corner, we scarcely gave her an opportunity
to dress for the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">musicale</i>, we had
so many little nothings to talk over with
her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p>
<p>In the midst of it all Mr. Mudge called,
and we opened fire upon him at once with the
testimony which we had collected in favor of
Polo and her brother. He was not greatly impressed
with Stacey’s avowal that he had
been out rowing with Terwilliger on the night
of the Catacomb party.</p>
<p>“I had already ascertained that he was out
late that night,” he said. “Miss Milly told
me that young Fitz Simmons on the night of
the drill threatened to attend your party.
What assurance have we that he did not
attend it with Terwilliger as his companion?
A lark on the young gentleman’s part, and a
clever opportunity to steal on the part of the
trainer. My assistant has discovered that
Terwilliger has had no dealings with his old
associate Nimble Tim since his release from
prison. Having to discard the idea that Tim
was his companion, I have been looking about
to find another possible one. I thank you
for your assistance.”</p>
<p>Milly was very angry. With true womanly
inconsistency she scouted the idea that Stacey
could have had any part in the proceedings,
although she was the very one who had at
first suggested it.</p>
<p>“And here,” she said, “is something which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
ought to be perfectly convincing to any sane
man. Polo told me last night that her brother
heard Ricos and Buttertub boasting that they
had fooled us all so nicely, and had seen our
play. They made fun of Winnie, and said
she had a little squeaky voice for so manly a
part, and that it was ‘nuts’ to see us try to
manage our togas. Oh! I’d just like to choke
them.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge smiled. “It is very natural,”
he said, “that Terwilliger should attempt to
throw suspicion on some one else.”</p>
<p>“But you know that Buttertub and Ricos
were out late that night,” I suggested.</p>
<p>“Ricos obtained permission from Colonel
Grey to hear Professor Ware’s lecture on
Architecture, at Columbia College.”</p>
<p>“And did they say they attended it?”
Adelaide asked.</p>
<p>“Ricos so reported at the Barracks.”</p>
<p>“Well, I happen to know that Professor
Ware delivers those lectures on Tuesday
evenings,” Adelaide replied triumphantly;
“and this was Wednesday night.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure of this?”</p>
<p>“I am sure because I attend the lectures,
and neither of those boys were there.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge rubbed his brow with his pencil.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
“Terwilliger’s previous bad record counts
against him,” he said persistently.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mudge,” I entreated, “will you do me
the favor to call on a friend of ours, Mr. Van
Silver, who knows all about that previous
record of Terwilliger’s.”</p>
<p>“How is that?” Mr. Mudge asked, and I
related my conversation with Mr. Van Silver
on our return from the games.</p>
<p>“I will interview this gentleman,” said Mr.
Mudge, “for though appearances are strongly
against Terwilliger, I do not wish to act on
appearances alone. And meantime, if you
could find some other witness than young
Fitz Simmons who could prove that he and
the trainer were really boating on the Harlem
the night of your party, and some other witness
than Terwilliger to the admission of
Ricos and his friend of the dairy nickname,
the cause of Lawn Tennis and her brother
would be materially strengthened.”</p>
<p>“I agree to produce such witnesses,” said
Winnie rashly. “I have called it my mystery
and I intend to fathom it, if it takes all summer.”</p>
<p>Mr. Mudge bowed and withdrew. His boots
creaked down the hall a little way and then we
heard a knock and the opening of a door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p>
<p>“Girls, he’s calling on Miss Noakes,” Winnie
cried, in high glee. “Now, what’s to hinder
my running out on the balcony and showing
her that two can play at the game of peek-a-boo.”</p>
<p>“Nothing but the honour of the Amen Corner,”
Adelaide remarked. The words threw a
wet blanket on Winnie’s proposal, but there
was a flickering smile about Adelaide’s lips
which showed that she was bent upon mischief,
a rare thing for Adelaide.</p>
<p>“I will wait until Mr. Mudge is gone,” she
said,—“I would not interrupt two young lovers
for the world,—and then I think I’ll call on
Miss Noakes. I want her to help me translate
the visit of Æneas to Queen Dido.”</p>
<p>“That’s just like Winnie,” Milly exclaimed;
“but you would never do such a thing.”</p>
<p>“Won’t I? You don’t half know me,
Milly, dear,” and Adelaide actually fulfilled her
threat.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/gs04.jpg" width="400" height="497" alt="Miss Noakes and Adelaide" title="" />
</div>
<p>“She expected him,” Adelaide exclaimed,
when she returned. “I found her all gotten
up regardless—that low-necked black net of
hers! She did look too absurd for anything,
but happy is no name for it. There was a
blush on her withered old cheeks, and I
actually believe a real tear in her eye. When
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>I told her what I wanted her to translate, she
glared at me haughtily, but I looked as demure
as I could, and she went through it
without flinching. ‘Men are deceivers ever,
aren’t they, Miss Noakes?’ I said. ‘Just think
of Pious Æneas behaving so cruelly to his dear
Dido.’ ‘How should I know, child?’ she replied
rather curtly.”</p>
<p>While we were laughing, Cerberus knocked
to inform us that Mrs. Roseveldt’s carriage
waited and had sent him to inquire for Miss
Armstrong.</p>
<p>Adelaide found that Stacey had waited for
her return. He woke to animation over the
photographs. “This decides me,” he said.
“I shall try for the prize. I didn’t imagine
there was anything in Greek civilization that I
cared a rap for; but that quoit player is fine.
Just look at his muscles. I always thought
that Discobolus was the fellow’s name. It
never dawned upon me that it meant a quoit
player. And this Mercury hardly needs
wings on his heels, his legs are built for a
runner. And isn’t that Fighting Gladiator
superb? And that Hercules and Vulcan?
Well, now, here is something curious. I do
believe that Baker got his ‘set’ from that statue;
the left arm is extended in the very same way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
and the boys all thought it was original with
him.”</p>
<p>So he ran on, his eyes kindling once more
with enthusiasm. “Well, I must go now and
‘bone’ on my geometry—beastly bore; but
Buttertub has been having very good marks
lately, and I am not going to let him rank
me.”</p>
<p>He had hardly gone before it was time for
Adelaide’s Romance, and after that Mr. Van
Silver came up to express his compliments.</p>
<p>“I was sorry Stacey could not stay to hear
you play,” he said, “but he seems to have a
virtuous fit on, and said he must hurry to the
barracks and spend the evening in study.
Perhaps, however, it was only an excuse for
mischief.”</p>
<p>“Do you think so?” Adelaide asked. “It
has seemed to me of late that Stacey has
had little heart for anything, even for mischief.”</p>
<p>“That’s a fact. I haven’t seen him on the
river since the games, and he used to be very
fond of rowing.”</p>
<p>Adelaide gave a little gesture of despair.
“There,” she said, “I forgot to ask him
whether any one knew of his going out boating,
the night of our party, with Terwilliger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
and Winnie was so particular about it. How
provoked she will be with me.”</p>
<p>“Why is it that you young ladies have developed
an overweening interest in Terwilliger?”
asked Mr. Van Silver. They were sitting
on the staircase apart from the others, and
Adelaide replied:</p>
<p>“It is because he is suspected of a robbery
which has occurred at our school. We have
been cautioned not to mention it, but I think
I may say as much to you, for Mr. Mudge,
the detective who has been engaged to investigate
the affair, told me this afternoon that he
intended to interview you in regard to Terwilliger’s
part in the crime for which he was sent
to prison.”</p>
<p>A cloud passed over Mr. Van Silver’s face.
“I hoped that thing was dead and buried,” he
said. “It only proves that nothing is really
ever settled unless it is settled right. If it will
do Terwilliger any good, I will testify openly,
as I ought to have done in the first place.”</p>
<p>Adelaide looked at Mr. Van Silver wonderingly.
He understood and said quickly, “I
cannot bear to lose your respect, Miss Armstrong;
perhaps I had better tell you just
how it all happened.”</p>
<p>“Not to gratify any curiosity on my part,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
Adelaide replied; “you might be sorry afterward.
And if it is something that the world
has no business to know——”</p>
<p>“The <cite>World!</cite> Heaven forbid that an account
of the affair should get into the <cite>World</cite>,
the <cite>Herald</cite>, or any of our newspapers. I
would rather no one knew anything about it;
but when I have told you the entire story you
will be able to judge how much of it I ought
to confide to your friend Mudge, in order to
aid Terwilliger. You see, young Cairngorm
is a regular cub. His father sent him across
on his yacht to us. He wanted mother to
comb him out, introduce him in New York
circles, and get him married, if she could, to
some American heiress. If you girls only
knew what scamps some of those slips of
nobility are you would not be so crazy for
titles.”</p>
<p>Adelaide’s eyes snapped. “I do not care a
fig for a title,” she said indignantly. “I
think a great deal more of an enterprising,
hard-working, true-hearted American, than of
a mere name. I think that the American
pride of having accomplished some worthy
work in life is much more allowable than the
English pride of belonging to a leisure class.”</p>
<p>“I beg pardon. I did not intend to be personal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>
When my mother saw what sort of a
specimen had been confided to her hands, she
made no efforts in the matrimonial direction,
but simply tried to keep the chap out of
harm’s way for a season, using me as her aide-de-camp.
He had a passion for betting and
gaming, and I was at my wits end sometimes
to head him off. Terwilliger came over with
him, you know; but he left the yacht on its
arrival for he wanted to establish himself permanently
in America. Cairngorm liked Terwilliger,
tipped him handsomely on parting,
and asked me to take an interest in him. I
promised to look out for him and immediately
forgot his existence. Terwilliger drifted
about, waiting for something to turn up, and
Satan, who is the only employer who is on
the lookout for poor fellows who are out of
work, appeared to Terwilliger, in the person
of a new acquaintance, Limber Tim. Tim
told him that he was connected with a sort of
club devoted to athletics. It was really a
gambling saloon. Tim knew of Terwilliger’s
acquaintance with Cairngorm, and he promised
Terwilliger a five dollar bill if he would
persuade Cairngorm to patronize his establishment.
‘Tell him,’ he said, ‘that we are to
have a very select game of poker to-night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
only gentlemen present, and get him to come
down.’</p>
<p>“Now, how Terwilliger happened to be such
a lamb, I can’t say; but he had never heard of
poker, and he asked Tim if it was anything
like single stick. This amused Tim and he
did not undeceive Terwilliger, who appeared
at our house in search of Cairngorm, and, not
finding him, left a labored epistle inviting him
to come to No. — Bowery, and see some fun
in the way of a sleight of hand performance
with a ‘poker.’ Cairngorm saw through
it, though Terwilliger did not, and went out
after dinner without explaining where he was
going. He took the note with him for fear
he might forget the number of the house, and
thought that he replaced it in his pocket, after
consulting it under a corner gaslight; but, as
his luck would have it, he dropped the note
there, and a policeman, who had seen him
read it, picked it up. The policeman knew
that the house was a gambling saloon, and
immediately surmised the truth, that this finely
dressed young swell had been decoyed to his
ruin. Terwilliger had begun his letter simply,
‘Nobble Sur,’ and our address was not on the
letter, so that there was no clue to Cairngorm’s
identity; but he had signed his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
name in full, and the astute policeman had
this bit of convincing evidence of Terwilliger’s
complicity in the confidence game.</p>
<p>“We knew nothing of this at the time, but
it was late at night before Cairngorm returned
to our house, and we had all been very anxious
about him. His statements were to the
point, for he had been thoroughly frightened.
He had lost heavily, and in the midst of the
game the police had raided the place, and he
had escaped by springing into a dumb-waiter,
which had landed him in a kitchen, where
he had remained secreted until all was quiet.</p>
<p>“‘It is very fortunate for you,’ my father
said sternly, ‘that the police did not secure
you, for in that case the reporters would have
had a sensation for the morning papers, and
your noble father would have learned of your
lodgment in the Tombs. As it is, you had
better leave New York at once. Your yacht
is at Newport. I advise you to report at
home as soon as possible. It is your own
fault that your American visit has had so sudden
and so disgraceful an ending.’</p>
<p>“I saw Cairngorm off, much relieved to get
him off my hands, for we had very little in
common, and he was so lacking in principle
that my feeling for him was only one of contemptuous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
pity. On our way to Newport
Cairngorm told me that Terwilliger was perfectly
innocent of any connivance with the
gamblers, and that as soon as he saw that
they were playing for money had attempted
to induce him to leave the place, using every
persuasion possible, and making the gamblers
very angry with him. They had tried to put
him out of the room, but he had insisted on
remaining, and when the police appeared it
was Terwilliger who had shown Cairngorm into
the dumb-waiter. Immediately after Cairngorm’s
departure to Scotland, I sailed for a
long trip around the world, so that it was over
a year before I returned to New York.</p>
<p>“What was my chagrin to find that Terwilliger
had been arrested and sent to prison
with the gamblers. My father had succeeded
in keeping Cairngorm’s name out of the papers,
but as he believed that Terwilliger had knowingly
acted as a decoy he had made no attempt
to save him. Terwilliger would not
disclose Cairngorm’s name at the trial when
confronted with the letter which he acknowledged
having written. Nor did he write him
asking his assistance, so determined was he
not to implicate his patron in the affair. I
looked up Terwilliger, and finding that he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
only a few weeks more to serve, set myself to
work in earnest to secure him a good position.
I told the entire story to Colonel Grey, who
met him with me, on his release, and feeling
confident that he had not been contaminated
by his prison associations, gave him the position
of trainer at his gymnasium. He has had
a good record there ever since, and I have
been very unhappy that he has suffered so
much on my graceless friend’s account. If I
had known that an innocent person was to be
sent to prison I would never have helped him
away after his scrape, but would have insisted
on his disclosing the entire truth, and braving
the consequences like a man. As it is I am
going to make Cairngorm do something for
Terwilliger this summer. One of my grooms
does not care to go to Europe with me, and
if Terwilliger has nothing better to do while
the cadets are on vacation, I will take him
across. I shall bring him back in the fall in
time for the opening of the school.”</p>
<p>Adelaide was intensely interested in this
story. “You will tell it all to Mr. Mudge,
will you not?” she asked, “and convince him
that Terwilliger was unjustly imprisoned.”</p>
<p>Mr. Van Silver promised to do this, and
soon after took his leave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p>
<p>Adelaide had not intended to tell Jim anything
of the suspicion which had fallen upon
the trainer, but Jim had left his bedroom and
come out upon the landing to listen to the
music, and had overheard all of Mr. Van
Silver’s account.</p>
<p>When Adelaide went in to kiss Jim goodnight,
she found his cheeks hot and his eyes
quite wild. “You will go to Mr. Mudge right
away, will you not, sister?” he urged. And
he was not at all satisfied when Adelaide assured
him that this was not necessary, as Mr.
Mudge had promised to call on Mr. Van
Silver on the following day.</p>
<p>The next day Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong
arrived, and Jim’s delight threw him into a
fever of excitement. Such alternations of
happiness and worry were bad for the boy,
who needed calm, and Mr. Armstrong wished
to remove him to Old Point Comfort, but Jim
begged that he might not be taken from the
city until the closing exercises of the Cadet
School. “I shall be well enough to attend
them, I know,” he pleaded, “and I want to
see sister graduate, and to know how the
mystery turns out, and whether Terwilliger is
all right.”</p>
<p>To gratify the boy Mr. Armstrong took<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>
furnished apartments fronting on Central
Park, and Mrs. Armstrong devoted herself to
the care of her little invalid, while Adelaide
returned to school.</p>
<p>Commencement was near at hand, and
Adelaide felt that she must work hard to pass
the final examination creditably. Our life at
Madame’s was not all frolic, though I am conscious
that my story would seem to indicate
that such was the case. Naturally, a full report
of the solid lessons which we learned
would make a very stupid story, but the lessons
formed our daily diet, and the scrapes
and good times that I have chronicled occurred
only at intervals.</p>
<p>We had what Milly called a thousand miles
of desert, without even the least little oasis of
fun, between the Inter-scholastic Games and
the examinations. Winnie had taken a fit of
serious study, and when Winnie studied she
did it, as she played, with all her might. Our
only lark for quite a time was a house-warming
which we gave the Terwilligers. Polo told us
how she was fitting up the little flat of three
rooms with the assistance of her brother, and
it certainly seemed as if the cloud which had
shadowed her had drifted away. The largest
room was the kitchen, also used as a dining-room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
Adelaide had provided a range, and
many other things, with the rooms. The
cadets clubbed together and made Terwilliger
a handsome present in money, with which he
purchased a lounge, which served for his own
bed, and an easy chair for his mother; and
our King’s Daughters Ten provided all the
tinware and crockery. Madame sent down a
nice bedstead and some bedding. Professor
Waite contributed a neatly framed portrait of
Polo, and Miss Noakes gave a box of soap.
Polo purchased the table linen, towels, etc.,
with her own earnings, and Miss Billings
hemmed them and the curtains, which were
made of cheese cloth. Mrs. Roseveldt sent
her carriage to take Mrs. Terwilliger from the
hospital to her new home and gave a carpet,
and Mr. Van Silver ordered a barrel of flour
and a half ton of coal. Mrs. Armstrong
selected a lamp as Jim’s present, and took the
two children from the Home to one of the
large stores and provided them well with
clothing for the summer before delivering
them to their mother. It was a very happy
and united family that met together that evening
in Adelaide’s tenement, and Mrs. Terwilliger,
who had not been credited by her
acquaintances as being a religious woman, exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>
reverently, “It seems to me we’d
orter be grateful to Providence for all these
mercies;” and her son responded emphatically:</p>
<p>“Grateful to Providence? You bet your
life, I am!”</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XIV.<br />
<small>THE CLOUDS PART.</small></h2>
<div class="image14">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 195px; height: 110px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 220px; height: 100px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in1"><span class="upper">Then</span> suddenly, just
as they were sitting
down to the first meal
in their new home,
there was a knock at
the door, and a policeman
said: “I
am sorry, Terwilliger,
but you are
wanted again.”</p>
<p>“What for?” the trainer asked, thunderstruck.</p>
<p>“Mysterious robbery up at Madame ——’s
boarding-school,” replied the officer. “Mudge
gave me the order for your arrest.”</p>
<p>“Go and tell Mr. Van Silver,” Terwilliger
said to Polo. “He won’t let me go to prison
again.” And Polo was off like the wind.</p>
<p>Mr. Van Silver came at once, and gave bail
for Terwilliger’s appearance at trial, so that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
he did not go to prison; but this action of
Mr. Mudge’s showed that he felt sure that
Terwilliger was the thief, and threw us all into
consternation. Mr. Mudge had called on Mr.
Van Silver, but had unfortunately not found
him in, and while he had not received the explanation
which had been given Adelaide, one
of his detectives informed him that Terwilliger
had made arrangements to leave the country
soon in Mr. Van Silver’s employ, and that
he had lately been expending large sums in extravagantly
fitting up an apartment for his
family. It was the fear that his man might escape
him, which had precipitated Mr. Mudge’s
action. He felt that the case was a pretty
clear one, and that the trial would develop
more evidence.</p>
<p>Winnie was at her wits’ end. She had
promised to produce witnesses proving that
Stacey and Terwilliger were on the river the
night of the Catacomb party; and in her desperation
she wrote directly to Stacey in regard
to it. Unfortunately, Stacey could think of
no one who had seen them just at the time
when the boys were known to have been in
the school building, and Stacey’s own testimony
would not be regarded as of sufficient
weight to clear Terwilliger, as Mr. Mudge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>
suspected Stacey of being the trainer’s companion.
This rendered Stacey very indignant.
It seemed to him that he had trouble enough
before this, and he was desperate now. His
father, Commodore Fitz Simmons, was a naval
officer, a bluff old sea dog, who had married,
late in life, a refined and beautiful woman.
She was lonely in her husband’s long absences,
and her heart knit itself to her son. Her husband
had planned that Stacey should follow
his career, but when he understood how this
would afflict his wife, he partly relinquished
this idea.</p>
<p>“You can have the training of the boy till
he is eighteen,” he said to his wife. “If he
does you credit up to that time, I shall feel
sure of him for the rest of his life, and he may
have a Harvard education and follow whatever
profession he pleases. But if he takes
advantage of petticoat government, and develops
a tendency to go wrong, I’ll put him
on a school ship, and let the young scamp
learn what discipline is.”</p>
<p>Commodore Fitz Simmons had been away
for a long cruise, but Stacey’s mother now
wrote from Washington that the ship was in,
and that the commodore and she would take
great pleasure in attending the closing exercises<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>
of his school. She hoped that her son
would distinguish himself at them, and that
there was no doubt about his passing his Harvard
examinations, for his father had referred
to their agreement that Stacey must go to
sea if he had not improved his opportunities.
“And you know,” she added, “that I could
never bear to have you both on that terrible
ocean.”</p>
<p>Stacey could not bear the thought, either,
for he loathed the sea, and he suddenly faced
the fact that he had not been distinguishing
himself in his studies and had no certainty of
passing the examinations. This suspicion of
being implicated in an escapade which had a
possible crime connected with it, was more
than he could bear. When he read, in Winnie’s
letter, “Mr. Mudge suspects you,” he threw
the letter upon the floor and uttered such a
cry that Buttertub, who was studying in the
room, sprang to him, thinking that he had
hurt himself.</p>
<p>“I don’t care who knows it,” Stacey cried,
beside himself with despair; “I am suspected
of being a thief, and it will kill my mother,
and my father will just about kill me.”</p>
<p>Buttertub gave a low whistle. “It can’t be
so bad as that,” he said; “what do you mean?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p>
<p>“Some fellows sneaked into the girls’ party,
and they think I was one of them and Terwilliger
the other.”</p>
<p>“Well, what if they do?” Buttertub asked.
“There is nothing so killing about a little
thing like that.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps not; but there was a robbery
committed in the school that very night, and
that’s the milk of the cocoanut.”</p>
<p>“They can’t suspect a <em>cadet</em> of being a
burglar.”</p>
<p>“Well, it looks like it,” Stacey replied.
“They’ve arrested Terwilliger, and I’ve just
had warning that my turn may come next,
unless I can prove that I was boating that
night, and I can’t.”</p>
<p>“Ginger!” exclaimed Buttertub. “You
are in a mess.” He was on the point of confessing
his own share in the escapade, when
he reflected that it was not entirely his own
secret, he must see Ricos first. Buttertub
was naturally good-natured, and he had no idea
that the frolic would take so serious a turn,
but his brain worked slowly, and he did not
quite see what he ought to do.</p>
<p>Stacey was nearly wild. He strode up and
down the room. “I haven’t seen father for
two years, and mother has written him such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
glowing accounts of me that he expects great
things. It would be bad enough, without this
last trouble, to have him find out what a slump
I am. I can never look him in the face—never.”</p>
<p>“Fathers are pretty rough on us fellows,
sometimes,” said Buttertub. He was thinking
of his own father, bombastic old Bishop
Buttertub, and wondering, after all, whether
he could quite bear to shoulder all the consequences
of his frolic. When the Bishop
was angry he had been compared to a wild
bull of Bashan, and Buttertub, Jr., would
rather have faced a locomotive on a single
track bridge than his paternal parent on a
rampage. He wished now that he had not
yielded to the wiles of the entrancing Cynthia,
and attended the party. “Hang that girl!”
he growled aloud.</p>
<p>“Who?” asked Stacey.</p>
<p>“Miss Vaughn,” Buttertub replied. “Some
one was saying you meant to invite her to the
declamations. You are welcome to for all
me.”</p>
<p>“Hang all girls,” replied Stacey. “I shan’t
invite any one.”</p>
<p>Buttertub rose awkwardly. “Don’t be too
blue, Stacey,” he said kindly. “Something’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
bound to turn up,” and he ambled briskly off
to find Ricos. “It’s tough,” he said to himself,
“but I’m no sneak, so here goes.”</p>
<p>But Ricos was not in the barracks, and
Buttertub, thankful for a little postponement
of the evil day, went into the great hall to
practice his declamation. He had chosen a
dignified oration, and he possessed a sonorous
voice and a pompous manner. Colonel Grey
smiled as he heard him.</p>
<p>“You remind me strikingly of your father,”
he said. “I am sure that I shall see you in
sacred orders one of these days. Perhaps
you too will become a bishop.”</p>
<p>Buttertub hung his head. “Better be a
decent, honorable man, first,” he thought.
The boys were cheering over in the gymnasium:
“Hip! hip! hip!”</p>
<p>“Yes—hypocrite,” he said to himself, “I’ll
punch Ricos until he consents to making a
clean breast of it.”</p>
<p>But there was no need for resorting to this
means of grace. Deliverance was coming,
and, strange to say, through Ricos himself.
Ricos had more food for remorse than Buttertub.
His sister had written him from time to
time of Jim’s condition, and this morning he
had received a letter which woke the pangs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
of conscience. Mr. Armstrong had thoughtlessly
told Jim of Terwilliger’s arrest, and the
news had affected him very seriously. He
could not sleep, and he could talk and think
of nothing else. The physician feared that
his reason would give way. He sent for
Stacey, and his friend went to him immediately,
but he could give him no encouragement,
and his call only made Jim worse. As
Stacey left the door he met Ricos.</p>
<p>“You had better not call on Armstrong to-day,”
Stacey said. “He is awfully sick. I
shouldn’t wonder if he died. He had an
attack something like this last year, but the
doctor pulled him through because there was
nothing on his mind to worry him; but now
everything seems to be in a snarl, and he isn’t
strong enough to bear it. You come back
with me, seeing you ain’t likely to do him any
good.”</p>
<p>“It is of needcessity,” Ricos said. His face
was white and scared. “Rosario, she write
me that he will die, and if I see him not before,
and assure myself that he carry no ill-will
of me to the Paradiso, then my life shall
be one Purgatorio. Indeed, I must see him;
it is of great needcessity.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Armstrong also hesitated when Ricos<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>
presented himself, but Jim heard his voice
and called him eagerly.</p>
<p>“Ricos! Ricos! is it really you? Oh, I’m
so glad!”</p>
<p>“Of a surety, it is I,” Ricos replied. “I
have come to ask your forgiveness. Alas! I
am one miserable.”</p>
<p>“I will forgive you, Ricos, if you will tell
Colonel Grey all about it, so that Terwilliger
need not go to prison. You know they
have arrested him, and really it is he and
Stacey who ought to forgive you, and not I
at all.”</p>
<p>“I do not comprehend of what you refer.
I ask you to forgive me for your hurt——”</p>
<p>“But that is nothing! I am sorry that I
beat you, Ricos. I wanted to win awfully,
but I know now that you wanted the medal
a great deal more than I did, and I’m so sorry
Stacey did not run the best. Mother read me
a verse that seemed just to be written for our
games. I read it to Stacey and he said it
would help him. Mother, please read it to
Ricos, perhaps it will help him, too.”</p>
<p>And Mrs. Armstrong read:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the
young men shall utterly fall. But they that wait upon
the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>
up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be
weary; and they shall walk and not faint.</p></div>
<p>Ricos looked still more frightened. The
Bible to him was a book only for priests. Jim
must certainly be at the point of death, or he
would not ask to have it read; but Jim spoke
up earnestly:</p>
<p>“I suppose, Ricos, that waiting on the
Lord means doing our whole duty, and I want
you to do something for my sake. I want
you to tell that you went to the girl’s Cat-combing
party. You know you went, Ricos.
We are all sure of it, but nobody can prove
it. Please tell Colonel Grey. It would be
such a noble thing to do.”</p>
<p>“And you will make me assurance of your
forgiveness?”</p>
<p>“With all my heart, and I will stick up for
you with all the boys.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, my friend; now I shall enjoy
some comfort of the mind. And you will tell
those in Paradise that Ricos is not so devil
as they may have heard.”</p>
<p>Jim looked puzzled. He did not quite
understand that Ricos’s motive was fear of
retribution. He thought that Jim was going
to die, and he felt himself in a measure
responsible for his death; but Jim’s forgiveness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>
and promise of intercession in his behalf
was a boon to be purchased at any price, and
he readily promised to disclose everything.
Jim fell back upon his pillow, exhausted but
happy, and fell asleep for the first time in
many hours.</p>
<p>Ricos hurried back to the barracks. He had
no scruples about implicating Buttertub in his
confession, and he would have gone to Colonel
Grey without consulting his friend had
Buttertub not been on the lookout for him.
They were each relieved to find that they had
come separately to similar conclusions, and
they sought Colonel Grey together.</p>
<p>They were obliged to wait some time,
for their instructor was closeted with Mr.
Mudge.</p>
<p>“I am just going out with this gentleman,”
said Colonel Grey, as he noticed them standing
in the hall. “Is it anything which cannot
wait?”</p>
<p>“It is of needcessity,” said Ricos, and then
his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and
Buttertub made the confession for both.</p>
<p>“Your acknowledgment of your fault
comes just in time,” said Colonel Grey.
“Make your statement once more to this
gentleman, and it may save an innocent classmate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>
from disgrace, and our unfortunate Terwilliger
from unjust imprisonment.”</p>
<p>“You shall imprison me,” said Ricos, in a
theatrical manner. “That will make me one
supreme happiness.”</p>
<p>Buttertub turned pale, but did not falter,
and told the story frankly and simply.</p>
<p>“So you are the two gentlemen who introduced
yourselves in disguise into a young
ladies’ boarding-school,” said Mr. Mudge.
“Will you tell me how you made the
acquaintance of Terwilliger’s sister, the
young lady they call Lawn Tennis, who gave
you admittance.”</p>
<p>“But it was not Terwilliger’s sister at all.
Miss Vaughn threw us out the key to the
turret door,” said Buttertub.</p>
<p>“A reliable witness to the affair assures me
that it was Lawn Tennis. She was recognized
partly by a Tam O’Shanter cap which
she is in the habit of wearing.”</p>
<p>“Miss Vaughn wore a Tam O’Shanter
when she looked out of the window. She
had it pulled down over her forehead.”</p>
<p>“In view of these disclosures,” Mr. Mudge
said to Colonel Grey, “I shall withdraw my
prosecution of Terwilliger. I have not sufficient
evidence to make out a case against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
him, since it is now shown that the other
young gentleman, Mr. Fitz Simmons, did not
visit the school on the night in question, and
consequently had no motive for testifying
falsely. I think any court would admit him
as a competent witness in Terwilliger’s behalf,
and consider the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">alibi</i> established. There will
be no trial of Terwilliger. I must confess
myself completely at fault in this matter.”</p>
<p>Buttertub drew a long breath. He felt
dazed and sick. Ricos swayed from side to
side, and sank into a chair. Colonel Grey
was bowing Mr. Mudge out, and Buttertub
poured a glass of water and handed it to Ricos
in his absence. “Don’t give in yet,” he
said; “we’ve fixed it all right for Fitz Simmons
and Terwilliger, but we’ve got to face
the music now on our own account.”</p>
<p>But Ricos had gone to the extent of his
capabilities, and had fainted dead away. Colonel
Grey returned and assisted Buttertub
in restoring him to consciousness. His first
words were, “When is it that we go to the
prison?”</p>
<p>“My dear boy,” said the Colonel, “you
were not suspected of any connection with
the robbery. But if you imagined that you
would be, and made the avowal which you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>
did in the face of that apprehension, you deserve
all the more credit.”</p>
<p>“Shall we not be expelled, sir?” Buttertub
asked.</p>
<p>“Never! My school has need of young
men who can acknowledge a fault so honourably.
I consider that your generous conduct
has wiped the misdemeanour from existence.
You have suffered sufficiently, and
I have no fear that such a thing will ever
occur again. I shall only ask you to make
this acknowledgment complete by sending
Madame —— a written apology for intruding
in so unwarrantable a manner upon her
school. I shall call upon her personally and
deliver it.”</p>
<p>“And my father will not feel that I have
disgraced him,” Buttertub said slowly, unconscious
that he was speaking aloud.</p>
<p>“I shall tell the Bishop,” said Colonel Grey,
“that he has a son to be proud of.”</p>
<p>Ricos staggered off to bed, and Buttertub
sought Stacey and reported.</p>
<p>“You are a trump!” Stacey cried, “I never
realized before what a hero you are. I beg
your pardon for every unkind thing I have
thought or said about you, and if you will accept
my friendship it’s yours forever. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
time for supper now, and after that we’ll find
Terwilliger and tell him the news.”</p>
<p>Jim improved rapidly after this. If Ricos
had known that he would recover he might
not have confessed, and there was a lingering
feeling in his mind that Jim had no right to
get well, and was taking a mean advantage of
him in not fulfilling his part of the bargain
and winging his way to Paradise, to tell the
angels that Ricos was not such a bad fellow
after all. Still, he never really regretted Jim’s
recovery or his own avowal. It cleared his
conscience of a great load, and the boys, having
heard that Ricos had made <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">amende honorable</i>,
no longer complimented him with the
terms “chump and mucker,” but accepted his
presents of guava jelly and other West India
delicacies, and as he had the Spanish gift for
guitar-playing, elected him to the banjo club.</p>
<p>A little after this Mrs. Roseveldt gave her
last reception for that season. She had not
forgotten the proposed plan of the tennis tournament
at Narragansett Pier, and she invited
Stacey to come and talk it up with Milly.</p>
<p>In spite of his declaration of war against
all womankind, Stacey accepted the invitation
eagerly. Stacey was himself again, yet not
quite his old giddy self. The disappointment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
and trouble which he had experienced had
changed him for the better. He was less of a
fop and more of a man, than when he tossed
his baton so airily before his drum corps at
the annual drill. But he was still something
of an exquisite in dress. His father had given
him permission to order a dress suit for the
occasion of prize declamation, and Stacey besieged
his tailor until he agreed to have it
done in time for Mrs. Roseveldt’s reception.</p>
<p>Milly went home the day before. We had
all been invited, but had decided virtuously
that we could not spare the time from our
studies, while I had, as an additional reason,
the knowledge that I had no costume suitable
for such a grand society affair. Milly described
it all afterward, and I enjoyed her
description more than I would have cared for
the party itself.</p>
<p>The mandolin club played softly in the
dining-room bay-window, hidden by a bank
of palms and ferns, and the lights glowed
through rose-coloured shades. The supper-table,
in honour of a riding club to which Mr.
and Mrs. Roseveldt belonged, whose members
were the guests of the evening, as far
as possible suggested their favorite exercise.
The table itself was horseshoe in shape; saddle-rock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>
oysters, and tongue sandwiches were
served. There was whipped cream, the ices
were in the form of top-boots, saddles, jockey-hats,
and riding whips, and the bonbonnières
were satin beaver hats.</p>
<p>Stacey appeared early in the evening. It
was the first time that Milly had seen him in
a dress suit, and Milly confided to me privately
that he seemed to her to have suddenly
grown several inches taller. He was very
grave and dignified, not at all like the old
rollicking, boyish Stacey with whom Milly
was familiar. Milly, quite inexplicably to herself,
felt a little awed by him and was at loss
for a subject of conversation. She referred
to the Inter-scholastic Games, and Stacey
scowled so violently that Milly saw that this
was an unfortunate beginning, and hastened
to change the subject to that of the proposed
tournament at Narragansett Pier. They were
practically alone, for the parlor had been deserted
by the onslaught on the supper table,
and Stacey said confidentially:</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you just how it is, Milly; I ought
not to take part in that tournament.”</p>
<p>“Oh, do!” pleaded Milly.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/gs05.jpg" width="400" height="476" alt="Milly and Stacey" title="" />
</div>
<p>“I will if you say so. It shall be just as
you say, for I’ll do anything for you; but if I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>go into this thing I lose every last chance of
passing my examinations for Harvard. All
the same, I’ll do it if you want me to.”</p>
<p>“No, no;” murmured Milly; “not at such
a cost; but it can’t be as bad as that. What
do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean that I have made a precious fool
of myself all winter. I have gone in for athletics
at the expense of my studies, and I’ve
failed in both; and now that the time is coming
for my examinations it will be a tight
squeeze if I pass. I made up my mind to reform
after I extinguished myself at the games,
and I’ve been cramming ever since. Do you
know what the boys call me now?”</p>
<p>“A regular dig, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“No, that’s obsolete. At Harvard a hard
student is a ‘grind,’ and a very hard student
is a ‘long-haired grind.’ Woodpecker is complimentary
enough to call me a ‘Sutherland
Sister hair invigorator grind.’”</p>
<p>Milly laughed.</p>
<p>“No laughing matter, I tell you. I’ve
broken training. I haven’t been to the oval,
or on the river, or riding in the park but once
since the games. Instead of that, I put myself
in the hands of our Professor of Mathematics,
and I am letting him give me a private<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>
overhauling. His motto is, ‘Find out what
the boys don’t like and give them lots of it.’”</p>
<p>“How horrid!” Milly murmured sympathetically.</p>
<p>“He’s just right. If you want to put it in
a little kinder way, you might say, ‘Find out
where the boys are weak, and then make them
strong.’ The trouble is I’m weak all through,
so I’m having a rather serious time just now.
I shall have to sit up till one o’clock to pay
for the pleasure of this interview. The examinations
take place between the 25th and
27th of June, inclusive. If I go into this
tournament, or even think of it before then, I
lose every ghost of a chance for Harvard, and
will have to take to the sea, and I loathe it.
But that’s nothing—if you want me to do it.
You don’t half know me, Milly. I tell you,
it’s nothing at all—why I’d give up life itself
for you. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t
give up for your sake. No, you shan’t run
away. We’ve got to have it out some time,
and we might as well understand one another
now. I love you, Milly; I have always
loved you; and if you don’t like me—why, I
have no use for Harvard, or life either.”</p>
<p>He looked so despairing and yet so wildly
eager, that Milly was very sorry for him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p>
<p>“Of course, I like you, Stacey,” she said
kindly.</p>
<p>“You do?” he cried. “I can’t believe it.
You are fooling me.”</p>
<p>“No, Stacey; but you are fooling yourself.
You would be very sorry, by and bye, if I took
you at your word now, and snapped you up
before you had time to know your own mind.
Why, Stacey, we are both of us too young to
know whether we are in earnest. We ought
to wait, and we ought neither of us to be
bound in any way. Perhaps everything will
seem very different to us four years from now.
Don’t you think so yourself?”</p>
<p>“I can never change,” Stacey asserted confidently.</p>
<p>“But I may,” Milly said with a smile, thinking
of her own foolish little heart, and of how
appropriate the advice she was giving to Stacey
was to her own case.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe you will,” Stacey replied.
“I am sure it’s a great comfort to know that
you care for me a little; it’s a great deal better
than I expected.”</p>
<p>“Did I say so? I didn’t mean to,” Milly
exclaimed in consternation.</p>
<p>“No, you haven’t committed yourself to
anything, but you have intimated that I may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>
ask you again after I have graduated from
Harvard. And since I desire that time to
come as soon as possible, I presume I have
your permission to give up the tennis tournament
and go on preparing for my examinations.”</p>
<p>“Yes, certainly. But I’m sorry for the
Home. I don’t quite see how we are going
to raise the money for the annex. Still, I
suppose, as students, our first duty is to our
studies.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. But vacation is coming and we
will see what we can do for the Home then.
If your mother will only postpone the time I
will see if I can get the boys together in
July.”</p>
<p>The old butler came in at this juncture with
a tray of ices. He was followed by Mr. Van
Silver, who protested against his introducing
“coolness” between old friends, but who remained
all the same, and spoiled their opportunity
for any further conversation on the
subject uppermost in Stacey’s mind.</p>
<p>“I’ve an idea, Stacey,” said Mr. Van Silver.
“I want you to go to Europe with me this
summer. You’d enjoy the trip I propose to
make among the Scottish hills and lakes.
I know your parents will approve, for it will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
be a regular education for you, especially with
my improving society thrown in.” Mr. Van
Silver winked as he said this, and he was
greatly surprised when Stacey answered
promptly:</p>
<p>“Awfully kind of you, Mr. Van Silver, but I
can’t go possibly.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“Well, first of all, I’m bound to be conditioned
on some of my studies at my Harvard
examinations, and I shall have to coach
all summer in a less agreeable way than the
one which you suggest. Then I have engaged
to get up a tennis tournament at the
Pier——”</p>
<p>“Tennis! what’s that to such a trip as I
propose. Don’t be an idiot, Stacey.”</p>
<p>“It is really not an ordinary tournament,”
Milly added, with a desire to make peace
between the two. “But, Mr. Van Silver,
when do you sail? Perhaps Stacey can go
after the tournament.”</p>
<p>“I sail the last of June.”</p>
<p>“Then there’s no use talking,” said Stacey.</p>
<p>“Unless you could join Mr. Van Silver by
going over later.”</p>
<p>Stacey shook his head vigorously. He
had no desire to be expatriated this summer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p>
<p>“I comprehend,” said Mr. Van Silver.
“The Pier possesses greater attractions than
I can offer, but you needn’t try to humbug me
into believing that tennis is the magnet which
draws you thither. Tell that to the unsophisticated,
but strive not to impose on your
grandfather. He has been young himself.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Roseveldt came in with quite a party
from the supper, and Stacey promptly took
his leave.</p>
<p>When Milly confided this to me,—as she did
nearly all of her joys and sorrows,—I could
not help expressing my sympathy for Stacey.</p>
<p>“Stacey will recover,” she said confidently.
“Men are never as constant as we women.”
And Milly nodded her head with the gravity
of an elderly matron who had experienced all
the vicissitudes of life, and who could now regard
the ardours of youthful affection and
despair with a benign tolerance, as foreseeing
the end from the beginning.</p>
<p>“Do you know, Tib,” she continued, “Mr.
Van Silver was joking in the way that he
always does about Stacey, when papa came to
us; and papa said, ‘Don’t put such notions in
my little girl’s head, Mr. Van Silver. Stacey
has his college course before him and may be
able to quote from my favourite poet when it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>
is over.’ With that he took down an old volume
of Praed and read something which is so
cute that I copied it afterward. Here it is:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We parted; months and years rolled by;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">We met again four summers after.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our parting was all sob and sigh;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Our meeting was all mirth and laughter.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For in my heart’s most secret cell<br /></span>
<span class="i2">There had been many other lodgers:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And she was not the ball-room’s belle<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But only—Mrs. Something Rogers.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“I wonder whether I shall be Mrs. Rogers,
or Mrs. Smith, or Mrs. What? I’d rather be
just Miss Milly Roseveldt.”</p>
<p>“And how about Professor Waite?” I
asked, hardly daring to believe that the fresh
wind of common sense had cleared away the
old miasmatic glamour.</p>
<p>“Oh, Adelaide must repent. They would
make such a romantic couple. I have set my
heart on it. And Tib, I believe she does like
him, just a little, though she hasn’t found it
out herself yet. I am going to take charge
of their case, and some day you and I will be
bridesmaids, Tib. I’ve planned just how it
will be. It’s a pity Celeste acted so. Do you
really think Miss Billings will be equal to a
wedding dress?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span></p>
<p>“What, yours, Milly?”</p>
<p>“Mine? No, indeed. I don’t want to be
married. It’s a great deal nicer not to be.
Don’t you think so?”</p>
<p>“Milly, darling, I really believe that you
have recovered from that old folly.”</p>
<p>“Why, of course I have—ages and centuries
ago.” And Milly laughed a wholesome,
gay-hearted laugh, which astonished as much
as it pleased me.</p>
<p>“Alas for woman’s constancy,” I laughed;
“but, indeed, Milly, I am very glad that you
are so thoroughly heart-whole. We will keep
a jolly old maids’ hall together, only you must
not encourage poor Stacey.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” asked the incomprehensible
Milly. “I am sure he is a great deal happier
with matters left unsettled than he would have
been if I had told him that I hated him; and
that would not have been true either.”</p>
<p>“You told him that he might ask you again
after he graduates, and you certainly ought
not to allow him any shadow of hope when
you know positively that you can never love
him.”</p>
<p>What was my surprise to hear Milly reply
very seriously: “But I don’t know that, Tib.
Four years may change everything. Stacey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>
may not care a bit for me at the end of his
college course. In that case, I’m sure I shan’t
repine. But then, again, if he should happen
to hold out faithful, perhaps my stony heart
may be touched by the spectacle of such devotion.
Who knows?”</p>
<p>And Milly looked up archly, with a pretty
blush that augured ill—for the old maids’ hall.</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XV.<br />
<small>THE OLD CABINET TELLS ITS STORY.</small></h2>
<div class="image15">
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 235px; height: 170px;"> </div>
<div class="sandbag" style="width: 170px; height: 120px;"> </div>
<p class="cap in2"><span class="upper">A few</span> weeks
passed with no
excitement except
Cynthia’s
withdrawal
from the Amen
Corner. Madame
was very
indignant when Mr.
Mudge reported Cynthia’s
part in inviting the boys
to attend our Catacomb
party, and assisting them
in entering and disguising themselves. It was
rumoured that Cynthia was to be publicly expelled
as a terrible example to all would-be
offenders. She remained closeted in her room,
whence the sound of weeping and wailing could
be heard behind her locked door, but she
steadily refused all overtures of sympathy on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>
our part. We waited upon Madame in a body,
and begged her to pardon Cynthia. Madame
replied that she would consider the matter,
and we hurried back and shouted the hopeful
news through Cynthia’s keyhole. There was
no reply.</p>
<p>“Do you think she has killed herself?”
Milly asked in an awestruck whisper.</p>
<p>I applied my ear closely and heard stealthy
steps. “She merely wishes to be let alone,”
I said; “perhaps we are a little too exuberant
in our expressions of sympathy.”</p>
<p>Miss Noakes entered presently and announced
that Madame wished to see Cynthia;
and that young lady went, with a very red
nose, turned up at a very haughty angle.
She returned shortly, and addressing herself
to Adelaide, as she always did, even when she
had something which she wished to communicate
to the rest of us, said scornfully:</p>
<p>“Miss Armstrong, will you kindly say to
the other young ladies [we were all present],
that Madame has just told me that I am indebted
to you for permission to remain and
graduate with the class.”</p>
<p>A murmur of satisfaction ran around the
room.</p>
<p>Cynthia’s eyes flashed fire. “Do not imagine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>
for one moment,” she exclaimed, “that
I would accept your hypocritical condescension,
if I believed that it had been offered.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you believe that we interceded with
Madame?” Winnie asked.</p>
<p>“I believe,” Cynthia replied, “that you
have done the best you can, by tale-bearing, to
induce Madame to expel me, and have not
succeeded; and as I do not wish to associate
with you any longer, I have written my parents
asking them to withdraw me from the school.”</p>
<p>“I am sure no one will regret your departure,”
Adelaide replied, with indignation. But
Cynthia did not leave the school. Either her
parents were too sensible to take her away
just before her graduation, or her remark had
been merely an idle threat. Madame gave her
a room in another part of the building, and
her place in the Amen Corner remained vacant
for the rest of the term.</p>
<p>Winnie had finished her essay, and one
evening we gathered in the little study parlor
to hear her read it. The time for our parting
was now very near, and we were all more or
less sentimentally inclined. The old Amen
Corner was very dear to us. Every piece of
furniture had its associations, but none of them
were quite so tragical as those which clustered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>
around the old oak cabinet, and it seemed
only fitting that Winnie should celebrate it in
her parting essay. She apologized for the
length of her paper. “Don’t think, girls,”
she explained, “that I intend to read all this
at commencement. I am going to ask
Madame to make selections from it. The
task that Professor Waite set me was to give
a picture of Florentine life in the early part
of the sixteenth century, and to bring in the
characters who lived then as naturally as I
could—Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Michael
Angelo, Fra Bartolommeo, the Medici,
Macchiavelli, Bibbiena and his niece, and
others. While I was writing, my imagination
carried me away, and I gave it free rein. You
are the only ones who will have the full dose.”</p>
<p>We were very willing to hear it all. Winnie
sat in the great comfortable wicker armchair
with the lamplight gloating o’er her
mischievous face. Adelaide had ensconced
herself on the window seat, her classical profile
clear cut against the night. Milly nestled
on a cushion at her feet, and I had stretched
myself luxuriously on the old lounge, and
watched the others from the shadowy side of
the room. Milly occasionally patted the cabinet
at her side as Winnie referred to it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p>
<p>The flickering light almost seemed to make
the carved faces with which it was decorated
grin sardonically, or knit their brows with
threatening scowls, as Winnie read:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am the ghost of the cabinet, Giovanni
de’ Medici they called me, in 1475, when the
drops from the font fell on my forehead in
the Baptistry in Florence, and Leo X, when
in 1513 I was made Pope of Rome. I was
the second son of Lorenzo the Magnificent,
Christianly christened as a babe and created
Abbot of Fontedolce at the age of seven and
Cardinal at seventeen, for my father was convinced,
since the eldest son must carry down
the family glory in succession, for me promotion
lay only in the way of the Church.</p>
<p>“Nevertheless, I held, as it were, to that
plough but with one hand, continually looking
back, and ready to drop it altogether, so that,
while I enjoyed the rank and revenue of a
prince of the Church, I was not made a priest
with vows of celibacy until the papacy was as
good as in my hand, and until I had been determined
thereunto by the closing to me of a
fair pathway which led in quite another direction.
For of my father’s choice for me I
might have said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“For that my fancy rather took<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The way that led to town,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He did betray me to a lingering book,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And wrap me in a gown.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“None but the readers of this confession
know of my lost love or fancy that I was capable
of any passion save the ambition to reinstate
my family in its ancient position of glory
in Florence. Cardinal though I was, I yet
played the spy and the thief to get at the
opinions of Florentines of note and influence,
and one of my confederates in my schemes
was a certain carved oak cabinet, which stood
in the library of the palazzo of my nephew by
marriage, Filippo Strozzi. This Strozzi was
a man so well regarded in Florence, that
although he espoused Maddalena de’ Medici,
the daughter of my banished brother Piero,
yet was he never suspected of any plots to
advance our family, and lived even with
great freedom and popularity, keeping open
house to all the literati of the city.</p>
<p>“My niece, who shared not altogether the
republican sentiments of her husband, and in
whom family affection was most deeply rooted,
did sometimes entertain me after my banishment
when my presence in Florence was not
known by the Florentines in general or even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>
to her most worshipful spouse. At such times
I had for my bedchamber a little room partitioned
only from the library of which I have
spoken by heavy hangings of tapestry.
Against this tapestry, on the library side, was
set the oak cabinet, which was also a desk for
writing, and here my nephew, Filippo Strozzi,
was accustomed to write his letters. Hearing
the scratch of his pen when he little suspected
my neighbourhood, filled me with such an itching
desire to know what he wrote, that one
night after he had finished his writing, and
had left the room, I slipped into the library,
and found that, having completed his epistle,
he had laid it inside the cabinet, and that this
was without doubt the usual rendezvous for
the letters of the family while awaiting the
time for the departure of the post, for other
letters, sealed and directed and ready for the
sending, lay on the same shelf. On further
examination of the cabinet I found that its
back was a sliding panel, and that by cutting
through the tapestry with my penknife I could
open the cabinet from my own room, and
abstract any letters which might have been
placed within it under surety of lock and key.
This seemed to me a most providential circumstance,
for not only did my nephew write<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>
his letters here, but other guests of the house
had the same custom, and it was most convenient
for me thus to become acquainted with
their secret opinions.</p>
<p>“I had another motive for lingering in
Florence besides my political schemes, for as I
have said I had not at this time so irrevocably
fastened upon myself the vows of the church
that they could not be shaken off, and I was
greatly enamoured of the niece of the merry
Cardinal Bibbiena, the incomparable Maria,
whom I had met before my brother’s banishment
at his court in Florence, she being a
maid in waiting to his wife and greatly attached
to her.</p>
<p>“Maria Bibbiena came frequently to visit
my niece Maddalena Strozzi; and my niece,
knowing my passion, gave me opportunity of
meeting her, and I thought that I sped well
in my wooing until the cabinet told me otherwise.
My cabinet told me no lies, for Count
Baltazar Castiglione, a most polished man of
the world, and guarded in his spoken opinions
of others, opened his mind most frankly in a
letter to his friend and confidante, the gentle
and witty Vittoria Colonna, which he wrote
in that room and left in my power, and which
was expressed with a freedom which he would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>
never have allowed himself had he fancied
that it would ever have fallen under my
eye.</p>
<p>“I had one friend in Florence in whom I
trusted, Niccolo Macchiavelli. I admired his
statecraft and his policy, and I deemed him
devoted to our family, but a letter from his
own hand, obtained in like manner with the
others, showed him to be two-faced and
treacherous to all who trusted him—to the
Medicis and to Strozzi, whose hospitality he
scrupled not to abuse. It would seem at first
sight that my thefts of letters were of service
to me; but I was never able to really profit by
them, and the knowledge which the letters
gave me of the perfidy or dislike of their
writers caused me only fruitless indignation
and lasting pain, while the habit into which I
had fallen of suspecting, prying, and stealing
grew upon me day by day, till even death itself
was powerless to correct it. When will
mankind learn that habit can be so deeply
fixed as to follow us beyond the portals of
death.</p>
<p>“The old cabinet and I have been so long
partners in guilt that my erring ghost visits
it as of old, abstracting from it whatever is
left to its treacherous keeping. I give back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>
herewith the letters, and when this confession
shall have been publicly read, I will render
the moneys which I have more lately filched,
and then my troubled spirit will be laid at
rest. For I was not a great villain.</p>
<p>“Witch Winnie lied when she said I stole
from this cabinet the freedom of the city of
Florence, which my father writ out and placed
here after the last visit of the unmannerly
monk, Savonarola. I pardoned the enemies
of our family in the day of my triumph, and I
pardoned Raphael, yea, and befriended him
and loved him, since he wronged me unwittingly;
and none grieved more than I when
we buried him beside his Maria, whom I fain
would have called my own. And so, having
forgiven those who have trespassed against
me, and now making restitution, may I also
be pardoned for filching these few letters,
whereof the first was from:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hangingindent">“<cite>Count Baltazar Castiglione to the Excellent Lady Vittoria
Colonna, Marchesa di Pescara, at Naples.</cite></p>
<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Florence</span>, 15th October, 1504.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Most Worshipful Madonna and Admired Friend:</span><br />
</p>
<p>“I feel myself highly flattered in that you express
yourself satisfied with my Cortigiano (which I caused to
be writ out at your request), and which endeavoured, in
some slight way, to reproduce the facetious pleasantry
joined to the strictest morals which subsist at the Court<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>
of Urbino. And I deem your request for a like picture
of Florentine society as a most pleasing proof that I have
not been hitherto wearisome to you.</p>
<p>“In Florence, since the passing of the rule of the Medici,
there has been a passing away also of all standards of
aristocracy, so that many of the old families hang their
heads in political disgrace, and there be many upstart
ones who flaunt and wanton in gorgeousness of apparel.
Neither is it possible to say what will be the outcome of
this state of social incertitude. I have adopted what
seemed to me a safe rule, and have paid my court neither
to birth nor to fortune, but to genius. For it is not to be
gainsayed that there is gathered in Florence at this time
a remarkable circle of learned and clever men, who form,
as it were, an order of aristocracy by themselves.</p>
<p>“I paid my respects first to Maestro Pietro Perugino,
my sometime friend at Urbino, and whom we there regarded
as the very cream and quintessence of painting.
He has a home here, living in a goodly and comfortable
state, but has grown somewhat crabbed and soured, as
happens to men who feel themselves out of fashion and
forgotten of the world. He has a rival here, one Michael
Angelo, and Perugino having criticised a cartoon which
this fellow had set up, representing I know not what absurdity,
of bathing soldiers, Angelo replied that he considered
Perugino to be a man ignorant in art matters.
Which saying so cut to the quick my friend that
he somewhat inconsiderately went to law upon the matter,
where he gained scant salve for his bruises, being
dismissed with the decree that the defendant had only
said what was not to be denied.</p>
<p>“This discourteous fellow Angelo formeth the greatest
contrast to Leonardo da Vinci, now the leading artist of
Florence, in whom the word gentleman hath as full a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>
showing as in any noble living. His fortune is sufficient
to his tastes (which are of no niggard order), and his
audience chamber is frequented by the nobles, the wits,
the fashion, the learning, and beauty of the day.</p>
<p>“But truly, I must not further speak of this paragon,
this florescence of his day and generation, or I shall
have no space in which to make mention of lesser luminaries,
and especially of my young friend, Raphael Santi
of Urbino, who is also visiting at this time in Florence.
Raphael, while he accords to da Vinci a full meed of
praise, and goes daily to sketch from his masterpiece in
the Palazzo Vecchio, and while he is as free from envy
as an egg from vitriol, yet surprised me by this wondrously
assuming assertion, greatly at variance with his
usual modesty. ‘My dear Baltazar,’ said he, ‘keep the
sketches and miniature I have made for thee. They
will one day be as valuable as though signed by da
Vinci!’ Truly, presumption dwelleth in the heart of
youth, but experience with the world will drive it far
from him.</p>
<p>“I am writing this at the Palazzo Strozzi, where I
am for the time a grateful guest. Mine host and friend
Filippo gave recently an artistic supper, the guests being
either artists or lovers of that guild, whether patricians,
such as Giocondo, Nasi, Soderini, and others; or scriveners,
as Vasari, Macchiavelli, and Guicciardini, and
churchmen, as Bibbiena, and Bembo; for all Florence
will have its finger in this art pie, and they who have
not the wit to paint or the money to purchase, affect
superior knowledge, and wag their tongues in dispraise.
Finding myself partitioned off between two of these
worthies, I should have died of weariness had I not
closed my ear on the one side to the borings of Macchiavelli
(who had it upon his mind that Giovanni de’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>
Medici was in Florence, and would have fain tortured
from me his hiding place), and on the other from the
sleep-producing maunderings of Vasari, who delivered
himself of condemnatory criticisms on Raphael. I
would not for the world have awakened him to questions
by a hint that I already knew more of Raphael than he
was like to know in his whole life, but I suffered him to
wander on, straining my ears the while to catch some
shreds of a merry story with which the Cardinal of Santa
Maria in Portico (Bibbiena) was setting his end of the
table in a roar. Supper being ended, I marked that the
Cardinal drew Raphael’s arm within his own, and leading
him to the garden, there left him with his niece Maria, a
most sweet and loving damsel, and one exceptionally
endowed by nature; for neither in Florence nor in the
various outlandish cities which it hath been my hap to
visit in the character of diplomatist, have I found in any
five ladies, saving in yourself, worshipful madame, such
gentleness, sprightliness, and wit as is bound up in one
bundle in the person of Maria Bibbiena.</p>
<p>“Madonna Maddalena Strozzi has confided to me that
her uncle Giovanni de’ Medici was in time past so greatly
enamoured of this same Maria that he would fain have
given up the Church. This were madness indeed on his
part, since the wisest policy for any of that family is to
keep himself from political ambition, than which there
would seem to be no more convincing evidence to the
vulgar than devotion to a life of celibacy and monkish
austerity; a renouncing of the world, its pomps and
vanities, and especially of family alliances and succession
plots, friendships, betrothals, marriages, and the
like; which, if they be not fooleries of youthful passion,
savour of worldly ambition.</p>
<p>“All of this I imparted as my opinion to my hostess,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>
but she sighed so deeply as to show that her sympathies
are with her love-lorn uncle. After this we were bidden
by her husband to an upper room, where was displayed
a picture of Raphael’s.</p>
<p>“But to report the critiques which followed would be
greatly wearisome to your ladyship, and so I kiss your
hands, beseeching our Lord to make you as happy as
you are pious.</p>
<p>
<span class="sign3">“Your sincere friend and servitor,</span><br />
<span class="sign2">“Baltazar Castiglione.</span><br />
</p></div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hangingindent">“<cite>Maria Bibbiena to the Lady Alfonsina Orsini Medici,
wife of Piero de’ Medici, in Exile at Urbino.</cite>,</p>
<p class="right"><span class="smcap">“Florence</span>, October 12, 1504.</p>
<p class="hangingindent">“<span class="smcap">Most magnificent, noble, and unfortunate
Lady:</span><br /></p>
<p>“For whom my tears cease not to fall, and my heart to
long after with true devotion.</p>
<p>“Truly, madame, whatever may have been your heavy
and sore trials in separation from your beloved Florence,
you cannot have experienced more poignant smart than
that which wrings the heart of your little friend, who in
lonesomeness and delaying of hope counts the days of
your absence. My uncle’s friend, Messer Macchiavelli,
who passes for a man of deep designs, raised my hopes
at one time by whispering that there was a plot to bring
you back. But nothing came of it, and instead we were
given up to the dreadful Piagnoni, so that my uncle,
than whom there never was a more jocund man, so long
as he was chancellor to your most worshipful husband,
was forced to abandon politics and even for a time to
hang his head in sadness. But having returned from
Rome with a cardinal’s hat, since the death of Savonarola,
I discern some faint return to his old cheerfulness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p>
<p>“I was minded of you anew but recently. You will
doubtless remember Madonna Lisa Giocondo. She is
now having her portrait painted by Maestro da Vinci.
It is his manner to invite light and diverting society to
his studio to converse with and cheer the lady during her
sitting, and to strive to bring to her lips a certain marvelous
smile about which he is mightily concerned. Now
it chanced that Maestro da Vinci heard that I played
upon the lute at your court, in former days, and so he
persuaded my uncle to bring me to his studio to play
for the diversion of Mona Lisa. Presently there came
in with Count Castiglione a young man of a most beautiful
countenance, a divine tenderness suffusing his eyes;
and a smile of such heavenly sweetness upon his lips,
that methought that of Mona Lisa but an affected simper
in comparison. After greeting us he remained a
long time in a muse, his eyes fastened upon the canvas.
Mona Lisa, perceiving that his entranced gaze was not
so much in admiration of her beauty as in delight at the
skill of the painter, took her departure, in some pique,
while Maestro da Vinci waited upon her to the door.
Raphael Santi, for so is this young man called, turned
to me and spoke of the genius of da Vinci. After that
the Maestro brought forward a portfolio of sketches and
we overlooked them together. I mind me there was one
drawing of the Madonna seated in the lap of Sta. Anna,
caressing the infant Christ, who, in his turn, was toying
with a lamb. And the younger artist said that what
pleased him most in da Vinci’s paintings was the lovingness
which he displayed, as here Sta. Anna was beaming
proudly and graciously upon her daughter, who playfully
and tenderly yearned over her son, who as charmingly
petted his little lamb. And many more things he said,
so sweetly, and with such courteous and gentle behaviour,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span>
that I wondered not that he was called Saint Raphael,
for indeed he seemed unto me as one of the company of
the blessed.</p>
<p>“But with all this I have not told you why it was that
this should remind me of you. It was because I was
told that he was from Urbino, and because he was able
to give me comfortable tidings concerning you, which did
not a little solace and unburden my heart.</p>
<p>“After this I met him several times in the outer cloisters
of San Marco, whither I went first by chance with my
uncle, who had some business with the prior of the convent,
and who left me to wait for him in this place, which
is assigned to the laity.</p>
<p>“Presently, while I waited here, Raphael came hastily
in, having just completed his lesson in colouring with the
Fra Bartolommeo, an artist who turned monk under the
preaching of Savonarola, and whom Raphael has chosen
as master during his stay in Florence. He told me
somewhat of this good monk; how when he was a talented
and rising young man, with life and ambition all
before him, he gave his paintings to the flames with
which the Piagnoni consumed the vanities of this world
in the public streets, because he feared lest he loved his
art more than God. But since he has renounced the
world, the Prior has told him that he can best serve the
Church by painting altar-pieces, so that his cell is changed
to a studio, and God has granted him such access of
genius that he paints more divinely than before, and
churches and monasteries in Venice and other distant
cities send daily for his paintings. But he knows not
where they go, nor how much money they bring the convent,
for he paints only for the love of God.</p>
<p>“Raphael told me also of the heavenly frescoes of Fra
Angelico, with which the walls of the passages and even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>
the cells of the convent, are covered, and he added, ‘Truly,
I think that Art and a monastic life wed well together, and
I would willingly retire to some cloistered garden afar
from the world, if I might carry my box of colours with me,
and might sometimes see in a vision a face like thine to
paint from!’</p>
<p>“Then was I seized with a foolish timidity, so that I
could in no wise answer, but my heart said, ‘And why
afar from the world, why not in it, making all things better
and happier?’</p>
<p>“Ah! sweet lady, I know you will say, ‘My little
Maria is grown wondrous foolish and love-sick’; but I
pray you chide me not, seeing that the matter cannot
grow further, for I am not likely again to meet with Raphael,
since I have come to visit for some days, on invitation
of your sweet daughter Madonna Maddalena
Strozzi. Nor were it best that I should see him often, for
I do fear me that in such case my heart might become so
rashly pitched and fixed upon him that I should in time
most inconsiderately fall in love, which were a bold and
unmaidenly thing to do; and I mind me that you were
wont to tell me that no woman should allow her affections
to conduct themselves thus insubordinately, until
the church hath by the sacrament of marriage given her
license thereto.</p>
<p>“And so, madame, praying Maria Sanctissima and
Maria the sister of Lazarus, my patroness, to keep me
constant in this mind, I rest your loving friend and
devoted servitor,<br />
<span class="sign2">“Maria Bibbiena.</span></p><br /></div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hangingindent">“<cite>Niccolo Macchiavelli to Bramante, Architect to Pope
Julius I, at Rome:</cite></p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Messer Bramante mio:</span></p>
<p>“We have no longer any politics in Florence. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>
Medici trusted to the luck of their name; but Florence
would have none of them, and Piero had not the head
for his position. He might have had the advantage of
my brains if he had so chosen; but he had not the wit
to appreciate wit. The Magnificent was right when he
said that he had three sons, the one good, the second
crafty, the third a fool. The good die young: Piero,
the fool, has lost his inheritance; it remains for the
crafty Giovanni to make good the prestige of his family.
The chances are against him, but if he has something
better than maccaroni under his tonsure, he will make
the Church his ladder to power. I thought at one time
that Savonarola was perhaps shrewder than he seemed,
and that he would succeed in tumbling Alexander out of
the Papal Chair and in taking his seat therein as the
Pope Angelico. But it seemed that the dolt never cared
for the Papacy, but only for saving souls! I fear no
such cause of defeat for a Medici, but I hear rumours
concerning Giovanni which make me fear that he is not
crafty enough for success. He has been dissolute; that
is no hindrance to a cardinal’s hat or even to the tiara;
the folly I dread is more fatal. They say that he has
reformed his life and is thinking of marriage. If this is
true, I renounce his cause in favor of that of Cæsar
Borgia, who has the audacity of a lion joined to the
rascality of a fox, and who is not hindered from the
putting in practice of my principles by any so cowardly
and stupid a thing as a conscience. And yet they say
that his superb physical manhood is now a wreck,
bloated and permeated through and through with the
subtle poison which his family alone knows how to prepare,
and whose effects they can only partially eradicate.
Savonarola, Borgia, Medici, blunderers all! What name
will the next wave bring to the surface?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p>
<p>“But a truce to politics. You know this is a subject
from which I can no more keep my thoughts than a
greedy urchin can forbear thrusting his fingers into a pot
of comfits. I am not so absorbed in my favourite pastime,
however, but I can take an interest in all that interests
my friends, especially in such matters as are flavoured
with a spice of intrigue, than which no condiment soever
is better suited to my palate. Touching, therefore,
the matter concerning which you wrote me, I think that
you, as chief architect to his Holiness, have indeed cause
to fear the rivalry of Michael Angelo, for I am credibly
informed that he is minded presently to journey toward
Rome. Moreover, since it is the practice of popes to be
always meddling with works of art, marring and defacing
the excellent things done in the Pontificates of those
preceding them,—when they cannot improve upon them,—and
whereas they are a whimsical lot, not long contented
with one object or one workman, be he ever so
excellent, you have sufficient cause, I say, to fear, having
now continued in favour for some time, that this Michael
Angelo will supplant you in the favour of his Holiness. I
would suggest, therefore, that you search about for some
new artist, who shall occupy himself with a line of
work as fresco painting, not in any way interfering with
your own architectural designs, but rather depending
upon them; and that you make haste to introduce him
to the Pope, and if possible ingratiate him into his favour
that, his mind being taken up with this new favourite, and
his purse lightened by the dispensing of moneys for
these new works, he will be less inclined to look favourably
upon a new architect such as Michael Angelo.
And inasmuch as it seemeth to me that this thing requireth
haste, I have looked about me somewhat in
Florence to find a man suited to your occasions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span></p>
<p>“I first bethought me of Leonardo da Vinci as being
the successful rival of Michael Angelo in this city, and
against whom he could not for a moment contend. But
da Vinci hath no drawings toward Rome. I have
marked for a long time that he cutteth his doublet after
the French fashion. Trust me, he is no man for us; he
would rather trip it merrily with French dames than
wear out his knees on the cold scagliola of the Vatican.
I have bethought me also that Leonardo is too old and
subtle for you; you need a man whom you can manage;
who shall look up to you as a patron and as a superior.
My eye hath lately fallen upon a youngster of surprising
talent as a painter, a stranger in Florence, of no great
influence, and utterly unknown to fame. He hath as yet
no great opinion of himself; make haste to secure him
before others shall enlighten him as to his merits. This
youth is called Raphael Santi, and I make sure that the
pope will greatly prefer this silken dove to that porcupine
Angelo.</p>
<p>“I would the more willingly see him advanced in some
foreign city in that my good friend Cardinal Bibbiena
seems desirous with all expedition to get him forth from
Florence, and yet it is not so much from a desire to
pleasure Bibbiena, as from a conviction that I have
found here a tool of proper service to thee, that I thus
recommend him to thy good offices.</p>
<p>“To conclude, my Bramante, make all speed to inform
his Holiness that the walls of the Vatican are cracked,
smoky, filthy, and disgraceful, and above all things fetch
thy Raphael quickly and gain for him a personal interview;
for I trust more to the charm of his presence
than to volumes of thy bungling speech.</p>
<p>“And when thou hast need of further counsel, or
seest that the pope desireth an Ahithophel,—now the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span>
counsel of Ahithophel which he counselled in those days
was as if a man had enquired at the oracle,—why send
then and fetch thy ever loving and honest friend,<br />
<span class="sign2">“Macchiavelli.</span><br />
<span class="smcap">“Florence</span>, October 12, 1504.<br />
</p></div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="hangingindent">“<cite>Maria Bibbiena to the Lady Alfonsina Orsini Medici,
wife of Piero dei Medici, at Urbino:</cite></p>
<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Florence</span>, October 15, 1504.</p>
<p class="hangingindent"><span class="smcap">“Most magnificent, most beloved, and most sweet
lady:</span><br />
</p>
<p>“Since I last made bold to write you of my small
matters, others more weighty to me have transpired,
which, as I have made a beginning, I will also make an
end in the way of their narration. And first I have met
with a small disquietness from your highness’s brother-in-law,
the Cardinal, concerning whose presence in
Florence I had not heard. For yestreen, when I was
playing upon my lute in the garden of the palazzo of
your daughter, Madonna Strozzi, he came upon me suddenly
walking with your daughter. Whereat he seemed
at first taken all aback, but the Lady Maddalena exclaimed,
‘A new Petrarch, and new Laura,’ and commanded
him on his fame as a scholar to make some
rhymes on that subject. Whereat he replied that if I
would continue playing he would write, as his patron, St.
Cupid, gave him utterance, and with that he improvised
and wrote out the nonsense herewith following:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“In all Avignon’s gardens the nightingales were mute<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As at her open casement she played upon her lute.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lonely scholar Petrarch wandered all listlessly;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">‘The old man with the hour-glass has sure some grudge ’gainst me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sands they fall so sluggishly that tell the flight of time;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My studies all are tedium, and weariness my rhyme.’</span><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>
<span class="i0">’Twas then the Lady Laura, with lips like ripened fruit,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And lily-petalled fingers, full sweetly touched the lute.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lonely Petrarch listened, as she sang, so sweet and low,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A soft love-laden sonnet, writ by Boccaccio.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till Cupid snatched the hour-glass from loitering Father Time,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Petrarch’s life was all too short to tell his love in rhyme.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“After the reading, our lady daughter would have
me crown the poet, but this I would in no manner consent
unto. Nay, I even flung down my lute in vexation
of spirit, and ran away to another part of the garden.
But I gained nothing thereby, for Giovanni pursued
after me and came up with me at the fountain, where he
caught my hand and would in no wise restore my freedom
till he had delivered his mind of what lay thereon,
namely, that he sought me for his wife. Whereupon I
told him very plainly that I knew that he had been bred
up for the Church, and that it were disloyalty to his
brother, your highness’s husband, and to his nephew,
your son Lorenzo, for him to think of marriage and a
worldly life, for by so doing the Medici interest would
be divided. But he said that if I would but be his wife
he would relinquish all claim to political power and
Lorenzo should not fear for his succession, for he would
go with me to dwell in foreign parts. And while I
sought in the corners of my mind for some answer
which should convince him of my utter lothness, and
yet not offend so noble a gentleman, came suddenly your
daughter to warn him that others were entering the garden;
but ere he went he kissed a rose and tossed it to
me saying, ‘This rose comes not from Giovanni the
Cardinal, but Giovanni the soldier, for henceforth go I
to fight the French and to win my bride.’</p>
<p>“Scarcely was he gone than I tore the rose in pieces,
wroth that I had been so tongue-tied in his presence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>
And while I shred the petals all about me, I was aware
of Raphael coming to meet me, and holding in his hand
a lily such as we see in the pictures of the Virgin, which
lily he placed in my hand, saying:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sicut lilium inter spinas<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sic Maria inter filias.<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“And as he saw me to tremble with the vexation and
the disquiet of my interview with the gay cardinal, he
most courteously and gently inquired the cause of my
discomfort, and did so comfortably avail to assuage my
distress that I presently forgot it. He told me also that
since he had known me he had so grown into an affection
for the name of Maria, that he had resolved to devote
his life, in so far as choice should be vouchsafed
him, to the painting of Maria Sanctissima. And many
other things he said which it is not meet nor proper that
I should write out here. Suffice it that you, who love
your dear lord, can well understand my present joyful
state, and why it is that the nuns, singing now the canticle
for the Feast of the Purification in the convent next
to the palazzo, seem to be addressing their song to me:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gaude, virgo gloriosa!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Super omnes speciosa!<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“For happiest of all Virgins is thy little<br />
<span class="sign2">“Maria.</span><br />
</p></div>
<p>“It was this last letter which broke my
heart, and yet did not so much break as bend
it so that I gave up the hope which I could
no longer keep not in bitterness or in wrath,
and resigned myself to my destiny as monk
and pope; when Maria Bibbiena died, all too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>
early, I wept not my own shattered future
alone, but Raphael’s as well, and so took him
to my heart, though he knew not the reason,
and so I beseech the efficacious prayers of all
Christians for all true lovers.</p>
<p>
“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Et pro nobis Christum Exora.</i><br />
<span class="sign5">“Giovanni de’ Medici,</span><br />
<span class="sign6">“The Ghost of the Cabinet.”</span><br />
</p></div>
<hr class="l1"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XVI.<br />
<small>THE MYSTERY DISCLOSED.</small></h2>
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<p class="cap in2"><span class="upper">Winnie’s</span>
romance of
the cabinet
pleased us
all, but Adelaide
was sure
that Madame
would not allow it
to be read without
certain
changes, especially
the reference to the
robbery in the school,
and the “lovering” parts.</p>
<p>“You need not imagine,” said Milly, “that
because you object to lovering, all the rest of
the world does. Why, even Miss Noakes has
a softer heart than Adelaide’s. But really
and truly, Winnie, how much of that is true?
Was Raphael really engaged?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p>
<p>“Most certainly, my dear.”</p>
<p>“And did Leo X love her too? You made
me ever so sorry for the poor old pope.”</p>
<p>“Well, no, that part is the only one for
which I have no warrant in history. That is,
I have no doubt that Leo X really did love
some one before he took the irrevocable
vows. He was what Browning calls</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">‘Sworn fast and tonsured pate, plain heaven’s celibate,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And yet earth’s clear accepted servitor,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A courtly, spiritual Cupid,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fit companion for the like of you;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your gay Abati with the well turned leg,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And rose i’ the hat rim. Canon’s cross at neck,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And silk mask in the pocket of the gown.’”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“The cabinet is such an uncanny old
thing,” said Milly, “that I begin almost to
believe that you have divined the truth, and
that an uneasy spirit really haunts its
vicinity.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps the fact that we now only keep
school books in the cabinet is the reason the
ghost has been so very quiet of late,” said
Winnie. “Or, perhaps it has repented its
evil deeds and my essay has given it the peace
of conscience which only comes through confession.
If it were an unrepenting spirit it
would, as Milly suggests, be very unwilling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>
that I should publish its evil deeds by reading
this essay. I believe that I will give it an
opportunity of showing whether it approves
of my reading its confessions. Here, Tib,
take everything else off your shelf, and I will
lay my essay there and call on the spirit to
make away with it, if, indeed, he is able and
wicked enough to do it.”</p>
<p>Adelaide, Milly, and I watched the incantation
with much amusement.</p>
<p>“Guilty ghost,” exclaimed Winnie, striking
an attitude, “if you have repented of
your crimes, and the reading of this essay will
allow you henceforth to rest in peace, I hereby
exorcise you, and command you to affix
some seal of your approval to this paper—either
the print of a bloody hand or at least
X your mark.” Hereupon Winnie, with a
flourish, laid her essay on my shelf and closed
the cabinet door. “If, guilty ghost,” she continued,
“you are still up to your tricks, and
having taken the money which Tib confided
to her shelf, are determined to go on in your
evil ways, I hereby dare you to steal that
essay within the next half hour, we keeping
watch and ward in this room!”</p>
<p>“I think it is no fair test,” I said, “unless
you leave it there overnight. Both of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>
other robberies were committed just at midnight.
This ghost may be of a bashful disposition,
or possibly not good-natured enough
to walk at your call in broad daylight.”</p>
<p>“Well, if he doesn’t appear within a half
hour I’ll give him another chance, ‘in the
dead vast and middle of the night,’ ‘when
churchyards yawn,’ et-cetera. Here, Milly,
lend me your watch, that I may time our
visitor.”</p>
<p>We all sat for a few moments silently
watching the cabinet, but presently Adelaide
tired of this mummery and exclaimed:</p>
<p>“Really, this is too absurd! I have my
Latin prose composition to write, and cannot
spend any more time in such nonsense,
Winnie.”</p>
<p>“Write your exercise in this room. We
will all keep still, and I must have all the
Amen Corner as witnesses of my little experiment.”</p>
<p>Winnie pulled out the writing shelf, and
Adelaide seated herself at the cabinet and
wrote steadily until Winnie cried, “Time’s
up.”</p>
<p>Milly and I approached the cabinet, and
Winnie made a few magical passes in the air
and repeated an ancient hocus-pocus:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span></p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“There was a frog lived in a well,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To a rigstram boney mite kimeo.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Mistress Mouse she kept the mill,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To a karro karro, delto karro,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rigstram pummiddle arry boney rigstram<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rigstram boney mitte kimeo,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Keemo kimo darrow wa,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Munri, munro, munrum stump,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pummididle, nip cat periwinkle,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sing song, kitchee wunchee kimeo.”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Adelaide pushed in the writing shelf and
stepped aside, and Winnie threw open the
cabinet door. We could hardly believe our
eyes—the essay had disappeared.</p>
<p>Milly gave a shriek of dismay. “It must
have been a ghost. How else could it have
vanished with all of us on the watch?”</p>
<p>“Have you been playing a trick on me,
Adelaide?” Winnie asked. “Did you manage
to slip it out while we were not looking?”</p>
<p>Adelaide disclaimed any such action, and
Milly and I confirmed her assertion, for we
had been watching the door all the time.</p>
<p>Winnie wheeled the cabinet away from the
wall, almost expecting to find a concealed
door opening into Cynthia’s room. But the
wall was perfectly solid, there was not even a
mouse hole in the base-board, while the back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>
of the cabinet was not a sliding panel. We
banged it, and pushed it, and examined it
with a magnifying glass for concealed springs
or hinges. It was simply an honest piece of
work, a secure, heavy back, conspicuously fastened
in its place with wooden pegs, a construction
to which cabinet makers give the term
dowelling, and to make assurance doubly sure,
the edges had been glued with a cement which
had turned black with age, but had not
cracked. There was no possible way in
which the cabinet could have been opened
from behind.</p>
<p>“There goes my pet theory,” said Winnie,
in an aggrieved tone. “It would have been
just like Cynthia to have removed things from
the back of the cabinet, if we could only have
discovered a concealed door in the partition
behind it. You see the cabinet backs so conveniently
against her room.”</p>
<p>But there was no possibility of any door
having ever existed here. The partition wall
was not of boards, which might have been
sawed through and removed. It was clean
white plaster which had never been papered,
and would have betrayed the least scratch,
and Winnie was obliged to relinquish this romantic
method of access to the cabinet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span></p>
<p>“I shall always think,” said Adelaide, “that
the first robbery was committed by that individual
we saw through the studio transom in
Professor Waite’s great Rembrandt hat.”</p>
<p>Winnie laughed heartily. “Girls, I may as
well confess,” she exclaimed, “that was your
humble servant.”</p>
<p>“You, Winnie?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I, Winnie. Don’t you remember
that I was not in the parlor when the head
appeared? I was in the studio, and it struck
me that it would be rather a good joke to pretend
to be Professor Waite, tramping up and
down before that door, tormented by a consuming
passion for Adelaide. Wait, I will
put the hat on again and let you see.” Winnie
dashed into the studio and returned wearing
the Rembrandt hat, and we all laughed at
her cavalier appearance.</p>
<p>“But, girls,” she exclaimed, throwing the hat
on the floor, “this is really no laughing matter.
Do you realize that my essay is gone?
My essay that I am to read next week. And
how I am ever to find time to write it over
again, with examinations and all that I have
to do between now and then, is more than I
know. Just see how wickedly Giovanni de’
Medici leers at me!” and Winnie pointed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>
the carved head which adorned the centre of
the cabinet door. “Oh! what shall I do?
what shall I do?”</p>
<p>Winnie soon answered that question for
herself, by writing another essay, and improving
it in the process. But the disappearance
of the Florentine letters was a nine days’ wonder.
We searched the room thoroughly and
even stepped out on the fire-escape and looked
up and down for some bird of heaven that
might have carried them away. “I shall always
maintain,” said Milly, “that it is no real
thief at all. Of course, none of us really believe
in the ghost theory, though it is almost
enough to make one turn spiritualist to be
made the victim of such a trick. I believe
that in the end it will be found that somebody’s
little pet poodle has found his way in
here, and like Old Mother Hubbard’s dog has
a weakness for cupboards, and has chewed up
everything that he has found. Sometime
Nemesis will overtake that little poodle and he
will be laid upon the dissecting table, and
all of the money and Winnie’s essay will be
found in his little gizzard.”</p>
<p>It was an absurd suggestion, but nothing
seemed to explain the mystery, and we finally
all gave it up. All but Winnie. She continued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>
to worry about it. She laid many
traps for her ghost, baiting them with edibles
under the supposition that the thief might be
an animal; and with money, tying silken
threads around the cabinet, fastening the
handle of the door to a bell in her own room,
but they were all unavailing; the robber came
no more.</p>
<p>The cadets’ prize declamation came before
our graduation, and we all attended the exercises.</p>
<p>Stacey did not take a prize, but, as he
laughingly told Milly, his coat did, and that
was honour enough.</p>
<p>Woodpecker was the honour man that day,
and as Woodpecker was a poor man’s son, he
had no dress suit, and Stacey lent him his
coat to appear in while he delivered his oration—Stacey
sitting in his shirt sleeves behind
the scenes meantime. Woodpecker’s
long arms soared and the stitches in the back
cracked, but he spoke with fire, and the committee
unanimously awarded his “Description
of a Chariot Race” the first prize, while
Buttertub’s sonorous voice and grandiloquent
manner secured the second for his “Philosophy
of Socrates,” and Stacey’s “Athletic
Games of Greece” came off with an “honourable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>
mention” only. There was a good deal
of what Jim called “kicking” at this decision.
The drum corps, to a man, felt that Stacey
ought to have had the first prize, and there
was not a boy in the school, not excepting
Buttertub, who did not think Stacey’s essay
infinitely more entertaining than the Socratic
philosophy. The Commodore, fortunately,
was of this opinion. Stacey’s stock had risen
rapidly in his father’s estimate. The essay
interested the Commodore, and it made no
difference to him that the committee did not
agree with him; in his opinion Stacey was the
brightest boy in the school. We girls shared
this feeling. Stacey’s bouquets proclaimed
him the most popular fellow in the class. The
usher kept bringing them up, and it was impossible
for Stacey to carry all his floral tributes
from the stage at one time.</p>
<p>Woodpecker enjoyed the popularity of his
friend more than his own honors. He had
laid a wager with Ricos that Stacey would
carry off the first prize, promising that if he
did not, he, Woodpecker, would trundle a
wheelbarrow down Fifth Avenue. Having
lost the wager by his own triumph Woodpecker
gaily proceeded to pay the penalty by
carrying Stacey’s bouquets in a light wheelbarrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>
to the Buckingham Hotel—where
Commodore and Mrs. Fitz Simmons had taken
rooms—immediately after the exercises.</p>
<p>Stacey himself did not overestimate this
expression of his friend’s regard, but it helped
soften his disappointment at not obtaining the
first prize. He was not embittered as at his
failure at the games, but humbled in a salutary
way. He saw his true position: a
talented fellow, who until recently had not
tried to make the best use of his opportunities,
and who could not reasonably hope for
the highest rewards after such brief effort.
But something within him whispered, “You
can do it yet. You can be something more
than a dude and a good fellow,” and he resolved
to devote his vacation to serious training
in his studies.</p>
<p>It gave him a thrill of pleasure, strangely
mingled with humility, to see the Commodore’s
delight, just as he was handing Mrs. Fitz
Simmons into the carriage, at hearing the old
cry from the drum corps, who had been lined
up in front of the barracks by Buttertub for
that purpose, and gave it with a will—Jim’s
shrill voice joining in the final cheer:</p>
<p>“Who’s Fitz Simmons?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span></p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“First in peace, first in war,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He’ll be there again, as he’s been there before,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">First in the hearts of his own drum corps,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s Fitz Simmons!”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>The Roseveldts were coming down the
steps, and Milly heard it too, and waved her
handkerchief, and Stacey opened the carriage
door and waved his hat to her—though the
drum corps thought it was in acknowledgment
of their salute, and closing round Woodpecker
and his wheelbarrow escorted him
down the Avenue.</p>
<p>There were tears in Mrs. Fitz Simmons’s
eyes as she pressed her husband’s hand, and
the Commodore, not wishing to show his satisfaction
too plainly, asked who that pretty
girl was who waved her handkerchief so enthusiastically.</p>
<p>“You don’t deserve it, you young dog,” he
asserted. “Now if she had smiled in that
way at me I would have cared more for it
than for all the hullabaloo those young rascals
are making.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps I do,” was the reply on Stacey’s
lips, but it was uttered so quietly that only
his mother heard it, and understood as
mothers always do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span></p>
<p>And then through the days that followed,
Stacey buckled down to hard work again, and
won, as such work is sure to win, its reward.</p>
<p>“Passed his examinations, admitted to Harvard!
Why, of course,” said the Commodore.
“There never was any doubt of it.” But
Stacey knew that there had been great doubt,
and that the expression of esteem by which he
was held by his classmates, which had pleased
his father so much, was a very slight thing
compared to this quiet victory, gained through
hours of unregarded toil and for which no
cheers were shouted or flowers borne after
him in noisy triumph.</p>
<p>The opening of the college gates was the
entering of a better race for Stacey. He felt
that he was now indeed a man, and must put
away childish things.</p>
<p>We of the Amen Corner had been chatting
together, the evening before our commencement,
of what we intended to do during vacation.
“First of all,” said Adelaide, “I want
some home life. I want to get acquainted
with my own mother. I feel now that we can
be companionable. I am not very learned, it
is true, but I am certainly more mature than
when we were together last. I ought to be
not only a help to her, but a sort of comrade.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>
She has kept herself young at heart, and her
society will recompense me in part for the
loss of yours. We are going to study music
seriously together. She plays my accompaniments
very nicely. Indeed, I think she has
more talent than I have, only she is out of
practice, and her repertoire is a little old-fashioned,
but it will be very easy for her to
put herself in touch with modern requirements.
Then father has planned a delightful
occupation for me. You know how fond I am
of practical architecture. Well, he has purchased
a delightful old colonial mansion in
Deerfield, a charming village in western
Massachusetts. It is an old homestead which
has fallen into disrepair from having been
long unoccupied, for the family which once
inhabited it have all died. The one distant
relative who owns the place lives in the West,
and has sold it to father. I am to have the
direction of all the repairs and restorations,
and I mean to truly restore the old house to
its original condition. We will board in the
village while the changes are being made. It
will be just the place for Jim to grow strong in.
Father writes that it has the loveliest elm-shaded
street, and a hundred different drives
over the hills and along its three rivers.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span></p>
<p>“You need not tell us anything about
Deerfield,” Winnie interrupted. “Tib and I
drove through the old town on our coaching
trip. It is the most charming spot that I
ever saw. I congratulate you on having such
a delightful prospect before you.”</p>
<p>“And I hereby invite you all to come to
the hanging of the crane when my restorations
are finished,” Adelaide continued cordially.
“That will be in September, I think,
for they will take all summer at least, and
you’ve no idea how I shall enjoy planning
everything and directing the workmen. Jim
and I are going to carve some of the woodwork
ourselves. We will have a portico like
that at Mount Vernon, with Ionic columns,
and the windows will have tiny panes and
broad seats, and there are to be china closets
with glass doors, and fan work carved over
the mantelpieces, and a raftered ceiling with
a great ‘summer-tree’ in the ‘keeping room.’
I shall enjoy it more than I can make you
understand. I don’t mean so much the possession
of the house when it is done, as altering
it, for I love architecture, and wish I
could be an architect. So much for my plans.
What are yours, Tib?”</p>
<p>“Work,” I replied; “solid work.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span></p>
<p>“I knew you would say that,” Adelaide answered.
“I have felt dissatisfied all this year
with Madame’s course of instruction. If it
were not that I really must see my mother
and have some home life, I would go to Bryn
Mawr. I positively crave some good solid
study. Madame’s curriculum makes me think
of the course of study Aurora Leigh pursued.”
Adelaide took down her favourite blue
and gold volume from its companions in the
“poets’ corner,”—a set of shelves,—and read
with comments:</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“I learnt a little algebra, a little<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the mathematics; brushed with extreme flounce<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The circle of the sciences, because<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She misliked women who are frivolous.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I learnt: The internal laws<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the Burmese Empire; by how many feet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mount Chimborazo outsoars Himmeleh.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I learnt much music, such as would have been<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As quite impossible in Johnson’s day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As still it might be wished—fine sleights of hand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And unimagined fingering, shuffling off<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hearers’ soul through hurricanes of notes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To a noisy Tophet.”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“And here you are, Tib.”</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">“And I drew costumes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From French engravings, nereides neatly draped,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With smirks of simpering godship. I washed in</span><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span>
<span class="i0">From nature, landscapes (rather say washed out),<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Spun glass, stuffed birds, and modelled flowers in wax,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because she liked accomplishments in girls.”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>“No,” I interrupted, “I will not have you
malign Professor Waite. His teaching at
least has been thorough, and I feel that I
have received very valuable training in my
art.”</p>
<p>“Then I suppose that by solid work you
mean that you will devote yourself to art this
summer, and camp under a sketching umbrella
in front of every picturesque nook you can
find.”</p>
<p>“Art will have to wait until winter,” I replied.
“I mean that I shall cook for the
farm hands during haying season, and let
mother go off for a visit to her sisters in
Northfield, where she can attend the Moody
meetings, and I shall get all the preserving
done before she returns, too.”</p>
<p>“You are just lovely, Tib,” Milly replied,
giving me a hug. “And now won’t you be surprised
when you hear what I am going to do.
Father says he is going to superintend my
education for a while. He sent me a squib
from one of the papers about the sweet girl
graduate:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span></p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">‘She talks with tears about her mates and quotes from ancient lore.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She says the Past is left behind, the Future is before.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her gown is simply stunning, but she can’t subtract or add,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, what an awful humbug is the Sweet Girl Grad!’<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>Father is going through practical business
arithmetic with me, and says he means to
teach me how to take care of money, and even
fit me to take a position in his bank.”</p>
<p>“I pity your father,” said Winnie. “But
seriously, Milly, it is the best thing you could
do.”</p>
<p>“There is something else,” Milly said, with
a painful blush, “which father says is the
foundation of business, and in which I have
already had one lesson, and that is honesty.
He says that all the sad failures, embezzlements,
and defalcations come from borrowing
money that does not belong to one—using
money for one purpose that was intended for
another; and he means to go over a great
many such cases with me to show me on what
a terrible precipice I have been playing. But
indeed he need not say another word, for I
have been severely punished, and I think I
would rather put my hand into fire than go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span>
into debt one dollar, or spend a penny for
marsh-mellows that father had given me for
chocolate creams.”</p>
<p>Winnie turned and kissed Milly. “I would
trust you with millions,” she said; “but
Adelaide is the only one in the Corner who
knows anything about business.”</p>
<p>“I am sure, Winnie,” I replied, “that the
way you have managed the Home finances
disproves that modest assertion. What are
you going to do during the summer?”</p>
<p>“I have no mother, you know,” Winnie
said gravely, “but I am going to my father,
and shall try to make his life a little less
lonely for him. He writes that his eyes have
been troubling him. Perhaps he can dictate
to me and I can be his amanuensis. I shall
take my paint-box with me, and mean to daub
a little all summer. Professor Waite has no
faith in my genius, but I intend to astonish
that gentleman one of these days. He admits
that I have an eye for colour, and the
rest can be learned. If father can spare me
for a week I shall accept your invitation,
Adelaide, and when I appear you must give
me the interior of a room to decorate. It
will be startling, I tell you. I have a good
deal of King’s Daughter work to do, too.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span>
You know we have not raised the money for
the Manger, and the Home must have it, for
they have been receiving the babies, though
they have no good nursery. Now in the
summer we all do more or less fancy work,
and I am going to write to all the circles of
King’s Daughters with whom we are in correspondence,
and ask them to work for a fair,
which we will hold in New York in the
autumn. I have had a talk with Madame and
she favors the idea. She even suggested that
each circle should be invited to send a delegate
who should assist in selling the articles
at the tables, and very generously offered to
entertain them here for three days during the
continuance of the fair. You see, the school
is never full at the beginning of the term, and
perhaps she thinks it will be a good advertisement
of her institution, to have girls from all
over the county meet here, though there is
really no need of imputing such mercenary
motives to her. I have spoken about it at
the Home to Emma Jane, and she will see
that the proposition is made at the next
meeting of the Board of Managers.”</p>
<p>“Well, you certainly have your hands full,”
Milly remarked, “but I think I can help you
after our tennis tournament is over. I will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span>
get the girls at the Pier to make fancy work
for you if I can get any time from my arithmetic.
Where will you hold the fair?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t planned as far as that.”</p>
<p>“I think the new armory at the barracks
will be a splendid place,” Milly suggested.
“I will get Stacey to ask Colonel Grey if we
can use it, and then perhaps the cadets will
be interested to do something to assist in the
entertainment. They might act a play or
furnish the music at least.”</p>
<p>“I will drum up the two circles of King’s
Daughters at Scup Harbor,” I said, “and we
will have a useful table, with holders and
aprons and dish-wipers; pickles, honey, butter,
and preserves. Why, certainly, home-made
preserves. While I’m about it this summer I
will make you some currant jelly and pickled
peaches.”</p>
<p>“You had better paint something,” Adelaide
said; “and you must take charge of the art
department.”</p>
<p>“If I can come to town,” I said. “And I
will start the movement before I go by asking
Professor Waite to get contributions from his
artist friends before he goes abroad.”</p>
<p>“I have been greatly touched by one thing,”
said Winnie. “The interest which the Terwilligers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span>
have taken in this scheme. I happened
to mention it to Polo, and the entire
family have risen to the occasion. Mrs. Terwilliger
sent word that she wouldn’t consider it
too much if she worked for us to her dying
day, considering the way her young ones had
been ‘done for’ while she was sick. She has
been collecting scraps of silk for a long time
past to make a crazy quilt, and she intends to
donate it to us. I fear me it will be a horror;
but it shows her good-will all the same. Terwilliger,
the trainer, says he means to collect
sticks from noted places during Mr. Van Silver’s
coaching tour, to be made into canes and
other souvenirs for us. Polo will not have
time to work for the fair, for she must sew
with Miss Billings this summer. I wish she
could go to the country instead.”</p>
<p>“I am going to invite her to Deerfield for
August,” said Adelaide. “The Home children
ought to be able to do something for the
fair. Have you thought of them, Winnie?”</p>
<p>“Emma Jane will see that they manufacture
a quantity of little articles in their sewing
class,” Winnie replied. “They can hem
towels and make bibs and bags and useful
articles. I am really sorry that we cannot
have the reception at the Home, for I would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>
like to have people see those nice, fat
babies.”</p>
<p>“They shall see them,” Milly replied. “I’ve
an idea. We will devote one afternoon at
the fair to a baby show. Do you remember
the bicycle drill? Well, I will get Stacey to
lend me his artillery tactics, and I will get up
some manœuvres with baby carriages. We
will call it the infantry brigade. The older
children shall wheel the carriages. I will
drill them without the babies at first. And
then we will have them well strapped in, and
then there will be a triumphal procession by
twos and fours, and I’ll deploy them in line
and draw them up in a hollow square, and
make them ‘present arms,’ and ‘carry’ and
‘shoulder arms,’ and double quick and
charge. It will be lots of fun; and one baby
carriage shall have a flag fastened to it, for
that baby must be the colour bearer, and we’ll
have music, of course, and medals for all the
babies. Then when people see what a lot of
children we have, with no annex to put them
in, they will rise to the occasion and contribute.”<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p>
<p>“I think something of the kind might
really be arranged,” Winnie replied. “The
Hornets are sure to be equally fertile in expedients.
I foresee that the plan will be a
great success, and it has one admirable feature—it
will reunite us all in New York next
winter for a week at least, and I wonder what
will happen after that.”</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">“I do not ask to see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The distant scene; one step enough for me,”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>said Adelaide softly, quoting from “Lead,
Kindly Light,” her favorite hymn. There
was something strangely vibrant in her tone.
I knew without looking that Adelaide was on
the point of tears, but I was at a loss to
understand the reason.</p>
<p>The rest of us had had our fits of hysterical
weeping at the idea of parting from one
another, but Adelaide was always so superior<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span>
to any weakness of that sort. What could
be the matter?</p>
<p>Our great, last school day, so paradoxically
called commencement, came at last. The
exercises were in the evening, and we of the
Amen Corner and many others of the girls
would not leave the school until the following
morning.</p>
<p>We received our diplomas in the school
chapel, which had been beautifully decorated
for the occasion. Buttertub’s father, who was
a friend of Madame’s, addressed us at some
length as we stood before him on the platform.
I remember that Adelaide never
looked more peerless, nor Milly more bewitching;
and that Winnie, mischievous as
ever, found a rose bug on her bouquet and
could not forbear dropping it on Commodore
Fitz Simmons’s bald head. The Commodore
was in full uniform and had been shown to a
front seat just beneath the platform. I think
Winnie really meant to snap the rose bug at
Stacey, but the projectile fell short of its aim.
Then the sweet girl graduates in clouds of
mull and chiffon, drifted into the school parlours,
and there was a reception, and Adelaide
and Milly were besieged by battalions of
friends, but I was quite lonely and awkward,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>
and held my bouquet and rolled diploma
stiffly, until Winnie caught me about the waist
and whirled me off for a little dance, for
Madame had permitted this. After the dance
there were refreshments in the dining-room,
and we all went down, with the exception of
Adelaide, who was on the reception committee,
and had been stationed in the front parlour
to receive any tardy guest. I met
Professor Waite bringing up an ice as I went
down the stairs, and Milly drew me into a
corner, her eyes dancing with mischief as I
entered the supper-room.</p>
<p>“Something is going to happen,” she said
to me mysteriously. “I have given Professor
Waite his opportunity, and if he doesn’t seize
it and propose I shall never forgive him. I
saw him moving around here, looking bored
to death, and I asked him to please take an
ice to Adelaide, who, I happened to mention,
was all alone in the parlour. He seized the
idea and the ice simultaneously. I saw resolve
in his eye, and now we must keep people
down here as long as we can.”</p>
<p>“What shall we do with Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong
and Jim?” I asked. “They are all so
proud of Adelaide they will be with her in a
moment.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span></p>
<p>“Winnie is in the plot and has special care
of them. Jim thinks there never was quite so
jolly a girl as Winnie. They are discussing
the cabinet now. Mrs. Armstrong thinks
that some one of us may be a somnambulist
and have hidden the things in our sleep.”</p>
<p>“What a strategic little girl you are, Milly!
What made you think of this opportunity for
Professor Waite?”</p>
<p>“Oh! that was the way Stacey found his
chance, you know. Speak of angels——How
nice of you, Stacey, to bring me that
salad. I am positively dying for something
to eat. Wasn’t the Bishop too longsome for
anything? I thought I should expire, and I
was wild to get across the stage at Winnie,
whose back hair was coming down. No, I
shall not tell you what we were saying about
you. Do get me some chicken salad. I can’t
endure lobster;” and as the obedient Stacey
ambled briskly away, Milly confided to me:
“Do you know, Tib, Adelaide is beginning
to care for Professor Waite? What makes
me think so? Oh, I know the symptoms.
She was packing so late last night that I
nearly fell asleep, but not quite, for just as I was
dozing off I saw her drop on her knees before
her trunk with her face in a great white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span>
handkerchief, and while I was wondering
where she ever got such a great sheet of a
thing, it suddenly dawned upon me that it
was the silk muffler which Professor Waite
wrapped around her burned hands the night
of our Halloween scrape. Suddenly it seemed
to occur to her that I might be looking, and
she turned to look at me, but I had my
eyes shut and was snoring like an angel.
Of course angels snore, Stacey Fitz Simmons.
Did you ever catch an angel asleep? and if
not what right have you to make fun of me?
Dear me, there is the Bishop starting to go
upstairs, and they don’t need him a bit—as
yet.”</p>
<p>Milly darted across the room, planted herself
squarely in the Bishop’s way, and exerted
her powers of entertainment to such effect
that Stacey became blindly jealous, though
Buttertub had not come with his father, apparently
having had quite enough of Madame’s
young ladies and their entertainments.</p>
<p>And meantime, how was Professor Waite
thriving with his wooing? Adelaide told me
long afterward, so long that it was too late for
any word of mine to set all right, and filled
my heart with pity, not alone for the Professor,
but, alas! for Adelaide also.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span></p>
<p>Professor Waite offered her the ice, which
she took and thanked him very sweetly, though
he had dripped it awkwardly upon her dress.
Then, as Adelaide began to eat it, he inconsistently
took it away from her, saying, “Don’t
eat now, I have something important to say
to you, and I want your entire attention.”</p>
<p>“Oh! certainly. What is it?” Adelaide
replied, knowing exactly what he wished to
say, and determined to prevent his saying it.</p>
<p>“Miss Adelaide, I began to say what was on
my mind last Halloween——”</p>
<p>“Oh! yes, and pardon me for interrupting
you, but you remind me that I must return
your muffler, which I have kept all this time.
I will get it now,” and Adelaide tried to slip
by him and out of the door.</p>
<p>“No, you must not get it now,” the Professor
exclaimed, barring her way with his extended
hand in which he still held the dish of
ice-cream. “I must speak to you, Miss Adelaide.
I may never have another opportunity.”</p>
<p>“In that case do set down that ice-cream,
for you are spilling it over everything.”</p>
<p>The Professor obeyed her.</p>
<p>“See,” she added pathetically, “you have
nearly ruined the front of my gown——”</p>
<p>“But that is nothing,” he asserted, “and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>
you must not try to divert me from my purpose
by calling my attention to such a trifle.
These little subterfuges are unworthy of you,
Adelaide. You know what it is that I wish to
say and you must hear me.”</p>
<p>Thus driven into a corner Adelaide looked
him squarely in the eyes, and braced herself
for the attack.</p>
<p>“You know that I love you, Adelaide?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I know it.”</p>
<p>“That I have loved you from the first moment
that I saw you—desperately, hopelessly?”</p>
<p>“Thank you for saying that, Professor
Waite; it would have been wicked in me to
have given you hope. I never meant to do
so. I am glad that you have not misunderstood
me. And since you give me credit
for not encouraging you, rather for striving
to keep you from this avowal, why have you
spoken? I would so gladly have spared you
the pain, the humiliation of a refusal.”</p>
<p>“You have not allowed me to finish what I
was saying. I loved you at first hopelessly
for I saw that you scorned me; but lately you
have not scorned me. You have pitied me;
you have been very kind and considerate;
your manner has wholly changed, and I believed
that your feelings had changed also.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span></p>
<p>Something in Adelaide’s honest eyes
flamed up as he spoke. She could not even
look a lie, though she tried hard to do so.</p>
<p>“I am right,” he cried triumphantly, “you
have changed! You love me? Adelaide,
you love me!”</p>
<p>His arms were almost about her, but she
kept him off.</p>
<p>“It is impossible, Professor Waite. It can
never be,” she replied solemnly.</p>
<p>“Never is a long day. I will not urge you,
or hasten you. I will be patient and wait, for
you have changed, and you will love me
wholly by and by. It is our destiny. God
meant us for each other. I cannot</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Make thee glorious by my pen<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And famous by my sword,<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p>but I can do it with my brush, and I will
spend my life painting you, Adelaide. Art
and Love! It is too much for mortal man to
possess and live.”</p>
<p>“Be content with art,” Adelaide replied
gently. “It is a great gift, and must console
you, for I cannot be your wife.”</p>
<p>“Cannot? Why not?”</p>
<p>“I will tell you. You think you love me,
but it will pass. I regard you very highly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span>
but not above duty. The feeling which I
have for you, Professor Waite, cannot be love,
since it is perfectly easy for me now to give
you up——”</p>
<p>“No,” he assented; “if that is true you do
not love me.”</p>
<p>“Listen! The reason that it is easy for me,
is not that I do not respect and admire you;
not that I am not grateful to you, and do not
suffer in giving you pain; not that I might
not come to care still more for you, but because
I know that a far tenderer heart than mine is
wholly yours; that some one else, who richly
deserves your affection, loves you with an
utter self-abnegation of which I am incapable——”</p>
<p>“I know of whom you speak,” he cried impatiently,
“but she is a child, and will outgrow
this fancy. God knows that I am innocent,
Adelaide, of having ever deluded her
foolish little heart.”</p>
<p>“All too innocent; you might have treated
her more kindly!”</p>
<p>“What! When I can never love her?”</p>
<p>“Never is a long day. You have said so.
You are going away. Try to forget me and
to love her, and when you return again two
years hence to America——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span></p>
<p>“When I return she will be married; she
will, at least, have outgrown this silly dream.”</p>
<p>Adelaide shook her head. “Promise me
that you will do as I ask; that you will go and
ask her when you come again.”</p>
<p>“And if she refuses me, as she certainly
will, may I come to you for the reward of my
obedience?”</p>
<p>Again the tell-tale light flashed in Adelaide’s
eyes, but she only said: “She will not refuse
you.” And in the hall Milly’s voice was heard
in a high key, with the best of intentions,
announcing the return of the guests from the
dining-room, as she replied to some banter of
Stacey’s:</p>
<p>“Indeed, Stacey Fitz Simmons, I never
change my mind—never.”</p>
<p>“Good-by,” said Adelaide.</p>
<p>Professor Waite raised the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portière</i> for her
to pass. “You are very cruel,” he murmured.</p>
<p>“You will thank me for this some day,”
she said, and the curtain of an impenetrable
fate fell between them.</p>
<p>Milly seized my arm a few moments later.
“I don’t understand it at all,” she said,
“but Adelaide has certainly refused Professor
Waite. I met him just now in the hall, and
he glared at me like a maniac. I was positively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span>
afraid of him. I ran in to speak to
Adelaide, but others had entered before me,
and she only took my hand and squeezed
it tight, while she talked with the Bishop.
And Tib, she was as white as a sheet.”</p>
<p>While making allowances for Milly’s exaggerations,
it seemed probable to me that her
deductions were correct. Something unusual
had happened, for when we went to our rooms
we found that Adelaide had already retired
for the night, and had taken Cynthia’s empty
room, leaving a note for Milly saying that she
had a headache and would rather be alone.</p>
<p>If we had known, Milly and I, that
Adelaide had put from her a love whose
dearness she only realized after its sacrifice,
we might have saved her years of heroic self-abnegation,
and so have frustrated God’s plan
for making her a resolute, generous, and noble
character.</p>
<p>But we did not know it, and the two girls
who loved each other so dearly looked into
each other’s eyes at parting, and thought that
they read each other’s souls there, and yet
misunderstood the reading as completely as if
they had been utter strangers.</p>
<p>It was fortunate, shall we not say providential,
that Adelaide occupied Cynthia’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span>
room that night, and that she was so disturbed
that she could not sleep? for toward morning
she noticed a bright light shining through the
transom over the door. Her first thought was
that the thief was at work at the cabinet, and
stealing cautiously from her bed she peered
through the key-hole. There was no one
near the cabinet, and throwing on a wrapper
she softly opened the door. The room was
vacant and the light which she had noticed
streamed in from the window. On looking
out what was her horror to see that the rear
of the house was in flames. The fire had
originated in the kitchen, and was making its
way toward the front of the building. Her
presence of mind did not desert her. She
stepped to Milly’s room, wakened her gently
and told her what was the matter, and then
her clear voice rang out, “Fire, fire!” as she
hastened to Madame’s room, sounding the
telegraphic alarm in the corridor as she went.
How differently people behave during a crisis
like this! With the exception of Adelaide, I
think we all lost our wits to a certain extent.
Milly, although wakened so gently, was quite
frightened out of hers. She dressed herself
with extreme deliberation, heating her curling
irons in the gas jet and crimping her bangs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span>
very prettily. She put on one high-buttoned
boot and one Louis Seize slipper, but was
particular about her gloves—fastening every
button—and came to me to be helped with
her graduation dress, which laced in the
back.</p>
<p>Winnie was also greatly excited. She
donned a diminutive blazer tennis jacket over
her nightgown, and seeming to consider herself
in full dress, rushed off to awaken Miss
Noakes, carrying a small pitcher of ice-water
in her hand with which to help extinguish the
fire. Having forcibly entered Miss Noakes’s
room, she emptied her pitcher in the face of
that indignant woman. I was not much better.
Possessed with the idea that I must save
things, I dragged “the commissary” from
under my bed, and filled it with an absurd collection
of useless articles—old school books,
empty pickle jars, the tidies from the chairs,
all the soap from the wash-stand, a soap stone
which my mother had insisted on my having
as a remedy for cold feet; this I carefully
wrapped in my flannel petticoat to avoid
breakage. I then tossed in the globes from
the gas fixtures, and finding that the cover of
the trunk would not go down, sat upon it,
crushing the frail glass globes to atoms. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>
was at this juncture that Milly came out to
have her dress laced, and I was so dazed that I
obeyed her. Adelaide entered a few moments
later, and, spreading a blanket on the floor,
opened the door leading into the studio for
the first time since our initial escapade of the
school year. Her intensity of feeling gave
her the strength required to push the heavy
chest aside, and she hastily collected all of
Professor Waite’s sketches and studies,
wrapped them in the blanket, and descended
the turret stairs with them. Managing—how,
she never knew—to burst open the
door at the foot, and to carry the heavy package
through the crowd which had now collected
across the park to the Home of the Elder
Brother, where Emma Jane received them.
Winnie meantime had returned from her life-saving
expedition, and assisted me in tumbling
the commissary out of the window, following
it with every other piece of furniture in
the room. We had some difficulty with the
cabinet, but finally our united efforts succeeded
in toppling it over the balcony, narrowly
missing crushing a fireman who was
coming up the escape to order us to stop
throwing out the furniture, as the fire had
been extinguished.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span></p>
<p>“How provoking!” was Winnie’s first
exclamation. “All this excitement for nothing!”
The fire had merely burned out the interior
woodwork of the kitchen; but had it not been
for Adelaide’s prompt alarm, it was impossible
to tell how much damage or even loss of life
might have ensued. On ascertaining that
there was no longer any danger, Adelaide
attempted to carry back the pictures, but
found herself quite unable to do so, and a
procession of four of the Home boys was
formed to bring them.</p>
<p>Adelaide begged us all to promise not to
tell Professor Waite of her attempt to rescue
his property, and as we were all very much
mortified by our own absurd performances,
we readily complied with her request.</p>
<p>It was late in the morning when we bethought
ourselves of picking up our shattered
property, which Winnie and I had tossed into
the yard. Fortunately, our trunks of clothing
had been so heavily packed that they had not
shared this fate. We descended and viewed
the heap of wreckage with dismay. Cerberus
came out to aid us, and, removing the
broken lounge and table, discovered the old
oak cabinet an almost unrecognizable jumble
of carved panels, for after it had fallen the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span>
lounge had descended upon it with the force
of a catapult.</p>
<p>Winnie and I picked up the panels, lamenting
loudly over the mischief which we had
done.</p>
<p>“No great harm, after all,” said Adelaide
consolingly. “The panels are only separated
at the joints; the wood is so hard that they
have not really broken,” and then she gave a
little cry: “Winnie, what does this mean?
Here is your essay!”</p>
<p>“Has Giovanni de’ Medici returned it?” I
asked.</p>
<p>“It would seem so,” Winnie replied, in
great excitement. “See, girls, here is every
bit of the stolen money! The ghost has kept
his word, and has returned it after his confession
was read publicly.”</p>
<p>“Where did you find it?” I asked, utterly
mystified.</p>
<p>“Right here, in the drawer to which we had
lost the key, just under the upper part of the
cabinet. You remember it has been locked
since the very first day of school.”</p>
<p>“But is the money all there?”</p>
<p>“Yes; your forty-seven dollars, and the
sixty from the Catacomb Party for the
Home.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span></p>
<p>“How did it ever come there?”</p>
<p>“That is what I am trying to find out.
You know it is my mystery; and, girls, I
have it! This sliding writing shelf which we
pulled out to write upon is really the floor of
the cabinet, on which Tib deposited her treasures.
When you pull it out you rake everything
upon it into the drawer below.”</p>
<p>“It must be,” said Adelaide, “that some
one pulled out that writing shelf before each
of those mysterious disappearances.” And
when we came to review the circumstances,
we remembered that it had been so in every
instance. The lost money and essay had
simply been dropped into the drawer below.
All that had seemed so inexplicable was now
made plain, and in our very last hour together—for,
as we carried the fragments
around to the turret door, we saw that the
express man had come for our trunks, and
noticed the Roseveldt carriage waiting behind
a hansom, which had just driven up to
the main entrance. On the steps Madame
was parting tenderly from Miss Noakes, who
was in travelling costume, and Mr. Mudge
sprang from the interior of the hansom to
assist her to a place beside him. Catching
sight of his well-known features, Winnie impulsively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span>
waved the drawer of the cabinet and
darted across the lawn.</p>
<p>“No wonder I could not discover the
thief,” he exclaimed testily, as Winnie showed
the mechanism of the sliding shelf. “The
cleverest detective could not have done that
when there was no thief to discover. But,
my dear young lady, pray do not detain us;
Miss Noakes and I have a particular engagement
for this very minute at the Church of
the Blessed Unity.” As he spoke he dodged
an old shoe which the astute Polo projected
from the studio window, and springing into
the hansom drove rapidly away.</p>
<p>If there had been any doubt as to these
indications we would have been fully enlightened
on finding the announcement of their
marriage in our next mail; but the truth was
evident to all.</p>
<p>Madame listened to us with a smile. “It
was kind of you, Winnie,” she said, “not to
solve your mystery earlier and so take away
the excuse for Mr. Mudge’s frequent calls.”</p>
<p>“I shall have the dear old cabinet put in
order again,” Adelaide said, “and I shall keep
your essay in the drawer, Winnie, for I shall
always believe that you were right, and that
there was a ghost.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span></p>
<p>And so with tears and embraces, and with
vows never to forget, and to meet again, and
to write often, the old delightful school life
and Witch Winnie’s Mystery came to an end
together.</p></div>
<p class="center end">THE END.</p>
<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This Home is a truthful picture of one really founded by
a band of little girls—the Messiah Home, at 4 Rutherford Place,
Stuyvesant Square, New York, which is aided in its good work
by different circles of King’s Daughters.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> “The Princess” was a quaint little foreigner, who gave the
girls botany lessons, and who originated the idea of the Home,
whose founding is related in the initial volume of this series.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The Messiah Home for Children, 4 Rutherford Place,
New York City, the actual analogue of the Home in
which the girls of the Amen Corner were interested, is
greatly assisted in its good work by circles of King’s
Daughters in different parts of the United States. These
circles intend to unite in a fair to be given in New York
City immediately before the holidays, and they invite
other circles of King’s Daughters, and any nimble-fingered,
warm-hearted girl to whom this greeting may
come, to aid them in this enterprise. Any donations
may be sent to the Home in care of the matron, Miss
Weaver.</p></div>
</div>
<div class="tnote"><p class="center">Transcriber's Notes:</p>
<p>Obvious printer's errors have been silently corrected. Otherwise
spelling, hyphenation, interpunction and grammar have been preserved
as in the original.</p></div>
<pre>
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