[Illustration: "'SHAKE HANDS, NOW, AND LET US MAKE FRIENDS. '" (Page 27. )] ------------------------------------------------------------------------- A WORLD OF GIRLS: THE STORY OF A SCHOOL. By L. T. MEADE. Author of "The Palace Beautiful, " "A Sweet Girl Graduate, ""Polly: A New Fashioned Girl, " Etc. ILLUSTRATED. NEW YORK:A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- CONTENTS CHAPTER I. "Good-Bye" to the Old Life. 1 CHAPTER II. Traveling Companions. 6 CHAPTER III. At Lavender House. 13 CHAPTER IV. Little Drawing-Rooms and Little Tiffs. 19 CHAPTER V. The Head-Mistress. 28 CHAPTER VI. "I am Unhappy. " 32 CHAPTER VII. A Day at School. 35 CHAPTER VIII. "You have Waked me too Soon. " 47 CHAPTER IX. Work and Play. 54 CHAPTER X. Varieties. 62 CHAPTER XI. What was Found in the School-Desk. 74 CHAPTER XII. In the Chapel. 88 CHAPTER XIII. Talking over the Mystery. 95 CHAPTER XIV. "Sent to Coventry. " 102 CHAPTER XV. About Some People who Thought no Evil. 107 CHAPTER XVI. "An Enemy Hath Done This. " 114 CHAPTER XVII. "The Sweets are Poisoned. " 123 CHAPTER XVIII. In the Hammock. 129 CHAPTER XIX. Cup and Ball. 136 CHAPTER XX. In the South Parlor. 143 CHAPTER XXI. Stealing Hearts. 151 CHAPTER XXII. In Burn Castle Wood. 155 CHAPTER XXIII. "Humpty-Dumpty had a Great Fall. " 168 CHAPTER XXIV. Annie to the Rescue. 173 CHAPTER XXV. A Spoiled Baby. 180 CHAPTER XXVI. Under the Laurel Bush. 188 CHAPTER XXVII. Truants. 193 CHAPTER XXVIII. In the Fairies' Field. 198 CHAPTER XXIX. Hester's Forgotten Book. 204 CHAPTER XXX. "A Muddy Stream. " 212 CHAPTER XXXI. Good and Bad Angels. 218 CHAPTER XXXII. Fresh Suspicions. 221 CHAPTER XXXIII. Untrustworthy. 227 CHAPTER XXXIV. Betty Falls Ill at an Awkward Time. 233 CHAPTER XXXV. "You are Welcome to Tell. " 241 CHAPTER XXXVI. How Moses Moore Kept His Appointment. 247 CHAPTER XXXVII. A Broken Trust. 252 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Is She Still Guilty? 259 CHAPTER XXXIX. Hester's Hour of Trial. 265 CHAPTER XL. A Gypsy Maid. 272 CHAPTER XLI. Disguised. 278 CHAPTER XLII. Hester. 284 CHAPTER XLIII. Susan. 289 CHAPTER XLIV. Under the Hedge. 293 CHAPTER XLV. Tiger. 297 CHAPTER XLVI. For Love of Nan. 303 CHAPTER XLVII. Rescued. 310 CHAPTER XLVIII. Dark Days. 313 CHAPTER XLIX. Two Confessions. 318 CHAPTER L. The Heart of Little Nan. 326 CHAPTER LI. The Prize Essay. 334 ------------------------------------------------------------------------- A WORLD OF GIRLS. CHAPTER I. "GOOD-BYE" TO THE OLD LIFE. "Me want to see Hetty, " said an imperious baby voice. "No, no; not this morning, Miss Nan, dear. " "Me do want to see Hetty, " was the quick, impatient reply. And a sturdyindignant little face looked up at Nurse, to watch the effect of the lastdecisive words. Finding no affirmative reply on Nurse's placid face, the small lipsclosed firmly--two dimples came and went on two very round cheeks--themischievous brown eyes grew full of laughter, and the next moment thelittle questioner had squeezed her way through a slightly open door, andwas toddling down the broad stone stairs and across a landing to Hetty'sroom. The room-door was open, so the truant went in. A bed with thebed-clothes all tossed about, a half worn-out slipper on the floor, avery untidy dressing-table met her eyes, but no Hetty. "Me want Hetty, me do, " piped the treble voice, and then the little feetcommenced a careful and watchful pilgrimage, the lips still firmly shut, the dimples coming and going, and the eyes throwing many upward glancesin the direction of Nurse and the nursery. No pursuit as yet, and great, great hope of finding Hetty somewhere inthe down-stair regions. Ah, now, how good! those dangerous stairs hadbeen descended, and the little voice calling in shrill tones for Hettyrang out in the wide hall. "Let her come to me, " suddenly said an answering voice, and a girl ofabout twelve, dressed in deep mourning, suddenly opened the door of asmall study and clasped the little one in her arms. "So you have found me, my precious, my dearest! Brave, plucky little Nan, you have got away from Nurse and found me out! Come into the study now, darling, and you shall have some breakfast. " "Me want a bicky, Hetty, " said the baby voice; the round arms claspedHester's neck, but the brown eyes were already traveling eagerly over thebreakfast table in quest of spoil for those rosy little lips. "Here are two biscuits, Nan. Nan, look me in the face--here, sit steadyon my knee; you love me, don't you, Nan?" "Course me do, " said the child. "And I'm going away from you, Nan, darling. For months and months I won'tsee anything of you. My heart will be always with you, and I shall thinkof you morning, noon and night. I love no one as I love you, Nan. Youwill think of me and love me too; won't you, Nan?" "Me will, " said Nan; "me want more bicky, Hetty. " "Yes, yes, " answered Hester; "put your arms tight round my neck, and youshall have sugar, too. Tighter than that, Nan, and you shall have twolumps of sugar--oh, yes, you shall--I don't care if it makes yousick--you shall have just what you want the last moment we are together. " Baby Nan was only too pleased to crumple up a crape frill and to smear ablack dress with sticky little fingers for the sake of the sugar whichHetty plied her with. "More, Hetty, " she said; "me'll skeeze 'oo vedy tight for more. " On this scene Nurse unexpectedly entered. "Well, I never! and so you found your way all downstairs by yourself, youlittle toddle. Now, Miss Hetty, I hope you haven't been giving theprecious lamb sugar; you know it never does suit the little dear. Oh, fie! baby; and what sticky hands! Miss Hetty, she has crumpled all yourcrape frills. " "What matter?" said Hester. "I wanted a good hug, and I gave her three orfour lumps. Babies won't squeeze you tight for nothing. There, my Nancy, go back to Nurse. Nurse, take her away; I'll break down in a minute if Isee her looking at me with that little pout. " Nurse took the child into her arms. "Good-bye, Miss Hester, dear. Try to be a good girl at school. Take myword, missy--things won't be as dark as they seem. " "Good-bye, Nurse, " said Hester, hastily. "Is that you, father? are youcalling me?" She gathered up her muff and gloves, and ran out of the little studywhere she had been making believe to eat breakfast. A tall, stern-lookingman was in the hall, buttoning on an overcoat; a brougham waited at thedoor. The next moment Hester and her father were bowling away in thedirection of the nearest railway station. Nan's little chubby face hadfaded from view. The old square, gray house, sacred to Hester because ofNan, had also disappeared; the avenue even was passed, and Hester closedher bright brown eyes. She felt that she was being pushed out into a coldworld, and was no longer in the same snug nest with Nan. An intolerablepain was at her heart; she did not glance at her father, who during theirentire drive occupied himself over his morning paper. At last theyreached the railway station, and just as Sir John Thornton was handinghis daughter into a comfortable first-class carriage, marked "For Ladiesonly, " and was presenting her with her railway ticket and a copy of thelast week's illustrated newspaper, he spoke: "The guard will take care of you, Hester. I am giving him fulldirections, and he will come to you at every station, and bring you teaor any refreshment you may require. This train takes you straight toSefton, and Mrs. Willis will meet you, or send for you there. Good-bye, my love; try to be a good girl, and curb your wild spirits. I hope to seeyou very much improved when you come home at midsummer. Good-bye, dear, good-bye. Ah, you want to kiss me--well, just one kiss. There--oh, mydear! you know I have a great dislike to emotion in public. " Sir John Thornton said this because a pair of arms had been flungsuddenly round his neck, and two kisses imprinted passionately on hissallow cheek. A tear also rested on his cheek, but that he wiped away. CHAPTER II. TRAVELING COMPANIONS. The train moved rapidly on its way, and the girl in one corner of therailway carriage cried silently behind her crape veil. Her tears werevery subdued, but her heart felt sore, bruised, indignant; she hated theidea of school-life before her; she hated the expected restraints and theprobable punishments; she fancied herself going from a free life into aprison, and detested it accordingly. Three months before, Hester Thornton had been one of the happiest, brightest and merriest of little girls in ----shire; but the mother whowas her guardian angel, who had kept the frank and spirited child incheck without appearing to do so, who had guided her by the magical powerof love and not in the least by that of fear, had met her death suddenlyby means of a carriage accident, and Hester and baby Nan were leftmotherless. Several little brothers and sisters had come between Hesterand Nan, but from various causes they had all died in their infancy, andonly the eldest and youngest of Sir John Thornton's family remained. Hester's father was stern, uncompromising. He was a very just and uprightman, but he knew nothing of the ways of children, and when Hester in herusual tom-boyish fashion climbed trees and tore her dresses, and rodebare-backed on one or two of his most dangerous horses, he not only trieda little sharp, and therefore useless, correction, but determined to takeimmediate steps to have his wild and rather unmanageable little daughtersent to a first-class school. Hester was on her way there now, and verysore was her heart and indignant her impulses. Father's "good-bye" seemedto her to be the crowning touch to her unhappiness, and she made up hermind not to be good, not to learn her lessons, not to come home atmidsummer crowned with honors and reduced to an every-day and patternlittle girl. No, she would be the same wild Hetty as of yore; and whenfather saw that school could do nothing for her, that it could never makeher into a good and ordinary little girl, he would allow her to remain athome. At home there was at least Nan to love, and there was mother toremember. Hetty was a child of the strongest feelings. Since her mother's death shehad scarcely mentioned her name. When her father alluded to his wife, Hester ran out of the room; when the servants spoke of their latemistress, Hester turned pale, stamped her feet, and told them to bequiet. "You are not worthy to speak of my mother, " she electrified them all oneday by exclaiming: "My mother is an angel now, and you--oh, you are notfit to breathe her name!" Only to one person would Hetty ever voluntarily say a word about thebeloved dead mother, and that was to little Nan. Nan said her prayers, asshe expressed it, to Hetty now; and Hetty taught her a little phrase touse instead of the familiar "God bless mother. " She taught the child tosay, "Thank God for making mother into a beautiful angel;" and when Nanasked what an angel was, and how the cozy mother she remembered could beturned into one, Hester was beguiled into a soft and tearful talk, andshe drew several lovely pictures of white-robed angels, until the littlechild was satisfied and said: "Me like that, Hetty--me'll be an angel too, Hetty, same as mamma. " These talks with Nan, however, did not come very often, and of late theyhad almost ceased, for Nan was only two and a half, and the strange, sadfact remained that in three months she had almost forgotten her mother. Hester on her way to school this morning cried for some time, then shesat silent, her crape veil still down, and her eyes watching furtivelyher fellow-passengers. They consisted of two rather fidgety old ladies, who wrapped themselves in rugs, were very particular on the question ofhot bottles, and watched Hester in their turn with considerable curiosityand interest. Presently one of them offered the little girl a sandwich, which she was too proud or too shy to accept, although by this time shewas feeling extremely hungry. "You will, perhaps, prefer a cake, my dear?" said the good-natured littleold lady. "My sister Agnes has got some delicious queen-cakes in herbasket--will you eat one?" Hester murmured a feeble assent, and the queen-cake did her so much goodthat she ventured to raise her crape veil and to look around her. "Ah, that is much better, " said the first little old lady. "Come to thisside of the carriage, my love; we are just going to pass through a lovelybit of country, and you will like to watch the view. See; if you placeyourself here, my sister Agnes' basket will be just at your feet, and youcan help yourself to a queen-cake whenever you are so disposed. " "Thank you, " responded Hester, in a much more cheerful tone, for it wasreally quite impossible to keep up reserve with such a bright-lookinglittle old lady; "your queen-cakes are very nice, and I liked that one, but one is quite enough, thank you. It is Nan who is so particularly fondof queen-cakes. " "And who is Nan, my dear?" asked the sister to whom the queen-cakesspecially belonged. "She is my dear little baby sister, " said Hester in a sorrowful tone. "Ah, and it was about her you were crying just now, " said the first lady, laying her hand on Hester's arm. "Never mind us, dear, we have seen agreat many tears--a great many. They are the way of the world. Women areborn to them. As Kingsley says--'women must weep. ' It was quite naturalthat you should cry about your sweet little Nan, and I wish we could sendher some of these queen-cakes that you say she is so fond of. Are yougoing to be long away from her, love?" "Oh, yes, for months and months, " said Hester. "I did not know, " sheadded, "that it was such a common thing to cry. I never used to. " "Ah, you have had other trouble, poor child, " glancing at her deepmourning frock. "Yes, it is since then I have cried so often. Please, I would rather notspeak about it. " "Quite right, my love, quite right, " said Miss Agnes in a much briskertone than her sister. "We will turn the conversation now to somethinginspiriting. Jane is quite right, there are plenty of tears in the world;but there is also a great deal of sunshine and heaps of laughter, merrylaughter--the laughter of youth, my child. Now, I dare say, though youhave begun your journey so sadly, that you are really bound on quite apleasant little expedition. For instance, you are going to visit a kindaunt, or some one else who will give you a delightful welcome. " "No, " said Hester, "I am not. I am going to a dreadful place, and thethought of that, and parting from little Nan, are the reasons why Icried. I am going to prison--I am, indeed. " "Oh, my dear love!" exclaimed both the little old ladies in a breath. Then Miss Agnes continued: "You have really taken Jane's breathaway--quite. Yes, Jane, I see that you are in for an attack ofpalpitation. Never mind her, dear, she palpitates very easily; but Ithink you must be mistaken, my love, in mentioning such an appalling wordas 'prison. ' Yes, now I come to think of it, it is absolutely certainthat you must be mistaken; for if you were going to such a terrible placeof punishment you would be under the charge of a policeman. You are givento strong language, dear, like other young folk. " "Well, I call it prison, " continued Hester, who was rather flattered byall this bustle and Miss Jane's agitation; "it has a dreadful sound, hasn't it? I call it prison, but father says I am going to school--youcan't wonder that I am crying, can you? Oh! what is the matter?" For the two little old ladies jumped up at this juncture, and gave Hettya kiss apiece on her soft, young lips. "My darling, " they both exclaimed, "we are so relieved and delighted!Your strong language startled us, and school is anything but what youimagine, dear. Ah, Jane! can you ever forget our happy days at school?" Miss Jane sighed and rolled up her eyes, and then the two commenced avigorous catechizing of the little girl. Really Hester could not helpfeeling almost sunshiny before that long journey came to an end, for sheand the Misses Bruce made some delightful discoveries. The little oldladies very quickly found out that they lived close to the school whereHetty was to spend the next few months. They knew Mrs. Willis well--theyknew the delightful, rambling, old-fashioned house where Hester was tolive--they even knew two or three of the scholars; and they said so oftento the little girl that she was going into a life of clover--positiveclover--that she began to smile, and even partly to believe them. "I am glad I shall be near you, at least, " she said at last, with a franksweet smile, for she had greatly taken to her kind fellow-travelers. "Yes, my dear, " exclaimed Miss Jane. "We attend the same church, and Ishall look out for you on Sunday, and, " she continued, glancing first ather sister and then addressing Hester, "perhaps Mrs. Willis will allowyou to visit us occasionally. " "I'll come to-morrow, if you like, " said Hester. "Well, dear, well--that must be as Mrs. Willis thinks best. Ah, here weare at Sefton at last. We shall look out for you in church on Sunday, mylove. " CHAPTER III. AT LAVENDER HOUSE. Hester's journey had really proved wonderfully agreeable. She had taken agreat fancy to the little old ladies who had fussed over her and madethemselves pleasant in her behalf. She felt herself something like aheroine as she poured out a little, just a little, of her troubles intotheir sympathizing ears; and their cheerful remarks with regard to schooland school-life had caused her to see clearly that there might be anotherand a brighter side to the gloomy picture she had drawn with regard toher future. But during the drive of two and a half miles from Sefton to LavenderHouse, Hester once more began to feel anxious and troubled. The MissesBruce had gone off with some other passengers in a little omnibus totheir small villa in the town, but Lavender House was some distance off, and the little omnibus never went so far. An old-fashioned carriage, which the ladies told Hester belonged to Mrs. Willis, had been sent to meet her, and a man whom the Misses Bruceaddressed as "Thomas" helped to place her trunk and a small portmanteauon the roof of the vehicle. The little girl had to take her drive alone, and the rather ancient horse which drew the old carriage climbed up anddown the steep roads in a most leisurely fashion. It was a cold winter'sday, and by the time Thomas had executed some commissions in Sefton, andhad reached the gates of the avenue which led to Lavender House, it wasvery nearly dark. Hester trembled at the darkness, and when the gateswere shut behind them by a rosy-faced urchin of ten, she once more beganto feel the cruel and desolate idea that she was going to prison. They drove slowly down a long and winding avenue, and, although Hestercould not see, she knew they must be passing under trees, for severaltimes their branches made a noise against the roof of the carriage. Atlast they came to a standstill. The old servant scrambled slowly downfrom his seat on the box, and, opening the carriage-door, held out hishand to help the little stranger to alight. "Come now, missy, " he said in cheering tones, "come out, and you'll bewarm and snug in a minute. Dear, dear! I expect you're nearly froze up, poor little miss, and it _is_ a most bitter cold night. " He rang a bell which hung by the entrance of a deep porch, and the nextmoment the wide hall-door was flung open by a neat maid-servant, andHester stepped within. "She's come, " exclaimed several voices in different keys, and proceedingapparently from different quarters. Hester looked around her in ahalf-startled way, but she could see no one, except the maid, who smiledat her and said: "Welcome to Lavender House, miss. If you'll step into the porter's roomfor one moment, there is a good fire there, and I'll acquaint MissDanesbury that you have arrived. " The little room in question was at the right hand side of a very wide andcheerful hall, which was decorated in pale tints of green, and had ahandsome encaustic-tiled floor. A blazing fire and two lamps made thehall look cheerful, but Hester was very glad to take refuge from theunknown voices in the porter's small room. She found herself quitetrembling with shyness and cold, and an indescribable longing to get backto Nan; and as she waited for Miss Danesbury and wondered fearfully whoor what Miss Danesbury was, she scarcely derived any comfort from theblazing fire near which she stood. "Rather tall for her age, but I fear, I greatly fear, a little sulky, "said a voice behind her; and when she turned round in an agony oftrepidation and terror, she suddenly found herself face to face with atall, kind-looking, middle-aged lady, and also with a bright, gypsy-looking girl. "Annie Forest, how very naughty of you to hide behind the door! You areguilty of disobedience in coming into this room without leave. I mustreport you, my dear; yes, I really must. You lose two good conduct marksfor this, and will probably have thirty lines in addition to your usualquantity of French poetry. " "But she won't tell on me, she won't, dear old Danesbury, " said the girl;"she couldn't be so hard-hearted, the precious love, particularly ascuriosity happens to be one of her own special little virtues! Take akiss, Danesbury, and now, as you love me you'll be merciful!" The girlflitted away, and Miss Danesbury turned to Hester, whose face had changedfrom red to pale during this little scene. "What a horrid, vulgar, low-bred girl!" she exclaimed with passion, forin all the experiences of her short life Hester had never even imaginedthat personal remarks could be made of any one in their very presence. "Ihope she'll get a lot of punishment--I hope you are not going to forgiveher, " she continued, for her anger had for the time quite overcome hershyness. "Oh, my dear, my dear! we should all be forgiving, " exclaimed MissDanesbury in her gentle voice. "Welcome to Lavender House, love; I amsorry I was not in the hall to receive you. Had I been, this little_rencontre_ would not have occurred. Annie Forest meant no harm, however--she's a wild little sprite, but affectionate. You and she willbe the best friends possible by-and-by. Now, let me take you to yourroom; the gong for tea will sound in exactly five minutes, and I am sureyou will be glad of something to eat. " Miss Danesbury then led Hester across the hall and up some broad, low, thickly-carpeted stairs. When they had ascended two flights, and werestanding on a handsome landing, she paused. "Do you see this baize door, dear?" she said. "This is the entrance tothe school part of the house. This part that we are now in belongsexclusively to Mrs. Willis, and the girls are never allowed to come herewithout leave. All the school life is lived at the other side of thisbaize door, and a very happy life I assure you it is for those littlegirls who make up their minds to be brave and good. Now kiss me, my dear, and let me bid you welcome once again to Lavender House. " "Are you our principal teacher, then?" asked Hester. "I? oh, dear, no, my love. I teach the younger children English, and Ilook after the interests and comforts of all. I am a very useful sort ofperson, I believe, and I have a motherly heart, dear, and it is a waywith little girls to come to me when they are in trouble. Now, my love, we must not chatter any longer. Take my hand, and let us get to your roomas fast as possible. " Miss Danesbury pushed open the baize door, and instantly Hester foundherself in a different region. Mrs. Willis' part of the house gave theimpression of warmth, luxuriance, and even elegance of arrangement. Atthe other side of the door were long, narrow corridors, with snow-whitebut carpetless floors, and rather cold, distempered walls. MissDanesbury, holding the new pupil's hand, led her down two corridors, andpast a great number of shut doors, behind which Hester could hearsuppressed laughter and eager, chattering voices. At last, however, theystopped at a door which had the number "32" written over it. "This is your bedroom, dear, " said the English teacher, "and to-night youwill not be sorry to have it alone. Mrs. Willis received a telegram fromSusan Drummond, your room-mate, this afternoon, and she will not arriveuntil to-morrow. " However bare and even cold the corridors looked, the bedroom into whichHester was ushered by no means corresponded with this appearance. It wasa small, but daintily-furnished little room. The floor was carpeted withgreen felt, the one window was hung with pretty draperies and two little, narrow, white beds were arranged gracefully with French canopies. All thefurniture in the room was of a minute description, but good of its kind. Beside each bed stood a mahogany chest of drawers. At two correspondingcorners were marble wash handstands, and even two pretty toilet tablesstood side by side in the recess of the window. But the sight thatperhaps pleased Hester most was a small bright fire which burned in thegrate. "Now, dear, this is your room. As you have arrived first you can chooseyour own bed and your own chest of drawers. Ah, that is right, Ellen hasunfastened your portmanteau; she will unpack your trunk to-night, andtake it to the box-room. Now, dear, smooth your hair and wash your hands. The gong will sound instantly. I will come for you when it does. " CHAPTER IV. LITTLE DRAWING-ROOMS AND LITTLE TIFFS. Miss Danesbury, true to her word, came to fetch Hester down to tea. Theywent down some broad, carpetless stairs, along a wide stone hall, andthen paused for an instant at a half-open door from which a stream ofeager voices issued. "I will introduce you to your schoolfellows, and I hope your futurefriends, " said Miss Danesbury. "After tea you will come with me to seeMrs. Willis--she is never in the school-room at tea-time. Mdlle. Perieror Miss Good usually superintends. Now, my dear, come along--why, surelyyou are not frightened!" "Oh, please, may I sit near you?" asked Hester. "No, my love; I take care of the little ones, and they are at a table bythemselves. Now, come in at once--the moment you dread will soon be over, and it is nothing, my love--really nothing. " Nothing! never, as long as Hester lived, did she forget the supreme agonyof terror and shyness which came over her as she entered that long, low, brightly-lighted room. The forty pairs of curious eyes which were raisedinquisitively to her face became as torturing as forty burning suns. Shefelt an almost uncontrollable desire to run away and hide--she wonderedif she could possibly keep from screaming aloud. In the end she foundherself, she scarcely knew how, seated beside a gentle, sweet-manneredgirl, and munching bread and butter which tasted drier than sawdust, andoccasionally trying to sip something very hot and scalding which shevaguely understood went by the name of tea. The buzzing voices allchattering eagerly in French, and the occasional sharp, high-pitchedreprimands coming in peremptory tones from the thin lips of Mdlle. Perier, sounded far off and distant--her head was dizzy, her eyesswam--the tired and shy child endured tortures. In after-days, in long after-years when the memory of Lavender House wasto come back to Hetty Thornton as one of the sweetest, brightest episodesin her existence--in the days when she was to know almost every blade ofgrass in the gardens, and to be familiar with each corner of the oldhouse, with each face which now appeared so strange, she might wonder ather feelings to-night, but never even then could she forget them. She sat at the table in a dream, trying to eat the tasteless bread andbutter. Suddenly and swiftly the thick and somewhat stale piece of breadon her plate was exchanged for a thin, fresh, and delicately-cut slice. "Eat that, " whispered a voice--"I know the other is horrid. It's a shameof Perier to give such stuff to a stranger. " "Mdlle. Cécile, you are transgressing: you are talking English, " came ina torrent of rapid French from the head of the table. "You lose a conductmark, ma'amselle. " The young girl who sat next Hester inclined her head gently andsubmissively, and Hester, venturing to glance at her, saw that a delicatepink had spread itself over her pale face. She was a plain girl; but evenHester, in this first moment of terror, could scarcely have been afraidof her, so benign was her expression, so sweet the glance from her soft, full brown eyes. Hester now further observed that the thin bread andbutter had been removed from Cecil's own plate. She began to wonder whythis girl was indulged with better food than the rest of her comrades. Hester was beginning to feel a little less shy, and was taking one or twofurtive glances at her companions, when she suddenly felt herself turningcrimson, and all her agony of shyness and dislike to her school-lifereturning. She encountered the full, bright, quizzical gaze of the girlwho had made personal remarks about her in the porter's room. The merryblack eyes of this gypsy maiden fairly twinkled with suppressed fun whenthey met hers, and the bright head even nodded audaciously across thetable to her. Not for worlds would Hester return this friendly greeting--she still heldto her opinion that Miss Forest was one of the most ill-bred people shehad ever met, and, in addition to feeling a considerable amount of fearof her, she quite made up her mind that she would never be on friendlyterms with so under-bred a girl. At this moment grace was repeated in sonorous tones by a stern-lookingperson who sat at the foot of the long table, and whom Hester had notbefore noticed. Instantly the girls rose from their seats, and began tofile in orderly procession out of the tea-room. Hester looked round interror for the friendly Miss Danesbury, but she could not catch sight ofher anywhere. At this moment, however, her companion of the tea-tabletouched her arm. "We may speak English now for half an hour, " she said, "and most of usare going to the play-room. We generally tell stories round the fire uponthese dark winter's nights. Would you like to come with me to-night?Shall we be chums for this evening?" "I don't know what 'chums' are, " said Hester; "but, " she added, with thedawning of a faint smile on her poor, sad little face, "I shall be veryglad to go with you. " "Come then, " said Cecil Temple, and she pulled Hester's hand within herarm, and walked with her across the wide stone hall, and into the largestroom Hester had ever seen. Never, anywhere, could there have been a more delightful play-room thanthis. It was so large that two great fires which burned at either endwere not at all too much to emit even tolerable warmth. The room wasbright with three or four lamps which were suspended from the ceiling, the floor was covered with matting, and the walls were divided intocurious partitions, which gave the room a peculiar but very cosy effect. These partitions consisted of large panels, and were divided by slenderrails the one from the other. "This is my cosy corner, " said Cecil, "and you shall sit with me in itto-night. You see, " she added, "each of us girls has her own partition, and we can do exactly what we like in it. We can put our own photographs, our own drawings, our own treasures on our panels. Under each division isour own little work-table, and, in fact, our own individual treasures lieround us in the enclosure of this dear little rail. The center of theroom is common property, and you see what a great space there is roundeach fire-place where we can chatter and talk, and be on common ground. The fire-place at the end of the room near the door is reservedespecially for the little ones, but we elder girls sit at the top. Ofcourse you will belong to us. How old are you?" "Twelve, " said Hester. "Oh, well, you are so tall that you cannot possibly be put with thelittle ones, so you must come in with us. " "And shall I have a railed-in division and a panel of my own?" askedHester. "It sounds a very nice arrangement. I hope my department will beclose to yours, Miss ----. " "Temple is my name, " said Cecil, "but you need not call me that. I amCecil to all my friends, and you are my friend this evening, for you aremy chum, you know. Oh, you were asking me about our departments--youwon't have any at first, for you have got to earn it, but I will inviteyou to mine pretty often. Come, now, let us go inside. Is not it justlike the darlingest little drawing-room? I am so sorry that I have onlyone easy chair, but you shall have it to-night, and I will sit on thisthree-legged stool. I am saving up my money to buy another arm-chair, andAnnie has promised to upholster it for me. " "Is Annie one of the maids?" "Oh, dear, no! she's dear old Annie Forest, the liveliest girl in theschool. Poor darling, she's seldom out of hot water; but we all love her, we can't help it. Poor Annie, she hardly ever has the luxury of adepartment to herself, so she is useful all round. She's the most amusingand good-natured dear pet in Christendom. " "I don't like her at all, " said Hester; "I did not know you were talkingof her--she is a most rude, uncouth girl. " Cecil Temple, who had been arranging a small dark green table-cloth withdaffodils worked artistically in each corner on her little table, stoodup as the newcomer uttered these words, and regarded her fixedly. "It is a pity to draw hasty conclusions, " she said. "There is no girlmore loved in the school than Annie Forest. Even the teachers, althoughthey are always punishing her, cannot help having a soft corner in theirhearts for her. What can she possibly have done to offend you? but oh!hush--don't speak--she is coming into the room. " As Cecil finished her rather eager defense of her friend, and preventedthe indignant words which were bubbling to Hester's lips, a gay voice washeard singing a comic song in the passage, the play-room door was flungopen with a bang, and Miss Forest entered the room with a small girlseated on each of her shoulders. "Hold on, Janny, love; keep your arms well round me, Mabel. Now, then, here we go--twice up the room and down again. No more, as I'm alive. I'vegot to attend to other matters than you. " She placed the little girls on the floor amid peals of laughter, andshouts from several little ones to give them a ride too. The childrenbegan to cling to her skirts and to drag her in all directions, and shefinally escaped from them with one dexterous bound which placed her inthat portion of the play-room where the little ones knew they were notallowed to enter. Until her arrival the different girls scattered about the large room hadbeen more or less orderly, chattering and laughing together, it is true, but in a quiet manner. Now the whole place appeared suddenly in anuproar. "Annie, come here--Annie, darling, give me your opinion aboutthis--Annie, my precious, naughty creature, come and tell me about yourlast scrape. " Annie Forest blew several kisses to her adorers, but did not attachherself to any of them. "The Temple requires me, " she said, in her sauciest tones; "my belovedfriends, the Temple as usual is vouchsafing its sacred shelter to thestranger. " In an instant Annie was kneeling inside the enclosure of Miss Temple'srail and laughing immoderately. "You dear stranger!" she exclaimed, turning round and gazing full intoHester's shy face, "I do declare I have been punished for the intenseardor with which I longed to embrace you. Has she told you, Cecil, darling, what I did in her behalf? How I ventured beyond the sacredprecincts of the baize door and hid inside the porter's room? Poor dear, she jumped when she heard my friendly voice, and as I spoke MissDanesbury caught me in the very act. Poor old dear, she cried when shecomplained of me, but duty is Danesbury's motto; she would go to thestake for it, and I respect her immensely. I have got my twenty lines ofthat horrible French poetry to learn--the very thought almost stranglesme, and I foresee plainly that I shall do something terribly naughtywithin the next few hours; I must, my love--I really must. I have justcome here to shake hands with Miss Thornton, and then I must away to mypenance. Ah, how little I shall learn, and how hard I shall think!Welcome to Lavender House, Miss Thornton; look upon me as your devotedally, and if you have a spark of pity in your breast, feel for the girlwhom you got into a scrape the very moment you entered these sacredwalls. " "I don't understand you, " said Hester, who would not hold out her hand, and who was standing up in a very stiff, shy, and angular position. "Ithink you were very rude to startle me, and make personal remarks thevery moment I came into the house. " "Oh, dear! I only said you were tall, and looked rather sulky, love--youdid, you know, really. " "It was very rude of you, " repeated Hester, turning crimson, and tryingto keep back her tears. "Well, my dear, I meant no harm; shake hands, now, and let us makefriends. " But Hester felt either too shy or too miserable to yield to thisrequest--she half turned her back, and leaned against Miss Temple'spanel. "Never mind her, " whispered gentle Cecil Temple; but Annie Forest'sbright face had darkened ominously--the school favorite was notaccustomed to having her advances flung back in her face. She left theroom singing a defiant, naughty song, and several of the girls who hadoverheard this scene whispered one to the other: "She can't be at all nice--she would not even shake hands with Annie. Fancy her turning against our Annie in that way!" CHAPTER V. THE HEAD-MISTRESS. Annie Forest had scarcely left the room before Miss Danesbury appearedwith a message for Hester, who was to come with her directly to see Mrs. Willis. The poor shy girl felt only too glad to leave behind her thecruel, staring, and now by no means approving eyes of her schoolmates. She had overheard several of their whispers, and felt rather alarmed ather own act. But Hester, shy as she was, could be very tenacious of anidea. She had taken a dislike to Annie Forest, and she was quitedetermined to be true to what she considered her convictions--namely, that Annie was under-bred and common, and not at all the kind of girlwhom her mother would have cared for her to know. The little girlfollowed Miss Danesbury in silence. They crossed the stone hall together, and now passing through another baize door, found themselves once more inthe handsome entrance-hall. They walked across this hall to a doorcarefully protected from all draughts by rich plush curtains, and MissDanesbury, turning the handle, and going a step or two into the room, said in her gentle voice: "I have brought Hester Thornton to see you, Mrs. Willis, according toyour wish. " Miss Danesbury then withdrew, and Hester ventured to raise her eyes andto look timidly at the head-mistress. A tall woman, with a beautiful face and silvery white hair, cameinstantly to meet her, laid her two hands on the girl's shoulders, andthen, raising her shy little face, imprinted a kiss on her forehead. "Your mother was one of my earliest pupils, Hester, " she said, "and youare--no"--after a pause, "you are not very like her. You are her child, however, my dear, and as such you have a warm welcome from me. Now, comeand sit by the fire, and let us talk. " Hester did not feel nearly so constrained with this graceful and graciouslady as she had done with her schoolmates. The atmosphere of the roomrecalled her beloved mother's boudoir at home. The rich dove-colored satindress, the cap made of Mechlin lace which softened and shaded Mrs. Willis'silvery hair, appeared homelike to the little girl, who had grown upaccustomed to all the luxuries of wealth. Above all, the head-mistress'mention of her mother drew her heart toward the beautiful face, andattracted her toward the rich, full tones of a voice which could bepowerful and commanding at will. Mrs. Willis, notwithstanding her whitehair, had a youthful face, and Hester made the comment which came first toher lips: "I did not think you were old enough to have taught my mother. " "I am sixty, dear, and I have kept this school for thirty years. Yourmother was not the only pupil who sent her children to be taught by mewhen the time came. Now, you can sit on this stool by the fire and tellme about your home. Your mother--ah, poor child, you would rather nottalk about her just yet. Helen's daughter must have strong feelings--ah, yes; I see, I see. Another time, darling, when you know me better. Nowtell me about your little sister, and your father. You do not know, perhaps, that I am Nan's godmother?" After this the head-mistress and the new pupil had a long conversation. Hester forgot her shyness; her whole heart had gone out instantly to thisbeautiful woman who had known, and loved, and taught her mother. "I will try to be good at school, " she said at last; "but, oh, please, Mrs. Willis, it does not seem to me to-night as if school-life could behappy. " "It has its trials, Hester; but the brave and the noble girls often findthis time of discipline one of the best in their lives--good at the time, very good to look back on by-and-by. You will find a miniature worldaround you; you will be surrounded by temptations; and you will have rarechances of proving whether your character can be strong and great andtrue. I think, as a rule, my girls are happy, and as a rule they turn outwell. The great motto of life here, Hester, is earnestness. We areearnest in our work, we are earnest in our play. A half-hearted girl hasno chance at Lavender House. In play-time, laugh with the merriest, mychild; in school-hours, study with the most studious. Do you understandme?" "I try to, a little, " said Hester, "but it seems all very strange justnow. " "No doubt it does, and at first you will have to encounter manyperplexities and to fight many battles. Never mind, if you have the rightspirit within you, you will come out on the winning side. Now, tell me, have you made any acquaintances as yet among the girls?" "Yes--Cecil Temple has been kind to me. " "Cecil is one of my dearest pupils; cultivate her friendship, Hester--sheis honorable, she is sympathizing. I am not afraid to say that Cecil hasa great heart. " "There is another girl, " continued Hester, "who has spoken to me. I neednot make her my friend, need I?" "Who is she, dear?" "Miss Forest--I don't like her. " "What! our school favorite. You will change your mind, I expect--but thatis the gong for prayers. You shall come with me to chapel, to-night, andI will introduce you to Mr. Everard. " CHAPTER VI. "I AM UNHAPPY. " Between forty and fifty young girls assembled night and morning forprayers in the pretty chapel which adjoined Lavender House. This chapelhad been reconstructed from the ruins of an ancient priory, on the siteof which the house was built. The walls, and even the beautiful easternwindow, belonged to a far-off date. The roof had been carefully reared inaccordance with the style of the east window, and the whole effect wasbeautiful and impressive. Mrs. Willis was particularly fond of her ownchapel. Here she hoped the girls' best lessons might be learned, and hereshe had even once or twice brought a refractory pupil, and tried what agentle word or two spoken in these old and sacred walls might effect. Here, on wet Sundays the girls assembled for service; and here, everyevening at nine o'clock, came the vicar of the large parish to whichLavender House belonged, to conduct evening prayers. He was an old man, and a great friend of Mrs. Willis', and he often told her that heconsidered these young girls some of the most important members of hisflock. Here Hester knelt to-night. It is to be doubted whether in her confusion, and in the strange loneliness which even Mrs. Willis had scarcelyremoved, she prayed much. It is certain she did not join in the eveninghymn, which, with the aid of an organ and some sweet girl-voices, wasbeautifully and almost pathetically rendered. After evening prayers hadcome to an end, Mrs. Willis took Hester's hand and led her up to the old, white-headed vicar. "This is my new pupil, Mr. Everard, or rather I should say, our newpupil. Her education depends as much on you as on me. " The vicar held out his hands, and took Hester's within them, and thendrew her forward to the light. "This little face does not seem quite strange to me, " he said. "Have Iever seen you before, my dear?" "No, sir, " replied Hester. "You have seen her mother, " said Mrs. Willis--"Do you remember yourfavorite pupil, Helen Anstey, of long ago?" "Ah! indeed--indeed! I shall never forget Helen. And are you her child, little one?" But Hester's face had grown white. The solemn service in the chapel, joined to all the excitement and anxieties of the day, had strung up hersensitive nerves to a pitch higher than she could endure. Suddenly, asthe vicar spoke to her, and Mrs. Willis looked kindly down at her newpupil, the chapel seemed to reel round, the pupils one by onedisappeared, and the tired girl only saved herself from fainting by asudden burst of tears. "Oh, I am unhappy, " she sobbed, "without my mother! Please, please, don'ttalk to me about my mother. " She could scarcely take in the gentle words which her two friends said toher, and she hardly noticed when Mrs. Willis did such a wonderful thingas to stoop down and kiss a second time the lips of a new pupil. Finally she found herself consigned to Miss Danesbury's care, who hurriedher off to her room, and helped her to undress and tucked her into herlittle bed. "Now, love, you shall have some hot gruel. No, not a word. You ate littleor no tea to-night--I watched you from my distant table. Half yourloneliness is caused by want of food--I know it, my love; I am a verypractical person. Now, eat your gruel, and then shut your eyes and go tosleep. " "You are very kind to me, " said Hester, "and so is Mrs. Willis, and so isMr. Everard, and I like Cecil Temple--but, oh, I wish Annie Forest wasnot in the school!" "Hush, my dear, I implore of you. You pain me by these words. I am quiteconfident that Annie will be your best friend yet. " Hester's lips said nothing, but her eyes answered "Never" as plainly aseyes could speak. CHAPTER VII. A DAY AT SCHOOL. If Hester Thornton went to sleep that night under a sort of dreamy, hazyimpression that school was a place without a great deal of order, withmany kind and sympathizing faces, and with some not so agreeable; if shewent to sleep under the impression that she had dropped into a sort ofmedley, that she had found herself in a vast new world where certainpersonages exercised undoubtedly a strong moral influence, but where onthe whole a number of other people did pretty much what they pleased--sheawoke in the morning to find her preconceived ideas scattered to the fourwinds. There was nothing of apparent liberty about the Lavender Housearrangements in the early morning hours. In the first place, it seemedquite the middle of the night when Hester was awakened by a loud gong, which clanged through the house and caused her to sit up in bed in aconsiderable state of fright and perplexity. A moment or two later aneatly-dressed maid-servant came into the room with a can of hot water;she lit a pair of candles on the mantel-piece, and, with the remark thatthe second gong would sound in half an hour, and that all the youngladies would be expected to assemble in the chapel at seven o'clockprecisely, she left the room. Hester pulled her pretty little gold watch from under her pillow, and sawwith a sigh that it was now half-past six. "What odious hours they keep in this horrid place!" she said to herself. "Well, well, I always did know that school would be unendurable. " She waited for five minutes before she got up, and then she dressedherself languidly, and, if the truth must be told, in a very untidyfashion. She managed to be dressed by the time the second gong sounded, but she had only one moment to give to her private prayers. Shereflected, however, that this did not greatly matter as she was goingdown to prayers immediately in the chapel. The service in the chapel the night before had impressed her more deeplythan she cared to own, and she followed her companions down stairs with acertain feeling of pleasure at the thought of again seeing Mr. Everardand Mrs. Willis. She wondered if they would take much notice of her thismorning, and she thought it just possible that Mr. Everard, who hadlooked at her so compassionately the night before, might be induced, forthe sake of his old friendship with her mother, to take her home with himto spend the day. She thought she would rather like to spend a day withMr. Everard, and she fancied he was the sort of person who wouldinfluence her and help her to be good. Hester fancied that if some veryinteresting and quite out of the common person took her in hand, shemight be formed into something extremely noble--noble enough even toforgive Annie Forest. The girls all filed into the chapel, which was lighted as brightly andcheerily as the night before; but Hester found herself placed on a benchfar down in the building. She was no longer in the place of honor by Mrs. Willis' side. She was one of a number, and no one looked particularly ather or noticed her in any way. A shy young curate read the morningprayers; Mr. Everard was not present, and Mrs. Willis, who was, walkedout of the chapel when prayers were over without even glancing inHester's direction. This was bad enough for the poor little dreamer ofdreams, but worse was to follow. Mrs. Willis did not speak to Hester, but she did stop for an instantbeside Annie Forest. Hester saw her lay her white hand on the younggirl's shoulder and whisper for an instant in her ear. Annie's lovelygypsy face flushed a vivid crimson. "For your sake, darling, " she whispered back; but Hester caught thewords, and was consumed by a fierce jealousy. The girls went into the school-room, where Mdlle. Perier gave a Frenchlesson to the upper class. Hester belonged to no class at present, andcould look around her, and have plenty of time to reflect on her ownmiseries, and particularly on what she now considered the favoritismshown by Mrs. Willis. "Mr. Everard at least will read through that girl, " she said to herself;"he could not possibly endure any one so loud. Yes, I am sure that myonly friend at home, Cecilia Day, would call Annie very loud. I wonderMrs. Willis can endure her. Mrs. Willis seems so ladylike herself, but--Oh, I beg your pardon, what's the matter?" A very sharp voice had addressed itself to the idle Hester. "But, mademoiselle, you are doing nothing! This cannot for a moment bepermitted. Pardonnez-moi, you know not the French? Here is a little easylesson. Study it, mademoiselle, and do not let your eyes wander a momentfrom the page. " Hester favored Mdlle. Perier with a look of lofty contempt, but shereceived the well-thumbed lesson-book in absolute silence. At eight o'clock came breakfast, which was nicely served, and was verygood and abundant. Hester was thoroughly hungry this morning, and did notfeel so shy as the night before. She found herself seated between twostrange girls, who talked to her a little and would have made themselvesfriendly had she at all encouraged them to do so. After breakfast camehalf an hour's recreation, when, the weather being very bad, the girlsagain assembled in the cozy play-room. Hester looked round eagerly forCecil Temple, who greeted her with a kind smile, but did not ask her intoher enclosure. Annie Forest was not present, and Hester breathed a sighof relief at her absence. The half-hour devoted to recreation provedrather dull to the newcomer. Hester could not understand her presentworld. To the girl who had been brought up practically as an only childin the warm shelter of a home, the ways and doings of school-girl lifewere an absolute enigma. Hester had no idea of unbending or of making herself agreeable. The girlsvoted her to one another stiff and tiresome, and quickly left her to herown devices. She looked longingly at Cecil Temple; but Cecil, who couldnever be knowingly unkind to any one, was seizing the precious moments towrite a letter to her father, and Hester presently wandered down the roomand tried to take an interest in the little ones. From twelve to fifteenquite little children were in the school, and Hester wondered with a sortof vague half-pain if she might see any child among the group the leastlike Nan. "They will like to have me with them, " she said to herself. "Poor littledots, they always like big girls to notice them, and didn't they make afuss about Miss Forest last night! Well, Nan is fond enough of me, andlittle children find out so quickly what one is really like. " Hester walked boldly into the group. The little dots were all as busy asbees, were not the least lonely, or the least shy, and very plainly gavethe intruder to understand that they would prefer her room to hercompany. Hester was not proud with little children--she loved themdearly. Some of the smaller ones in question were beautiful littlecreatures, and her heart warmed to them for Nan's sake. She could notstoop to conciliate the older girls, but she could make an effort withthe babies. She knelt on the floor and took up a headless doll. "I know a little girl who had a doll like that, " she said. Here shepaused and several pairs of eyes were fixed on her. "Poor dolly's b'oke, " said the owner of the headless one in a tone ofdeep commiseration. "You _are_ such a breaker, you know, Annie, " said Annie's littlefive-year-old sister. "Please tell us about the little girl what had the doll wifout the head, "she proceeded, glancing at Hester. "Oh, it was taken to a hospital, and got back its head, " said Hesterquite cheerfully; "it became quite well again, and was a more beautifuldoll than ever. " This announcement caused intense wonder and was certainly carrying theinterest of all the little ones. Hester was deciding that the child whopossessed the headless doll _had_ a look of Nan about her dark browneyes, when suddenly there was a diversion--the play-room door was openednoisily, banged-to with a very loud report, and a gay voice sang out: "The fairy queen has just paid me a visit. Who wants sweeties from thefairy queen?" Instantly all the little feet had scrambled to the perpendicular, eachpair of hands was clapped noisily, each little throat shouted a joyful: "Here comes Annie!" Annie Forest was surrounded, and Hester knelt alone on the hearth-rug. She felt herself coloring painfully--she did not fail to observe that twolaughing eyes had fixed themselves with a momentary triumph on her face;then, snatching up a book, which happened to lie close, she seatedherself with her back to all the girls, and her head bent over the page. It is quite doubtful whether she saw any of the words, but she was atleast determined not to cry. The half-hour so wearisome to poor Hester came to an end, and the girls, conducted by Miss Danesbury, filed into the school-room and took theirplaces in the different classes. Work had now begun in serious earnest. The school-room presented ananimated and busy scene. The young faces with their varying expressionsbetokened on the whole the preponderance of an earnest spirit. Discipline, not too severe, reigned triumphant. Hester was not yet appointed to any place among these busy workers, butwhile she stood wondering, a little confused, and half intending to dropinto an empty seat which happened to be close, Miss Danesbury came up toher. "Follow me, Miss Thornton, " she said, and she conducted the young girl upthe whole length of the great school-room, and pushed aside some baizecurtains which concealed a second smaller room, where Mrs. Willis satbefore a desk. The head-mistress was no longer dressed in soft pearl-gray and Mechlinlace. She wore a black silk dress, and her white cap seemed to Hester toadd a severe tone to her features. She neither shook hands with the newpupil nor kissed her, but said instantly in a bright though authoritativetone: "I must now find out as quickly as possible what you know, Hester, inorder to place you in the most suitable class. " Hester was a clever girl, and passed through the ordeal of a rather stiffexamination with considerable ability. Mrs. Willis pronounced her Englishand general information quite up to the usual standard for girls of herage--her French was deficient, but she showed some talent for German. "On the whole I am pleased with your general intelligence, and I thinkyou have good capacities, Hester, " she said in conclusion. "I shall askMiss Good, our very accomplished English teacher, to place you in thethird class. You will have to work very hard, however, at your French, tomaintain your place there. But Mdlle. Perier is kind and painstaking, andit rests with yourself to quickly acquire a conversational acquaintancewith the language. You are aware that, except during recreation, you arenever allowed to speak in any other tongue. Now, go back to theschool-room, my dear. " As Mrs. Willis spoke she laid her finger on a little silver gong whichstood by her side. "One moment, please, " said Hester, coloring crimson; "I want to ask you aquestion, please. " "Is it about your lessons?" "No--oh, no; it is----" "Then pardon me, my dear, " uttered the governess; "I sit in my room everyevening from eight to half-past, and I am then at liberty to see a pupilon any subject which is not trifling. Nothing but lessons are spoken ofin lesson hours, Hester. Ah, here comes Miss Good. Miss Good, I shouldwish you to place Hester Thornton in the third class. Her English is upto the average. I will see Mdlle. Perier about her at twelve o'clock. " Hester followed the English teacher into the great school-room, took herplace in the third class, at the desk which was pointed out to her, wasgiven a pile of new books, and was asked to attend to the history lessonwhich was then going on. Notwithstanding her confusion, a certain sense of soreness, and someindignation at what she considered Mrs. Willis' altered manner, sheacquitted herself with considerable spirit, and was pleased to see thather class companions regarded her with some respect. An English literature lecture followed the history, and here again Hesteracquitted herself with _éclat_. The subject to-day was "Julius Cæsar, "and Hester had read Shakespeare's play over many times with her mother. But when the hour came for foreign languages, her brief triumph ceased. Lower and lower did she fall in her schoolfellows' estimation as shestumbled through her truly English-French. Mdlle. Perier, who was a veryfiery little woman, almost screamed at her--the girls colored and nearlytittered. Hester hoped to recover her lost laurels in German, but by thistime her head ached and she did very little better in the German whichshe loved than in the French which she detested. At twelve o'clock shewas relieved to find that school was over for the present, and she heardthe English teacher's voice desiring the girls to go quickly to theirrooms, and to assemble in five minutes' time in the great stone hall, equipped for their walk. The walk lasted for a little over an hour, and was a very dreary penanceto poor Hester, as she was neither allowed to run, race, nor talk a wordof English. She sighed heavily once or twice, and several of the girlswho looked at her curiously agreed with Annie Forest that she wasdecidedly sulky. The walk was followed by dinner; then came half an hourof recreation in the delightful play-room, and eager chattering in theEnglish tongue. At three o'clock the school assembled once more; but now the studies wereof a less severe character, and Hester spent one of her first happyhalf-hours over a drawing lesson. She had a great love for drawing, andfelt some pride in the really beautiful copy which she was making of thestump of an old gnarled oak-tree. Her dismay, however, was proportionatelygreat when the drawing-master drew his pencil right across her copy. "I particularly requested you not to sketch in any of the shadows, MissThornton. Did you not hear me say that my lesson to-day was in outline? Igave you a shaded piece to copy in outline--did you not understand?" "This is my first day at school, " whispered back poor Hester, speaking inEnglish in her distress. Whereupon the master smiled, and even forgot toreport her for her transgression of the French tongue. Hester spent the rest of that afternoon over her music lesson. Themusic-master was an irascible little German, but Hester played with sometaste, and was therefore not too severely rapped over the knuckles. Then came tea and another half-hour of recreation, which was followed bytwo silent hours in the school-room, each girl bent busily over her booksin preparation for the next day's work. Hester studied hard, for she hadmade up her mind to be the intellectual prodigy of the school. Even onthis first day, miserable as it was, she had won a few plaudits for herquickness and powers of observation. How much better could she work whenshe had really fallen into the tone of the school, and understood thelessons which she was now so carefully preparing! During her busy day shehad failed to notice one thing: namely, the absence of Annie Forest. Annie had not been in the school-room, had not been in the play-room; butnow, as the clock struck eight, she entered the school-room with alistless expression, and took her place in the same class with Hester. Her eyes were heavy, as if she had been crying, and when a companiontouched her, and gave her a sympathizing glance, she shook her head witha sorrowful gesture, but did not speak. Glasses of milk and slices ofbread and butter were now handed round to the girls, and Miss Danesburyasked if any one would like to see Mrs. Willis before prayers. Hesterhalf sprang to her feet, but then sat down again. Mrs. Willis had annoyedher by refusing to break her rules and answer her question during lessonhours. No, the silly child resolved that she would not trouble Mrs. Willis now. "No one to-night, then?" said Miss Danesbury, who had noticed Hester'smovement. Suddenly Annie Forest sprang to her feet. "I'm going, Miss Danesbury, " she said. "You need not show me the way; Ican find it alone. " With her short, curly hair falling about her face, she ran out of theroom. CHAPTER VIII. "YOU HAVE WAKED ME TOO SOON. " When Hester reached her bedroom after prayers on that second evening, shewas dismayed to find that she no longer could consider the pretty littlebedroom her own. It had not only an occupant, but an occupant who hadleft untidy traces of her presence on the floor, for a stocking lay inone direction and a muddy boot sprawled in another. The newcomer hadherself got into bed, where she lay with a quantity of red hair tossedabout on the pillow, and a heavy freckled face turned upward, with theeyes shut and the mouth slightly open. As Hester entered the room, from these parted lips came unmistakable andloud snores. She stood still dismayed. "How terrible!" she said to herself; "oh, what a girl! I cannot sleep inthe room with any one who snores--I really cannot!" She stood perfectly still, with her hands clasped before her, and hereyes fixed with almost ludicrous dismay on this unexpected trial. As shegazed, a fresh discovery caused her to utter an exclamation of horroraloud. The newcomer had curled herself up comfortably in _her_ bed. Suddenly, toher surprise, a voice said very quietly, without a flicker of expressioncoming over the calm face, or the eyes even making an effort to open: "Are you my new schoolmate?" "Yes, " said Hester, "I am sorry to say I am. " "Oh, don't be sorry, there's a good creature; there's nothing to be sorryabout. I'll stop snoring when I turn on my side--it's all right. I alwayssnore for half an hour to rest my back, and the time is nearly up. Don'ttrouble me to open my eyes, I am not the least curious to see you. Youhave a cross voice, but you'll get used to me after a bit. " "But you're in my bed, " said Hester. "Will you please to get into yourown?" "Oh, no, don't ask me; I like your bed best. I slept in it the whole oflast term. I changed the sheets myself, so it does not matter. Do youmind putting my muddy boots outside the door, and folding up mystockings? I forgot them, and I shall have a bad mark if Danesbury comesin. Good-night--I'm turning on my side--I won't snore any more. " The heavy face was now only seen in profile, and Hester, knowing thatMiss Danesbury would soon appear to put out the candle, had to hurry intothe other bed as fast as she could; something impelled her, however, totake up the muddy boots with two very gingerly fingers, and place themoutside the door. She slept better this second night, and was not quite so startled thenext morning when the remorseless gong aroused her from slumber. Themaid-servant came in as usual to light the candles, and to place two cansof hot water by the two wash-hand stands. "You are awake, miss?" she said to Hester. "Oh, yes, " replied Hester almost cheerfully. "Well, that's all right, " said the servant. "Now I must try and rouseMiss Drummond, and she always takes a deal of waking; and if you don'tmind, miss, it will be an act of kindness to call out to her in themiddle of your own dressing--that is, if I don't wake her effectual. " With these words, the housemaid approached the bed where the red-hairedgirl lay again on her back, and again snoring loudly. "Miss Drummond, wake, miss; it's half-past six. Wake up, miss--I havebrought your hot water. " "Eh?--what?" said the voice in the bed, sleepily; "don't bother me, Hannah--I--I've determined not to ride this morning; go away"--then moresleepily, and in a lower key, "Tell Percy he can't bring the dogs inhere. " "I ain't neither your Hannah, nor your Percy, nor one of the dogs, "replied the rather irate Alice. "There, get up, miss, do. I never seesuch a young lady for sleeping--never. " "I won't be bothered, " said the occupant of the bed, and now she turneddeliberately on her side and snored more loudly than ever. "There's no help for it, " said Alice: "I have to do it nearly everymorning, so don't you be startled, miss. Poor thing, she would never havea good conduct mark but for me. Now then, here goes. You needn't befrightened, miss--she don't mind it the least bit in the world. " Here Alice seized a rough Turkish towel, placed it under the sleepy headwith its shock of red hair, and, dipping a sponge in a basin of icy coldwater, dashed it on the white face. This remedy proved effectual: two large pale blue eyes opened wide, avoice said in a tranquil and unmoved tone: "Oh, thank you, Alice. So I'm back at this horrid, detestable schoolagain!" "Get your feet well on the carpet, Miss Drummond, before you falls offagain, " said the servant. "Now then, you'd better get dressed as fast aspossible, miss--you have lost five minutes already. " Hester, who had laughed immoderately during this little scene, wasalready up and going through the processes of her toilet. Miss Drummond, seated on the edge of her bed, regarded her with sleepy eyes. "So you are my new room-mate?" she said. "What's your name?" "Hester Thornton, " replied Hetty with dignity. "Oh--I'm Susy Drummond--you may call me Susy if you like. " Hester made no response to this gracious invitation. Miss Drummond sat motionless, gazing down at her toes. "Had not you better get dressed?" said Hester after a long pause, for shereally feared the young lady would fall asleep where she was sitting. Miss Drummond started. "Dressed! So I will, dear creature. Have the sweet goodness to hand me myclothes. " "Where are they?" asked Hester rather crossly, for she did not care toact as lady's-maid. "They are over there, on a chair, in that lovely heap with a shawl flungover them. There, toss them this way--I'll get into them somehow. " Miss Drummond did manage to get into her garments; but her wholeappearance was so heavy and untidy when she was dressed, that Hester bythe very force of contrast felt obliged to take extra pains with her owntoilet. "Now, that's a comfort, " said Susan, "I'm in my clothes. How bitter itis! There's one comfort, the chapel will be warm. I often catch fortywinks in chapel--that is, if I'm lucky enough to get behind one of thetall girls, where Mrs. Willis won't see me. It does seem to me, "continued Susan in a meditative tone, "the strangest thing why girls arenot allowed sleep enough. " Hester was pinning a clean collar round her neck when Miss Drummond cameup close, leaned over the dressing-table, and regarded her with languidcuriosity. "A penny for your thoughts, Miss Prunes and Prism. " "Why do you call me that?" said Hester angrily. "Because you look like it, sweet. Now, don't be cross, little pet--no oneever yet was cross with sleepy Susy Drummond. Now, tell me, love, whathad you for breakfast yesterday?" "I'm sure I forget, " said Hester. "You _forget_?--how extraordinary! You're sure that it was not butteredscones? We have them sometimes, and I tell you they are enough even tokeep a girl awake. Well, at least you can let me know if the eggs werevery stale, and the coffee very weak, and whether the butter wassecond-rate Dorset, or good and fresh. Come now--my breakfast is ofimmense importance to me, I assure you. " "I dare say, " answered Hester. "You can see for yourself this morningwhat is on the table--I can only inform you that it was good enough forme, and that I don't remember what it was. " "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Susan Drummond, "I'm afraid she has a little temperof her own--poor little room-mate. I wonder if chocolate-creams wouldsweeten that little temper. " "Please don't talk--I'm going to say my prayers, " said Hester. She did kneel down, and made a slight effort to ask God to help herthrough the day's work and the day's play. In consequence, she rose fromher knees with a feeling of strength and sweetness which even thefeeblest prayer when uttered in earnest can always give. The prayer-gong now sounded, and all the girls assembled in the chapel. Miss Drummond was greeted by many appreciative nods, and more than onepair of longing eyes gazed in the direction of her pockets, which stuckout in the most ungainly fashion. Hester was relieved to find that her room-mate did not share her class inschool, nor sit anywhere near her at table. When the half-hour's recreation after breakfast arrived, Hester, determined to be beholden to none of her schoolmates for companionship, seated herself comfortably in an easy chair with a new book. Presentlyshe was startled by a little stream of lollipops falling in a shower overher head, down her neck, and into her lap. She started up with anexpression of disgust. Instantly Miss Drummond sank into the vacatedchair. "Thank you, love, " she said, in a cozy, purring voice. "Eat yourlollipops, and look at me; I'm going to sleep. Please pull my toe whenDanesbury comes in. Oh, fie! Prunes and Prisms--not so cross--eat yourlollipops; they will sweeten the expression of that--little--face. " The last words came out drowsily. As she said "face, " Miss Drummond'slanguid eyes were closed--she was fast asleep. CHAPTER IX. WORK AND PLAY. In a few days Hester was accustomed to her new life. She fell into itsroutine, and in a certain measure won the respect of her fellow-pupils. She worked hard, and kept her place in class, and her French became alittle more like the French tongue and a little less like the English. Sheshowed marked ability in many of her other studies, and the mistresses andmasters spoke well of her. After a fortnight spent at Lavender House, Hester had to acknowledge that the little Misses Bruce were right, andthat school might be a really enjoyable place for some girls. She wouldnot yet admit that it could be enjoyable for her. Hester was too shy, tooproud, too exacting to be popular with her schoolfellows. She knew nothingof school-girl life--she had never learned the great secret of success inall life's perplexities, the power to give and take. It never occurred toHester to look over a hasty word, to take no notice of an envious orinsolent look. As far as her lessons were concerned, she was doing well;but the hardest lesson of all, the training of mind and character, whichthe daily companionship of her schoolfellows alone could give her, in thislesson she was making no way. Each day she was shutting herself up moreand more from all kindly advances, and the only one in the school whom shesincerely and cordially liked was gentle Cecil Temple. Mrs. Willis had some ideas with regard to the training of her youngpeople which were peculiarly her own. She had found them successful, and, during her thirty years' experience, had never seen reason to alter them. She was determined to give her girls a great deal more liberty than wasaccorded in most of the boarding-schools of her day. She never made whatshe called impossible rules; she allowed the girls full liberty tochatter in their bedrooms; she did not watch them during play-hours; shenever read the letters they received, and only superintended the specimenhome letter which each girl was required to write once a month. Otherhead-mistresses wondered at the latitude she allowed her girls, but sheinvariably replied: "I always find it works best to trust them. If a girl is found to beutterly untrustworthy, I don't expel her, but I request her parents toremove her to a more strict school. " Mrs. Willis also believed much in that quiet half-hour each evening, whenthe girls who cared to come could talk to her alone. On these occasionsshe always dropped the school-mistress and adopted the _rôle_ of themother. With a very refractory pupil she spoke in the tenderest tones ofremonstrance and affection at these times. If her words failed--if thediscipline of the day and the gentle sympathy of these moments at nightdid not effect their purpose, she had yet another expedient--the vicarwas asked to see the girl who would not yield to this motherly influence. Mr. Everard had very seldom taken Mrs. Willis' place. As he said to her:"Your influence must be the mainspring. At supreme moments I will helpyou with personal influence, but otherwise, except for my nightly prayerswith your girls, and my weekly class, and the teachings which they withothers hear from my lips Sunday after Sunday, they had better look toyou. " The girls knew this rule well, and the one or two rare instances in theschool history where the vicar had stepped in to interfere, were spokenof with bated breath and with intense awe. Mrs. Willis had a great idea of bringing as much happiness as possibleinto young lives. It was with this idea that she had the quaint littlecompartments railed off in the play-room. "For the elder girls, " she would say, "there is no pleasure so great ashaving, however small the spot, a little liberty hall of their own. Inher compartment each girl is absolute monarch. No one can enter insidethe little curtained rail without her permission. Here she can show herindividual taste, her individual ideas. Here she can keep her most prizedpossessions. In short, her compartment in the play-room is a little hometo her. " The play-room, large as it was, admitted of only twenty compartments;these compartments were not easily won. No amount of cleverness attainedthem; they were altogether dependent on conduct. No girl could be thehonorable owner of her own little drawing-room until she haddistinguished herself by some special act of kindness and self-denial. Mrs. Willis had no fixed rule on this subject. She alone gave away thecompartments, and she often made choice of girls on whom she conferredthis honor in a way which rather puzzled and surprised their fellows. When the compartment was won it was not a secure possession. To retain itdepended also on conduct; and here again Mrs. Willis was absolute in hersway. More than once the girls had entered the room in the morning tofind some favorite's furniture removed and her little possessions takencarefully down from the walls, the girl herself alone knowing the reasonfor this sudden change. Annie Forest, who had been at Lavender House forfour years, had once, for a solitary month of her existence, owned herown special drawing-room. She had obtained it as a reward for an act ofheroism. One of the little pupils had set her pinafore on fire. There wasno teacher present at the moment, the other girls had screamed and runfor help, but Annie, very pale, had caught the little one in her arms andhad crushed out the flames with her own hands. The child's life wasspared, the child was not even hurt, but Annie was in the hospital for aweek. At the end of a week she returned to the school-room and play-roomas the heroine of the hour. Mrs. Willis herself kissed her brow, andpresented her in the midst of the approving smiles of her companions withthe prettiest drawing-room of the sets. Annie retained her honorable postfor one month. Never did the girls of Lavender House forget the delights of that month. The fantastic arrangements of the little drawing room filled them withecstacies. Annie was truly Japanese in her style--she was also intenselyliberal in all her arrangements. In the tiny space of this littleenclosure wild pranks were perpetrated, ceaseless jokes made up. FromAnnie's drawing-room issued peals of exquisite mirth. She gave afternoontea from a Japanese set of tea-things. Outside her drawing-room alwayscollected a crowd of girls, who tried to peep over the rail or to drawaside the curtains. Inside the sacred spot certainly reigned chaos, andone day Miss Danesbury had to fly to the rescue, for in a fit of madmirth Annie herself had knocked down the little Japanese tea-table, thetea-pot and tea-things were in fragments on the floor, and the tea andmilk poured in streams outside the curtains. Mrs. Willis sent for Anniethat evening, and Miss Forest retired from her interview with red eyesand a meek expression. "Girls, " she said, in confidence that night, "good-bye to Japan. I gaveher leave to do it--the care of an empire is more than I can manage. " The next day the Japanese drawing-room had been handed over to anotherpossessor, and Annie reigned as queen over her empire no more. Mrs. Willis, anxious at all times that her girls should be happy, madespecial arrangements for their benefit on Sunday. Sunday was by no meansdull at Lavender House--Sunday was totally unlike the six days whichfollowed it. Even the stupidest girl could scarcely complain of theseverity of Sunday lessons--even the merriest girl could scarcely speakof the day as dull. Mrs. Willis made an invariable rule of spending allSunday with her pupils. On this day she really unbent--on this day shewas all during the long hours what she was during the short half-hour oneach evening in the week. On Sunday she neither reproved nor corrected. If punishment or correction were necessary, she deputed Miss Good or MissDanesbury to take her place. On Sunday she sat with the little childrenround her knee, and the older girls clustering about her. Her graciousand motherly face was like a sun shining in the midst of these younggirls. In short, she was like the personified form of Goodness in theirmidst. It was necessary, therefore, that all those who wished to do rightshould be happy on Sunday, and only those few who deliberately preferredevil should shrink from the brightness of this day. It is astonishing how much a sympathizing and guiding spirit can effect. The girls at Lavender House thought Sunday the shortest day in the week. There were no unoccupied or dull moments--school toil was forgotten--schoolpunishment ceased, to be resumed again if necessary on Monday morning. Thegirls in their best dresses could chatter freely in English--they couldread their favorite books--they could wander about the house as theypleased; for on Sunday the two baize doors were always wide open, and Mrs. Willis' own private suite of rooms was ready to receive them. If the daywas fine they walked to church, each choosing her own companion for thepleasant walk; if the day was wet there was service in the chapel, Mr. Everard always conducting either morning or evening prayers. In theafternoon the girls were allowed to do pretty much as they pleased, butafter tea there always came a delightful hour, when the elder girls retiredwith their mistress into her own special boudoir, and she either told themstories or sang to them as only she could sing. At sixty years of age Mrs. Willis still possessed the most sympathetic and touching voice those girlshad ever listened to. Hester Thornton broke down completely on her firstSunday at Lavender House when she heard her school-mistress sing "TheBetter Land. " No one remarked on her tears, but two people saw them; forher mistress kissed her tenderly that night, and said a few strong words ofhelp and encouragement, and Annie Forest, who made no comment, had alsoseen them, and wondered vaguely if this new and disagreeable pupil had aheart after all. On Sunday night Mrs. Willis herself went round to each little bed andgave a mother-kiss to each of her pupils--a mother-kiss and a murmuredblessing; and in many breasts resolves were then formed which were tohelp the girls through the coming week. Some of these resolves, made notin their own strength, bore fruit in long after-years. There is no doubtthat very few girls who lived long enough at Lavender House, ever inafter-days found their Sundays dull. CHAPTER X. VARIETIES. Without any doubt, wild, naughty, impulsive Annie Forest was the mostpopular girl in the school. She was always in scrapes--she was scarcelyever out of hot water--her promises of amendment were truly like theproverbial pie-crust; but she was so lovable, so kind-hearted, so saucyand piquante and pretty, that very few could resist the nameless charmwhich she possessed. The little ones adored Annie, who was kindnessitself to them; the bigger girls could not help admiring her fearlessnessand courage; the best and noblest girls in the school tried to influenceher for good. She was more or less an object of interest to every one;her courage was of just the sort to captivate schoolgirls, and her moralweakness was not observed by these inexperienced young eyes. Hester alone, of all the girls who for a long time had come to LavenderHouse, failed to see any charm in Annie. She began by considering herill-bred, and when she found she was the school favorite, she tossed herproud little head and determined that she for one would never besubjugated by such a naughty girl. Hester could read character withtolerable clearness; she was an observant child--very observant, and verythoughtful for her twelve years; and as the little witch Annie had failedto throw any spell over her, she saw her faults far more clearly than didher companions. There is no doubt that this brilliant, charming, andnaughty Annie had heaps of faults; she had no perseverance; she was allpassion and impulse; she could be the kindest of the kind, but from sheerthoughtlessness and wildness she often inflicted severe pain, even onthose she loved best. Annie very nearly worshiped Mrs. Willis; she hadthe most intense adoration for her, she respected her beyond any otherhuman being. There were moments when the impulsive and hot-headed childfelt that she could gladly lay down her life for her school-mistress. Once the mistress was ill, and Annie curled herself up all night outsideher door, thereby breaking rules, and giving herself a severe cold; buther passion and agony were so great that she could only be soothed by atlast stealing into the darkened room and kissing the face she loved. "Prove your love to me, Annie, by going downstairs and keeping the schoolrules as perfectly as possible, " whispered the teacher. "I will--I will never break a rule again as long as I live, if you getbetter, Mrs. Willis, " responded the child. She ran downstairs with her resolves strong within her, and yet in halfan hour she was reprimanded for willful and desperate disobedience. One day Cecil Temple had invited a select number of friends to afternoontea in her little drawing-room. It was the Wednesday half-holiday, andCecil's tea, poured into the tiniest cups and accompanied by thin waferbiscuits, was of the most _recherché_ quality. Cecil had invited HesterThornton, and a tall girl who belonged to the first class and whose namewas Dora Russell, to partake of this dainty beverage. They were sittinground the tiny tea-table, on little red stools with groups of flowersartistically painted on them, and were all three conducting themselves ina most ladylike and refined manner, when Annie Forest's curly head andsaucy face popped over the enclosure, and her voice said eagerly: "Oh, may I be permitted to enter the shrine?" "Certainly, Annie, " said Cecil, in her most cordial tones. "I have gotanother cup and saucer, and there is a little tea left in the tea-pot. " Annie came in, and ensconced herself cozily on the floor. It did notmatter in the least to her that Hester Thornton's brow grew dark, andthat Miss Russell suddenly froze into complete indifference to all hersurroundings. Annie was full of a subject which excited her very much:she had suddenly discovered that she wanted to give Mrs. Willis apresent, and she wished to know if any of the girls would like to joinher. "I will give her the present this day week, " said excitable Annie. "Ihave quite made up my mind. Will any one join me?" "But there is nothing special about this day week, Annie, " said MissTemple. "It will neither be Mrs. Willis' birthday, nor Christmas Day, norNew Year's Day, nor Easter Day. Next Wednesday will be just like anyother Wednesday. Why should we make Mrs. Willis a present?" "Oh, because she looks as if she wanted one, poor dear. I thought shelooked sad this morning; her eyes drooped and her mouth was down at thecorners. I am sure she's wanting something from us all by now, just toshow that we love her, you know. " "Pshaw!" here burst from Hester's lips. "Why do you say that?" said Annie, turning round with her bright eyesflashing. "You've no right to be so contemptuous when I speak aboutour--our head-mistress. Oh, Cecil, " she continued, "do let us give her alittle surprise--some spring flowers, or something just to show her thatwe love her. " "But _you_ don't love her, " said Hester, stoutly. Here was throwing down the gauntlet with a vengeance! Annie sprang to herfeet and confronted Hester with a whole torrent of angry words. Hesterfirmly maintained her position. She said over and over again that loveproved itself by deeds, not by words; that if Annie learned her lessons, and obeyed the school rules, she would prove her affection for Mrs. Willis far more than by empty protestations. Hester's words were true, but they were uttered in an unkind spirit, and the very flavor of truthwhich they possessed caused them to enter Annie's heart and to wound herdeeply. She turned, not red, but very white, and her large and lovelyeyes grew misty with unshed tears. "You are cruel, " she gasped, rather than spoke, and then she pushed asidethe curtains of Cecil's compartment and walked out of the play-room. There was a dead silence among the three girls when she left them. Hester's heart was still hot, and she was still inclined to maintain herown position, and to believe she had done right in speaking in so severea tone to Annie. But even she had been made a little uneasy by the lookof deep suffering which had suddenly transformed Annie's charmingchildish face into that of a troubled and pained woman. She sat downmeekly on her little three-legged stool and, taking up her tiny cup andsaucer, sipped some of the cold tea. Cecil Temple was the first to speak. "How could you?" she said, in an indignant voice for her. "Annie is notthe girl to be driven, and in any case, it is not for you to correct her. Oh, Mrs. Willis would have been so pained had she heard you--you were not_kind_, Miss Thornton. There, I don't wish to be rude, but I fear I mustleave you and Miss Russell--I must try and find Annie. " "I'm going back to my own drawing-room, " said Miss Russell, rising to herfeet. "Perhaps, " she added, turning round with a very gracious smile toHester, "you will come and see me there, after tea, this evening. " Miss Russell drew aside the curtains of Cecil Temple's little room, anddisappeared. Hester, with her eyes full of tears, now turned eagerly toCecil. "Forgive me, Cecil, " she exclaimed. "I did not mean to be unkind, but itis really quite ridiculous the way you all spoil that girl--you know aswell as I do that she is a very naughty girl. I suppose it is because ofher pretty face, " continued Hester, "that you are all so unjust, and soblind to her faults. " "You are prejudiced the other way, Hester, " said Cecil in a more gentletone. "You have disliked Annie from the first. There, don't keep me--Imust go to her now. There is no knowing what harm your words may havedone. Annie is not like other girls. If you knew her story, you would, perhaps be kinder to her. " Cecil then ran out of her drawing-room, leaving Hester in sole possessionof the little tea-things and the three-legged stools. She sat and thoughtfor some time; she was a girl with a great deal of obstinacy in hernature, and she was not disposed to yield her own point, even to CecilTemple; but Cecil's words had, nevertheless, made some impression on her. At tea-time that night, Annie and Cecil entered the room together. Annie's eyes were as bright as stars, and her usually pale cheeks glowedwith a deep color. She had never looked prettier--she had never looked sodefiant, so mischievous, so utterly reckless. Mdlle. Perier firedindignant French at her across the table. Annie answered respectfully, and became demure in a moment; but even in the short instant in which thegoverness was obliged to lower her eyes to her plate, she had thrown alook so irresistibly comic at her companions that several of them hadtittered aloud. Not once did she glance at Hester, although sheoccasionally looked boldly in her direction; but when she did so, herversatile face assumed a blank expression, as if she were seeing nothing. When tea was over, Dora Russell surprised the members of her own class bywalking straight up to Hester, putting her hand inside her arm, andleading her off to her own very refined-looking little drawing-room. "I want to tell you, " she said, when the two girls found themselvesinside the small enclosure, "that I quite agree with you in your opinionof Miss Forest. I think you were very brave to speak to her as you didto-day. As a rule, I never trouble myself with what the little girls inthe third class do, and of course Annie seldom comes under my notice; butI think she is a decidedly spoiled child, and your rebuff will doubtlessdo her a great deal of good. " These words of commendation, coming from tall and dignified Miss Russellcompletely turned poor Hester's head. "Oh, I am so glad you think so!" she stammered, coloring high withpleasure. "You see, " she added, assuming a little tone of extrarefinement, "at home I always associated with girls who were perfectladies. " "Yes, any one can see that, " remarked Miss Russell approvingly. "And I do think Annie under-bred, " continued Hester. "I cannotunderstand, " she added, "why Miss Temple likes her so much. " "Oh, Cecil is so amiable; she sees good in every one, " answered MissRussell. "Annie is evidently not a lady, and I am glad at last to findsome one of the girls who belong to the middle school capable ofdiscerning this fact. Of course, we of the first class have nothingwhatever to say to Miss Forest, but I really think Mrs. Willis is notacting quite fairly by the other girls when she allows a young person ofthat description into the school. I wish to assure you, Miss Thornton, that you have at least my sympathy, and I shall be very pleased to seeyou in my drawing-room now and then. " As these last words were uttered, both girls were conscious of a littlerustling sound not far away. Miss Russell drew back her curtain, andasked very sharply, "Who is there?" but no one replied, nor was there anyone in sight, for the girls who did not possess compartments werecongregated at the other end of the long play-room, listening to storieswhich Emma Marshall, a clever elder girl, was relating for their benefit. Miss Russell talked on indifferent subjects to Hester, and at the end ofthe half-hour the two entered the class-room side by side, Hester'slittle head a good deal turned by this notice from one of the oldestgirls in the school. As the two walked together into the school-room, Susan Drummond, who, tall as she was, was only in the fourth class, rushed up to Miss Forest, and whispered something in her ear. "It is just as I told you, " she said, and her sleepy voice was quite wideawake and animated. Annie Forest rewarded her by a playful pinch on hercheek; then she returned to her own class, with a severe reprimand fromthe class teacher, and silence reigned in the long room, as the girlsbegan to prepare their lessons as usual for the next day. Miss Russell took her place at her desk in her usual dignified manner. She was a clever girl, and was going to leave school at the end of nextterm. Hers was a particularly fastidious, but by no means great nature. She was the child of wealthy parents; she was also well-born, and becauseof her money, and a certain dignity and style which had come to her asnature's gifts, she held an influence, though by no means a large one, inthe school. No one particularly disliked her, but no one, again, ardentlyloved her. The girls in her own class thought it well to be friendly withDora Russell, and Dora accepted their homage with more or lessindifference. She did not greatly care for either their praise or blame. Dora possessed in a strong degree that baneful quality, which more thananything else precludes the love of others--she was essentially selfish. She sat now before her desk, little guessing how she had caused Hester'ssmall heart to beat by her patronage, and little suspecting the mischiefshe had done to the girl by her injudicious words. Had she known, it isto be doubted whether she would have greatly cared. She looked throughthe books which contained her tasks for the next day's work, and, findingthey did not require a great deal of preparation, put them aside, andamused herself during the rest of preparation time with a storybook, which she artfully concealed behind the leaves of some exercises. Sheknew she was breaking the rules, but this fact did not trouble her, forher moral nature was, after all, no better than poor Annie's, and she hadnot a tenth of her lovable qualities. Dora Russell was the soul of neatness and order. To look inside herschool desk was a positive pleasure; to glance at her own neat and trimfigure was more or less of a delight. Hers were the whitest hands in theschool, and hers the most perfectly kept and glossy hair. As thepreparation hour drew to a close, she replaced her exercises and books inexquisite order in her school desk and shut down the lid. Hester's eyes followed her as she walked out of the school-room, for thehead class never had supper with the younger girls. Hester wondered ifshe would glance in her direction; but Miss Russell had gratified a verypassing whim when she condescended to notice and praise Hester, and shehad already almost forgotten her existence. At bed-time that night Susan Drummond's behavior was at the leastextraordinary. In the first place, instead of being almost overpoweringlyfriendly with Hester, she scarcely noticed her; in the next place, shemade some very peculiar preparations. "What _are_ you doing on the floor, Susan?" inquired Hetty in an innocenttone. "That's nothing to you, " replied Miss Drummond, turning a dusky red, andlooking annoyed at being discovered. "I do wish, " she added, "that youwould go round to your side of the room and leave me alone; I sha'n'thave done what I want to do before Danesbury comes in to put out thecandle. " Hester was not going to put herself out with any of Susan Drummond'svagaries; she looked upon sleepy Susan as a girl quite beneath hernotice, but even she could not help observing her, when she saw her situp in bed a quarter of an hour after the candles had been put out, and inthe flickering firelight which shone conveniently bright for her purpose, fasten a piece of string first round one of her toes, and then to the endof the bed-post. "What _are_ you doing?" said Hester again, half laughing. "Oh, what a spy you are!" said Susan. "I want to wake, that's all; andwhenever I turn in bed, that string will tug at my toe, and, of course, I'll rouse up. If you were more good-natured, I'd give the other end ofthe string to you; but, of course, that plan would never answer. " "No, indeed, " replied Hester; "I am not going to trouble myself to wakeyou. You must trust to your sponge of cold water in the morning, unlessyour own admirable device succeeds. " "I'm going to sleep now, at any rate, " answered Susan; "I'm on my back, and I'm beginning to snore; good night. " Once or twice during the night Hester heard groans from theself-sacrificing Susan, who, doubtless, found the string attached to herfoot very inconvenient. Hester, however, slept on when it might have been better for the peace ofmany in the school that she should have awakened. She heard no soundwhen, long before day, sleepy Susan stepped softly out of bed, andwrapping a thick shawl about her, glided out of the room. She was awayfor over half an hour, but she returned to her chamber and got into bedwithout in the least disturbing Hester. In the morning she was found sosoundly asleep that even the sponge of cold water could not arouse her. "Pull the string at the foot of the bed, Alice, " said Hester; "shefastened a string to her toe, and twisted the other end round thebed-post, last night; pull it, Alice, it may effect its purpose. " But there was no string now round Susan Drummond's foot, nor was it foundhanging to the bed-post. CHAPTER XI. WHAT WAS FOUND IN THE SCHOOL-DESK. The next morning, when the whole school were assembled, and all theclasses were getting ready for the real work of the day, Miss Good, theEnglish teacher, stepped to the head of the room, and, holding a neatlybound volume of "Jane Eyre" in her hand, begged to know to whom itbelonged. There was a hush of astonishment when she held up the littlebook, for all the girls knew well that this special volume was notallowed for school literature. "The housemaid who dusts the school-room found this book on the floor, "continued the teacher. "It lay beside a desk near the top of the room. Isee the name has been torn out, so I cannot tell who is the owner. I mustrequest her, however, to step forward and take possession of herproperty. If there is the slightest attempt at concealment, the wholematter will be laid before Mrs. Willis at noon to-day. " When Miss Good had finished her little speech, she held up the book inits green binding and looked down the room. Hester did not know why her heart beat--no one glanced at her, no oneregarded her; all eyes were fixed on Miss Good, who stood with a severe, unsmiling, but expectant face. "Come, young ladies, " she said, "the owner has surely no difficulty inrecognizing her own property. I give you exactly thirty seconds more;then if no one claims the book, I place the affair in Mrs. Willis'hands. " Just then there was a stir among the girls in the head class. A tall girlin dove-colored cashmere, with a smooth head of golden hair, and a fairface which was a good deal flushed at this moment, stepped to the front, and said in a clear and perfectly modulated voice: "I had no idea of concealing the fact that 'Jane Eyre' belongs to me. Iwas only puzzled for a moment to know how it got on the floor. I placedit carefully in my desk last night. I think this circumstance ought to beinquired into. " "Oh! Oh!" came from several suppressed voices here and there through theroom; "whoever would have supposed that Dora Russell would be obliged tohumble herself in this way?" "Attention, young ladies!" said Miss Good; "no talking, if you please. DoI understand, Miss Russell, that 'Jane Eyre' is yours?" "Yes, Miss Good. " "Why did you keep it in your desk--were you reading it duringpreparation?" "Oh, yes, certainly. " "You are, of course, aware that you were breaking two very stringentrules of the school. In the first place, no story-books are allowed to beconcealed in a school-desk, or to be read during preparation. In thesecond place, this special book is not allowed to be read at any time inLavender House. You know these rules, Miss Russell?" "Yes, Miss Good. " "I must retain the book--you can return now to your place in class. " Miss Russell bowed sedately, and with an apparently unmoved face, exceptfor the slightly deepened glow on her smooth cheek, resumed herinterrupted work. Lessons went on as usual, but during recreation the mystery of thediscovered book was largely discussed by the girls. As is the custom ofschoolgirls, they took violent sides in the matter--some rejoicing inDora's downfall, some pitying her intensely. Hester was, of course, oneof Miss Russell's champions, and she looked at her with tender sympathywhen she came with her haughty and graceful manner into the school-room, and her little heart beat with vague hope that Dora might turn to her forsympathy. Dora, however, did nothing of the kind. She refused to discuss the affairwith her companions, and none of them quite knew what Mrs. Willis said toher, or what special punishment was inflicted on the proud girl. Severalof her schoolfellows expected that Dora's drawing-room would be takenaway from her, but she still retained it; and after a few days the affairof the book was almost forgotten. There was, however, an uncomfortable and an uneasy spirit abroad in theschool. Susan Drummond, who was certainly one of the most uninterestinggirls in Lavender House, was often seen walking with and talking to MissForest. Sometimes Annie shook her pretty head over Susan's remarks;sometimes she listened to her; sometimes she laughed and spoke eagerlyfor a moment or two, and appeared to acquiesce in suggestions which hercompanion urged. Annie had always been the soul of disorder--of wild pranks, of naughtyand disobedient deeds--but, hitherto, in all her wildness she had neverintentionally hurt any one but herself. Hers was a giddy and thoughtless, but by no means a bitter tongue--she thought well of all herschoolfellows--and on occasions she could be self-sacrificing andgood-natured to a remarkable extent. The girls of the head class tookvery little notice of Annie, but her other school companions, as a rule, succumbed to her sunny, bright, and witty ways. She offended them ahundred times a day, and a hundred times a day was forgiven. Hester wasthe first girl in the third class who had ever persistently dislikedAnnie, and Annie, after making one or two overtures of friendship, beganto return Miss Thornton's aversion; but she had never cordially hated heruntil the day they met in Cecil Temple's drawing-room, and Hester hadwounded Annie in her tenderest part by doubting her affection for Mrs. Willis. Since that day there was a change very noticeable in Annie Forest--she wasnot so gay as formerly, but she was a great deal more mischievous--she wasnot nearly so daring, but she was capable now of little actions, slight inthemselves, which yet were calculated to cause mischief and realunhappiness. Her sudden friendship with Susan Drummond did her no good, and she persistently avoided all intercourse with Cecil Temple, whohitherto had influenced her in the right direction. The incident of the green book had passed with no apparent result ofgrave importance, but the spirit of mischief which had caused this bookto be found was by no means asleep in the school. Pranks were played in amost mysterious fashion with the girls' properties. Hester herself was the very next victim. She, too, was a neat and orderlychild--she was clever and thoroughly enjoyed her school work. She wasannoyed, therefore, and dreadfully puzzled, by discovering one morningthat her neat French exercise book was disgracefully blotted, and onepage torn across. She was severely reprimanded by Mdlle. Perier for suchgross untidiness and carelessness, and when she assured the governessthat she knew nothing whatever of the circumstance, that she was neverguilty of blots, and had left the book in perfect order the night before, the French lady only shrugged her shoulders, made an expressive gesturewith her eyebrows, and plainly showed Hester that she thought the lessshe said on that subject the better. Hester was required to write out her exercise again, and she fancied shesaw a triumphant look in Annie Forest's eyes as she left the school-room, where poor Hester was obliged to remain to undergo her unmeritedpunishment. "Cecil, " called Hester, in a passionate and eager voice, as Miss Templewas passing her place. Cecil paused for a moment. "What is it, Hetty?--oh, I am so sorry you must stay in this lovelybright day. " "I have done nothing wrong, " said Hester; "I never blotted thisexercise-book; I never tore this page. It is most unjust not to believemy word; it is most unjust to punish me for what I have not done. " Miss Temple's face looked puzzled and sad. "I must not stay to talk to you now, Hester, " she whispered; "I ambreaking the rules. You can come to my drawing-room by-and-by, and wewill discuss this matter. " But Hester and Cecil, talk as they would, could find no solution to themystery. Cecil absolutely refused to believe that Annie Forest hadanything to do with the matter. "No, " she said, "such deceit is not in Annie's nature. I would doanything to help you, Hester; but I can't, and I won't, believe thatAnnie tried deliberately to do you any harm. " "I am quite certain she did, " retorted Hester, "and from this moment Irefuse to speak to her until she confesses what she has done andapologizes to me. Indeed, I have a great mind to go and tell everythingto Mrs. Willis. " "Oh, I would not do that, " said Cecil; "none of your schoolfellows wouldforgive you if you charged such a favorite as Annie with a crime whichyou cannot in the least prove against her. You must be patient, Hester, and if you are, I will take your part, and try to get at the bottom ofthe mystery. " Cecil, however, failed to do so. Annie laughed when the affair wasdiscussed in her presence, but her clear eyes looked as innocent as theday, and nothing would induce Cecil to doubt Miss Forest's honor. The mischievous sprite, however, who was sowing such seeds of unhappinessin the hitherto peaceful school was not satisfied with two deeds ofdaring; for a week afterward Cecil Temple found a book of Mrs. Browning's, out of which she was learning a piece for recitation, withits cover half torn off, and, still worse, a caricature of Mrs. Willissketched with some cleverness and a great deal of malice on thetitle-page. On the very same morning, Dora Russell, on opening her desk, was seen to throw up her hands with a gesture of dismay. The neatcomposition she had finished the night before was not to be seen in itsaccustomed place, but in a corner of the desk were two bulky andmysterious parcels, one of which contained a great junk of richplum-cake, and the other some very sticky and messy "Turkish delight;"while the paper which enveloped these luxuries was found to be that onwhich the missing composition was written. Dora's face grew very white, she forgot the ordinary rules of the school, and, leaving her class, walked down the room, and interrupted Miss Good, who was beginning toinstruct the third class in English grammar. "Will you please come and see something in my desk, Miss Good?" she saidin a voice which trembled with excitement. It was while she was speaking that Cecil found the copy of Mrs. Browningmutilated, and with the disgraceful caricature on its title-page. Startled as she was by this discovery, and also by Miss Russell'sextraordinary behavior, she had presence of mind enough to hide the sightwhich pained her from her companions. Unobserved, in the strong interestof the moment, for all the girls were watching Dora Russell and MissGood, she managed to squeeze the little volume into her pocket. She hadindeed received a great shock, for she knew well that the only girl whocould caricature in the school was Annie Forest. For a moment hertroubled eyes sought the ground, but then she raised them and looked atAnnie; Annie, however, with a particularly cheerful face, and her brightdark eyes full of merriment, was gazing in astonishment at the scenewhich was taking place in front of Miss Russell's desk. Dora, whose enunciation was very clear, seemed to have absolutelyforgotten herself; she disregarded Miss Good's admonitions, and declaredstoutly that at such a moment she did not care what rules she broke. Shewas quite determined that the culprit who had dared to desecrate hercomposition, and put plum-cake and "Turkish delight" into her desk, should be publicly exposed and punished. "The thing cannot go on any longer, Miss Good, " she said; "there is agirl in this school who ought to be expelled from it, and I for onedeclare openly that I will not submit to associate with a girl who isworse than unladylike. If you will permit me, Miss Good, I will carrythese things at once to Mrs. Willis, and beg of her to investigate thewhole affair, and bring the culprit to justice, and to turn her out ofthe school. " "Stay, Miss Russell, " exclaimed the English teacher, "you strangely andcompletely forget yourself. You are provoked, I own, but you have noright to stand up and absolutely hoist the flag of rebellion in the facesof the other girls. I cannot excuse your conduct. I will myself take awaythese parcels which were found in your desk, and will report the affairto Mrs. Willis. She will take what steps she thinks right in bringing youto order, and in discovering the author of this mischief. Returninstantly to your desk, Miss Russell; you strangely forget yourself. " Miss Good left the room, having removed the plum-cake and "Turkishdelight" from Dora Russell's desk, and lessons continued as best theycould under such exciting circumstances. At twelve o'clock that day, just as the girls were preparing to go up totheir rooms to get ready for their usual walk, Mrs. Willis came into theschool-room. "Stay one moment, young ladies, " said the head-mistress in that slightlyvibrating and authoritative voice of hers. "I have a word or two to sayto you all. Miss Good has just brought me a painful story of wanton andcruel mischief. There are fifty girls in this school, who, until lately, lived happily together. There is now one girl among the fifty whoseobject it is to sow seeds of discord and misery among her companions. Miss Good has told me of three different occasions on which mischief hasbeen done to different girls in the school. Twice Miss Russell's desk hasbeen disturbed, once Miss Thornton's. It is possible that other girls mayalso have suffered who have been noble enough not to complain. There is, however, a grave mischief, in short a moral disease in our midst. Such athing is worse than bodily illness--it must be stamped out instantly andcompletely at the risk of any personal suffering. I am now going to askyou, girls, a simple question, and I demand instant truth without anyreservation. Miss Russell's desk has been tampered with--Miss Thornton'sdesk has been tampered with. Has any other girl suffered injury--has anyother girl's desk been touched?" Mrs. Willis looked down the long room--her voice had reached everycorner, and the quiet, dignified, and deeply-pained expression in herfine eyes was plainly visible to each girl in the school. Even the littleones were startled and subdued by the tone of Mrs. Willis' voice, and oneor two of them suddenly burst into tears. Mrs. Willis paused for a fullmoment, then she repeated her question. "I insist upon knowing the exact truth, my dear children, " she saidgently, but with great decision. "My desk has also been tampered with, " said Miss Temple, in a low voice. Every one started when Cecil spoke, and even Annie Forest glanced at herwith a half-frightened and curious expression. Cecil's voice indeed wasso low, so shaken with doubt and pain, that her companions scarcelyrecognized it. "Come here, Miss Temple, " said Mrs. Willis. Cecil instantly left her desk and walked up the room. "Your desk has also been tampered with, you say?" repeated thehead-mistress. "Yes, madam. " "When did you discover this?" "To-day, Mrs. Willis. " "You kept it to yourself?" "Yes. " "Will you now repeat in the presence of the school, and in a loud enoughvoice to be heard by all here, exactly what was done?" "Pardon me, " answered Cecil, and now her voice was a little less agitatedand broken, and she looked full into the face of her teacher, "I cannotdo that. " "You deliberately disobey me, Cecil?" said Mrs. Willis. "Yes, madam. " Mrs. Willis' face flushed--she did not, however, look angry; she laid herhand on Cecil's shoulder and looked full into her eyes. "You are one of my best pupils, Cecil, " she said tenderly. "At such amoment as this, honor requires you to stand by your mistress. I mustinsist on your telling me here and now exactly what has occurred. " Cecil's face grew whiter and whiter. "I cannot tell you, " she murmured; "it breaks my heart, but I cannot tellyou. " "You have defied me, Cecil, " said Mrs. Willis in a tone of deep pain. "Imust, my dear, insist on your obedience, but not now. Miss Good, will youtake Miss Temple to the chapel? I will come to you, Cecil, in an hour'stime. " Cecil walked down the room crying silently. Her deep distress and hervery firm refusal to disclose what she knew had made a great impressionon her schoolfellows. They all felt troubled and uneasy, and AnnieForest's face was very pale. "This thing, this wicked, mischievous thing has gone deeper than Ifeared, " said Mrs. Willis, when Cecil had left the room. "Only some verystrong motive would make Cecil Temple behave as she is now doing. She isinfluenced by a mistaken idea of what is right; she wishes to shield theguilty person. I may as well tell you all, young ladies, that, dear asCecil is to me, she is now under the ban of my severe displeasure. Untilshe confesses the truth and humbles herself before me, I cannot bereconciled to her. I cannot permit her to associate with you. She hasdone very wrong, and her punishment must be proportionately severe. Thereis one chance for her, however. Will the girl whom she is mistakenly, though generously, trying to shield, come forward and confess her guilt, and so release poor Cecil from the terrible position in which she hasplaced herself? By doing so, the girl who has caused all this misery willat least show me that she is trying to repent?" Mrs. Willis paused again, and now she looked down the room with a face ofalmost entreaty. Several pairs of eyes were fixed anxiously on her, several looked away, and many girls glanced in the direction of AnnieForest, who, feeling herself suspected, returned their glances with bolddefiance, and instantly assumed her most reckless manner. Mrs. Willis waited for a full minute. "The culprit is not noble enough, " she said then. "Now, girls, I must askeach of you to come up one by one and deny or confess this charge. As youdo so, you are silently to leave the school-room and go up to your rooms, and prepare for the walk which has been so painfully delayed. MissConway, you are at the head of the school, will you set the example?" One by one the girls of the head class stepped up to their teacher, andof each one she asked the same question: "Are you guilty?" Each girl replied in the negative and walked out of the school-room. Thesecond class followed the example of the first, and then the third classcame up to their teacher. Several ears were strained to hear AnnieForest's answer, but her eyes were lifted fearlessly to Mrs. Willis'face, and her "No!" was heard all over the room. CHAPTER XII. IN THE CHAPEL. The bright light from a full noontide sun was shining in colored barsthrough the richly-painted windows of the little chapel when Mrs. Willissought Cecil Temple there. Cecil's face was in many ways a remarkable one. Her soft brown eyes were generally filled with a steadfast and kindlyray. Gentleness was her special prerogative, but there was nothing weakabout her--hers was the gentleness of a strong, and pure, and noble soul. To know Cecil was to love her. She was a motherless girl, and the onlychild of a most indulgent father. Colonel Temple was now in India, andCecil was to finish her education under Mrs. Willis' care, and then, ifnecessary, to join her father. Mrs. Willis had always taken a special interest in this girl. She admiredher for her great moral worth. Cecil was not particularly clever, but shewas so studious, so painstaking, that she always kept a high place inclass. She was without doubt a religious girl, but there was nothing ofthe prig about her. She was not, however, ashamed of her religion, and, if the fitting occasion arose, she was fearless in expressing heropinion. Mrs. Willis used to call Cecil her "little standard-bearer, " and sherelied greatly on her influence over the third-class girls. Mrs. Willisconsidered the third class, perhaps, the most important in the school. She was often heard to say: "The girls who fill this class have come to a turning point--they havecome to the age when resolves may be made for life, and kept. The goodthird-class girl is very unlikely to degenerate as she passes through thesecond and first classes. On the other hand, there is very little hopethat the idle or mischievous third-class girl will mend her ways as shegoes higher in the school. " Mrs. Willis' steps were very slow, and her thoughts extremely painful, asshe entered the chapel to-day. Had any one else offered her defiance shewould have known how to deal with the culprit, but Cecil would never haveacted as she did without the strongest motive, and Mrs. Willis felt moresorrowful than angry as she sat down by the side of her favorite pupil. "I have kept you waiting longer than I intended, my dear, " she said. "Iwas unexpectedly interrupted, and I am sorry; but you have had more timeto think, Cecil. " "Yes, I have thought, " answered Cecil, in a very low tone. "And, perhaps, " continued her governess, "in this quiet and beautiful andsacred place, my dear pupil has also prayed?" "I have prayed, " said Cecil. "Then you have been guided, Cecil, " said Mrs. Willis, in a tone ofrelief. "We do not come to God in our distress without being shown theright way. Your doubts have been removed, Cecil; you can now speak fullyto me: can you not, dear?" "I have asked God to tell me what is right, " said Cecil. "I don't pretendto know. I am very much puzzled. It seems to me that more good would bedone if I concealed what you asked me to confess in the school-room. Myown feeling is that I ought not to tell you. I know this is greatdisobedience, and I am quite willing to receive any punishment you thinkright to give me. Yes, I think I am quite willing to receive _any_punishment. " Mrs. Willis put her hand on Cecil's shoulder. "Ordinary punishments are not likely to affect you, Cecil, " she said; "onyou I have no idea of inflicting extra lessons, or depriving you ofhalf-holidays, or even taking away your drawing-room. But there issomething else you must lose, and that I know will touch you deeply--Imust remove from you my confidence. " Cecil's face grew very pale. "And your love, too?" she said, looking up with imploring eyes; "oh, surely not your love as well?" "I ask you frankly, Cecil, " replied Mrs. Willis, "can perfect love existwithout perfect confidence? I would not willingly deprive you of my love, but of necessity the love I have hitherto felt for you must bealtered--in short, the old love, which enabled me to rest on you andtrust you, will cease. " Cecil covered her face with her hands. "This punishment is very cruel, " she said. "You are right; it reachesdown to my very heart. But, " she added, looking up with a strong andsweet light in her face, "I will try and bear it, and some day you willunderstand. " "Listen, Cecil, " said Mrs. Willis; "you have just told me you have prayedto God, and have asked Him to show you the right path. Now, my dear, suppose we kneel together, and both of us ask Him to show us the way outof this difficult matter. I want to be guided to use the right words withyou, Cecil. You want to be guided to receive the instruction which I, asyour teacher and mother-friend, would give you. " Cecil and Mrs. Willis both knelt down, and the head-mistress said a fewwords in a voice of great earnestness and entreaty; then they resumedtheir seats. "Now, Cecil, " said Mrs. Willis, "you must remember in listening to methat I am speaking to you as I believe God wishes me to. If I canconvince you that you are doing wrong in concealing what you know fromme, will you act as I wish in the matter?" "I long to be convinced, " said Cecil, in a low tone. "That is right, my dear; I can now speak to you with perfect freedom. Mywords you will remember, Cecil, are now, I firmly believe, directed byGod; they are also the result of a large experience. I have trained manygirls. I have watched the phases of thought in many young minds. Cecil, look at me. I can read you like a book. " Cecil looked up expectantly. "Your motive for this concealment is as clear as the daylight, Cecil. Youare keeping back what you know because you want to shield some one. Am Inot right, my dear?" The color flooded Cecil's pale face. She bent her head in silent assent, but her eyes were too full of tears, and her lips trembled too much toallow her to speak. "The girl you want to defend, " continued Mrs. Willis, in that clear, patient voice of hers, "is one whom you and I both love--is one for whomwe both have prayed--is one for whom we would both gladly sacrificeourselves if necessary. Her name is----" "Oh, don't, " said Cecil imploringly--"don't say her name; you have noright to suspect her. " "I must say her name, Cecil, dear. If you suspect Annie Forest, whyshould not I? You do suspect her, do you not, Cecil?" Cecil began to cry. "I know it, " continued Mrs. Willis. "Now, Cecil, we will suppose, terrible as this suspicion is, fearfully as it pains us both, that AnnieForest _is_ guilty. We must suppose for the sake of my argument that thisis the case. Do you not know, my dear Cecil, that you are doing thefalsest, cruelest thing by dear Annie in trying to hide her sin from me?Suppose, just for the sake of our argument, that this cowardly conduct onAnnie's part was never found out by me; what effect would it have onAnnie herself?" "It would save her in the eyes of the school, " said Cecil. "Just so; but God would know the truth. Her next downfall would bedeeper. In short, Cecil, under the idea of friendship you would have donethe cruelest thing in all the world for your friend. " Cecil was quite silent. "This is one way to look at it, " continued Mrs. Willis; "but there aremany other points from which this case ought to be viewed. You owe muchto Annie, but not all--you have a duty to perform to your otherschoolfellows. You have a duty to perform to me. If you possess a cluewhich will enable me to convict Annie Forest of her sin, in commonjustice you have no right to withhold it. Remember, that while she goesabout free and unsuspected, some other girl is under the ban--some othergirl is watched and feared. You fail in your duty to your schoolfellowswhen you keep back your knowledge, Cecil. When you refuse to trust me, you fail in your duty to your mistress; for I cannot stamp out this eviland wicked thing from our midst unless I know all. When you conceal yourknowledge, you ruin the character of the girl you seek to shield. Whenyou conceal your knowledge, you go against God's express wish. There--Ihave spoken to you as He directed me to speak. " Cecil suddenly sprang to her feet. "I never thought of all these things, " she said. "You are right, but itis very hard, and mine is only a suspicion. Oh, do be tender to her, and--forgive me--may I go away now?" As she spoke, she pulled out the torn copy of Mrs. Browning, laid it onher teacher's lap, and ran swiftly out of the chapel. CHAPTER XIII. TALKING OVER THE MYSTERY. Annie Forest, sitting in the midst of a group of eager admirers, waschatting volubly. Never had she been in higher spirits, never had herpretty face looked more bright and daring. Cecil Temple coming into the play-room, started when she saw her. Annie, however, instantly rose from the low hassock on which she had perchedherself and, running up to Cecil, put her hand through her arm. "We are all discussing the mystery, darling, " she said; "we havediscussed it, and literally torn it to shreds, and yet never got at thekernel. We have guessed and guessed what your motive can be in concealingthe truth from Mrs. Willis, and we all unanimously vote that you are adear old martyr, and that you have some admirable reason for keeping backthe truth. You cannot think what an excitement we are in--even SusyDrummond has stayed awake to listen to our chatter. Now, Cecil, do comeand sit here in this most inviting little arm-chair, and tell us what ourdear head-mistress said to you in the chapel. It did seem so awful tosend you to the chapel, poor dear Cecil. " Cecil stood perfectly still and quiet while Annie was pouring out hertorrent of eager words; her eyes, indeed, did not quite meet hercompanion's, but she allowed Annie to retain her clasp of her arm, andshe evidently listened with attention to her words. Now, however, whenMiss Forest tried to draw her into the midst of the eager and animatedgroup who sat round the play-room fire, she hesitated and lookedlongingly in the direction of her peaceful little drawing-room. Herhesitation, however, was but momentary. Quite silently she walked withAnnie down the large play-room and entered the group of girls. "Here's your throne, Queen Cecil, " said Annie, trying to push her intothe little arm-chair; but Cecil would not seat herself. "How nice that you have come, Cecil!" said Mary Pierce, a second-classgirl. "I really think--we all think--that you were very brave to standout against Mrs. Willis as you did. Of course we are devoured withcuriosity to know what it means; arn't we, Flo?" "Yes, we're in agonies, " answered Flo Dunstan, another second-class girl. "You will tell exactly what Mrs. Willis said, darling heroine?" proceededAnnie in her most dulcet tones. "You concealed your knowledge, didn'tyou? you were very firm, weren't you? dear, brave love!" "For my part, I think Cecil Temple the soul of brave firmness, " hereinterrupted Susan Drummond. "I fancy she's as hard and firm in herselfwhen she wants to conceal a thing as that rocky sweetmeat which alwayshurts our teeth to get through. Yes, I do fancy that. " "Oh, Susy, what a horrid metaphor!" here interrupted several girls. One, however, of the eager group of schoolgirls had not opened her lipsor said a word; that girl was Hester Thornton. She had been drawn intothe circle by an intense curiosity; but she had made no comment withregard to Cecil's conduct. If she knew anything of the mystery she hadthrown no light on it. She had simply sat motionless, with watchful andalert eyes and silent tongue. Now, for the first time, she spoke. "I think, if you will allow her, that Cecil has got something to say, "she remarked. Cecil glanced down at her with a very brief look of gratitude. "Thank you, Hester, " she said. "I won't keep you a moment, girls. Icannot offer to throw any light on the mystery which makes us all somiserable to-day; but I think it right to undeceive you with regard tomyself. I have not concealed what I know from Mrs. Willis. She is inpossession of all the facts, and what I found in my desk this morning isnow in her keeping. She has made me see that in concealing my knowledge Iwas acting wrongly, and whatever pain has come to me in the matter, shenow knows all. " When Cecil had finished her sad little speech she walked straight out ofthe group of girls, and, without glancing at one of them, went across theplay-room to her own compartment. She had failed to observe a quick andstartled glance from Susan Drummond's sleepy blue eyes, nor had she heardher mutter--half to her companions, half to herself: "Cecil is not like the rocky sweetmeat; I was mistaken in her. " Neither had Cecil seen the flash of almost triumph in Hester's eyes, northe defiant glance she threw at Miss Forest. Annie stood with her handsclasped, and a little frown of perplexity between her brows, for amoment; then she ran fearlessly down the play-room, and said in a lowvoice at the other side of Cecil's curtains: "May I come in?" Cecil said "Yes, " and Annie, entering the pretty little drawing-room, flung her arms round Miss Temple's neck. "Cecil, " she exclaimed impulsively, "you're in great trouble. I am agiddy, reckless thing, I know, but I don't laugh at people when they arein real trouble. Won't you tell me all about it, Cecil?" "I will, Annie. Sit down there and I will tell you everything. I thinkyou have a right to know, and I am glad you have come to me. I thoughtperhaps--but no matter. Annie, can't you guess what I am going to say?" "No, I'm sure I can't, " said Annie. "I saw for a moment or two to-daythat some of those absurd girls suspected me of being the author of allthis mischief. Now, you know, Cecil, I love a bit of fun beyond words. Ifthere's any going on I feel nearly mad until I am in it; but what wasdone to-day was not at all in accordance with my ideas of fun. To tear upMiss Russell's essay and fill her desk with stupid plum-cake and Turkishdelight seems to me but a sorry kind of jest. Now, if I had been guiltyof that sort of thing, I'd have managed something far cleverer than that. If _I_ had tampered with Dora Russell's desk, I'd have done the thing instyle. The dear, sweet, dignified creature should have shrieked in realterror. You don't know, perhaps, Cecil, that our admirable Dora is no endof a coward. I wonder what she would have said if I had put a little nestof field-mice in her desk! I saw that the poor thing suspected me, as shegave way to her usual little sneer about the 'under-bred girl;' but, ofcourse, _you_ know me, Cecil. Why, my dear Cecil, what is the matter? Howwhite you are, and you are actually crying! What is it, Cecil? what isit, Cecil, darling?" Cecil dried her eyes quickly. "You know my pet copy of Mrs. Browning's poems, don't you, Annie?" "Oh, yes, of course. You lent it to me one day. Don't you remember howyou made me cry over that picture of little Alice, the over-workedfactory girl? What about the book, Cecil?" "I found the book in my desk, " said Cecil, in a steady tone, and nowfixing her eyes on Annie, who knelt by her side--"I found the book in mydesk, although I never keep it there; for it is quite against the rulesto keep our recreation books in our school-desks, and you know, Annie, Ialways think it is so much easier to keep these little rules. They arematters of duty and conscience, after all. I found my copy of Mrs. Browning in my desk this morning with the cover torn off, and with a verypainful and ludicrous caricature of our dear Mrs. Willis sketched on thetitle-page. " "What?" said Annie. "No, no; impossible!" "You know nothing about it, do you, Annie?" "I never put it there, if that's what you mean, " said Annie. But her facehad undergone a curious change. Her light and easy and laughing mannerhad altered. When Cecil mentioned the caricature she flushed a vividcrimson. Her flush had quickly died away, leaving her olive-tinted facepaler than its wont. "I see, " she said, after a long pause, "you, too, suspected me, Cecil, and that is why you tried to conceal the thing. You know that I am theonly girl in the school who can draw caricatures, but did you supposethat I would show _her_ dishonor? Of course things look ugly for me, ifthis is what you found in your book; but I did not think that _you_ wouldsuspect me, Cecil. " "I will believe you, Annie, " said Cecil, eagerly. "I long beyond words tobelieve you. With all your faults, no one has ever yet found you out in alie. If you look at me, Annie, and tell me honestly that you know nothingwhatever about that caricature, I will believe you. Yes, I will believeyou fully, and I will go with you to Mrs. Willis and tell her that, whoever did the wrong, you are innocent in this matter. Say you knownothing about it, dear, dear Annie, and take a load off my heart. " "I never put the caricature into your book, Cecil. " "And you know nothing about it?" "I cannot say that; I never--never put it in your book. " "Oh, Annie, " exclaimed poor Cecil, "you are trying to deceive me. Whywon't you be brave? Oh, Annie, I never thought you would stoop to a lie. " "I'm telling no lie, " answered Annie with sudden passion. "I do knowsomething about the caricature, but I never put it into that book. There!you doubt me, you have ceased to believe me, and I won't waste any morewords on the matter. " CHAPTER XIV. "SENT TO COVENTRY. " There were many girls in the school who remembered that dismalhalf-holiday--they remembered its forced mirth and its hidden anxiety;and as the hours flew by the suspicion that Annie Forest was the authorof all the mischief grew and deepened. A school is like a little world, and popular opinion is apt to change with great rapidity. Annie wasundoubtedly the favorite of the school; but favorites are certain to haveenemies, and there were several girls unworthy enough and mean enough tobe jealous of poor Annie's popularity. She was the kind of girl whom onlyvery small natures could really dislike. Her popularity arose from thesimple fact that hers was a peculiarly joyous and unselfish nature. Shewas a girl with scarcely any self-consciousness; those she loved, sheloved devotedly; she threw herself with a certain feverish impetuosityinto their lives, and made their interest her own. To get into mischiefand trouble for the sake of a friend was an every-day occurrence withAnnie. She was not the least studious; she had no one particular talent, unless it was an untrained and birdlike voice; she was always more orless in hot water about her lessons, always behindhand in her tasks, always leaving undone what she should do, and doing what she should notdo. She was a contradictory, erratic creature--jealous of no one, enviousof no one--dearly loving a joke, and many times inflicting pain fromsheer thoughtlessness, but always ready to say she was sorry, alwaysready to make friends again. It is strange that such a girl as Annie should have enemies, but she had, and in the last few weeks the feeling of jealousy and envy which hadalways been smoldering in some breasts took more active form. Two reasonsaccounted for this: Hester's openly avowed and persistent dislike toAnnie, and Miss Russell's declared conviction that she was under-bred andnot a lady. Miss Russell was the only girl in the first class who had hitherto givenwild little Annie a thought. In the first class, to-day, Annie had to act the unpleasing part of thewicked little heroine. Miss Russell was quite certain of Annie's guilt;she and her companions condescended to discuss poor Annie and to pull allher little virtues to pieces, and to magnify her sins to an alarmingextent. After two or three hours of judicious conversation, Dora Russell and mostof the other first-class girls decided that Annie ought to be expelled, and unanimously resolved that they, at least, would do what they could to"send her to Coventry. " In the lower part of the school Annie also had a few enemies, and thesegirls, having carefully observed Hester's attitude toward her, now cameup close to this dignified little lady, and asked her boldly to declareher opinion with regard to Annie's guilt. Hester, without the least hesitation, assured them that "of course Anniehad done it. " "There is not room for a single doubt on the subject, " she said;"there--look at her now. " At this instant Annie was leaving Cecil's compartment, and with red eyes, and hair, as usual, falling about her face, was running out of theplay-room. She seemed in great distress; but, nevertheless, before shereached the door, she stopped to pick up a little girl of five, who wasfretting about some small annoyance. Annie took the little one in herarms, kissed her tenderly, whispered some words in her ear, which causedthe little face to light up with some smiles and the round arms to claspAnnie with an ecstatic hug. She dropped the child, who ran back to playmerrily with her companions, and left the room. The group of middle-class girls still sat on by the fire, but HesterThornton now, not Annie, was the center of attraction. It was the firsttime in all her young life that Hester had found herself in the enviableposition of a favorite; and without at all knowing what mischief she wasdoing, she could not resist improving the occasion, and making the mostof her dislike for Annie. Several of those who even were fond of Miss Forest came round to theconviction that she was really guilty, and one by one, as is the fashionnot only among school girls but in the greater world outside, they beganto pick holes in their former favorite. These girls, too, resolved that, if Annie were really so mean as maliciously to injure other girls'property and get them into trouble, she must be "sent to Coventry. " "What's Coventry?" asked one of the little ones, the child whom Annie hadkissed and comforted, now sidling up to the group. "Oh, a nasty place, Phena, " said Mary Bell, putting her arm round thepretty child and drawing her to her side. "And who is going there?" "Why, I am afraid it is naughty Annie Forest. " "She's not naughty! Annie sha'n't go to any nasty place. I hate you, MaryBell. " The little one looked round the group with flashing eyes ofdefiance, then wrenched herself away to return to her younger companions. "It was stupid of you to say that, Mary, " remarked one of the girls. "Well, " she continued, "I suppose it is all settled, and poor Annie, tosay the least of it, is not a lady. For my own part, I always thought hergreat fun, but if she is proved guilty of this offense I wash my hands ofher. " "We all wash our hands of her, " echoed the girls, with the exception ofSusan Drummond, who, as usual, was nodding in her chair. "What do you say, Susy?" asked one or two; "you have not opened your lipsall this time. " "I--eh?--what?" asked Susan, stretching herself and yawning, "oh, aboutAnnie Forest--I suppose you are right, girls. Is not that the tea-gong?I'm awfully hungry. " Hester Thornton went into the tea-room that evening feeling particularlyvirtuous, and with an idea that she had distinguished herself in someway. Poor foolish, thoughtless Hester, she little guessed what seed she hadsown, and what a harvest she was preparing for her own reaping by-and-by. CHAPTER XV. ABOUT SOME PEOPLE WHO THOUGHT NO EVIL. A few days after this Hester was much delighted to receive an invitationfrom her little friends, the Misses Bruce. These good ladies had notforgotten the lonely and miserable child whom they had comforted not alittle during her journey to school six weeks ago. They invited Hester tospend the next half-holiday with them, and as this happened to fall on aSaturday, Mrs. Willis gave Hester permission to remain with her friendsuntil eight o'clock, when she would send the carriage to fetch her home. The trouble about Annie had taken place the Wednesday before, and all thegirls' heads were full of the uncleared-up mystery when Hester started onher little expedition. Nothing was known; no fresh light had been thrown on the subject. Everything went on as usual within the school, and a casual observerwould never have noticed the cloud which rested over that usually happydwelling. A casual observer would have noticed little or no change inAnnie Forest; her merry laugh was still heard, her light step stilldanced across the play-room floor, she was in her place in class, andwas, if anything, a little more attentive and a little more successfulover her lessons. Her pretty piquant face, her arch expression, thebright, quick and droll glance which she alone could give, were still tobe seen; but those who knew her well and those who loved her best saw achange in Annie. In the play-room she devoted herself exclusively to the little ones; shenever went near Cecil Temple's drawing-room; she never mingled with thegirls of the middle school as they clustered round the cheerful fire. Atmeal-times she ate little, and her room-fellow was heard to declare thatshe was awakened more than once in the middle of the night by the soundof Annie's sobs. In chapel, too, when she fancied herself quiteunobserved, her face wore an expression of great pain; but if Mrs. Willishappened to glance in her direction, instantly the little mouth becamedemure and almost hard, the dark eyelashes were lowered over the brighteyes, the whole expression of the face showed the extreme ofindifference. Hester felt more sure than ever of Annie's guilt; but oneor two of the other girls in the school wavered in this opinion, andwould have taken Annie out of "Coventry" had she herself made thesmallest advance toward them. Annie and Hester had not spoken to each other now for several days; buton this afternoon, which was a bright one in early spring, as Hester waschanging her school-dress for her Sunday one, and preparing for her visitto the Misses Bruce, there came a light knock at her door. She said, "Come in!" rather impatiently, for she was in a hurry, and dreaded beingkept. To her surprise Annie Forest put in her curly head, and then, dancingwith her usual light movement across the room, she laid a little bunch ofdainty spring flowers on the dressing-table beside Hester. Hester stared, first at the intruder, and then at the early primroses. She passionately loved flowers, and would have exclaimed with ecstasy atthese had any one brought them in except Annie. "I want you, " said Annie, rather timidly for her, "to take these flowersfrom me to Miss Agnes and Miss Jane Bruce. It will be very kind of you ifyou will take them. I am sorry to have interrupted you--thank you verymuch. " She was turning away when Hester compelled herself to remark: "Is there any message with the flowers?" "Oh, no--only Annie Forest's love. They'll understand----" she turnedhalf round as she spoke, and Hester saw that her eyes had filled withtears. She felt touched in spite of herself. There was something inAnnie's face now which reminded her of her darling little Nan at home. She had seen the same beseeching, sorrowful look in Nan's brown eyes whenshe had wanted her friends to kiss her and take her to their hearts andlove her. Hester would not allow herself, however, to feel any tenderness towardAnnie. Of course she was not really a bit like sweet little Nan, and itwas absurd to suppose that a great girl like Annie could want caressingand petting and soothing; still, in spite of herself, Annie's lookhaunted her, and she took great care of the little flower-offering, andpresented it with Annie's message instantly on her arrival to the littleold ladies. Miss Jane and Miss Agnes were very much pleased with the early primroses. They looked at one another and said: "Poor dear little girl, " in tender voices, and then they put the flowersinto one of their daintiest vases, and made much of them, and showed themto any visitors who happened to call that afternoon. Their little house looked something like a doll's house to Hester, whohad been accustomed all her life to large rooms and spacious passages;but it was the sweetest, daintiest, and most charming little abode in theworld. It was not unlike a nest, and the Misses Bruce in certain waysresembled bright little robin redbreasts, so small, so neat, so chirrupythey were. Hester enjoyed her afternoon immensely; the little ladies were right intheir prophesy, and she was no longer lonely at school. She enjoyedtalking about her schoolfellows, about her new life, about her studies. The Misses Bruce were decidedly fond of a gossip, but something which shecould not at all define in their manner prevented Hester from retailingfor their benefit any unkind news. They told her frankly at last thatthey were only interested in the good things which went on in the school, and that they found no pursuit so altogether delightful as finding outthe best points in all the people they came across. They would not evenlaugh at sleepy, tiresome Susan Drummond; on the contrary, they pitiedher, and Miss Jane wondered if the girl could be quite well, whereuponMiss Agnes shook her head, and said emphatically that it was Hester'sduty to rouse poor Susy, and to make her waking life so interesting toher that she should no longer care to spend so many hours in the world ofdreams. There is such a thing as being so kind-hearted, so gentle, so charitableas to make the people who have not encouraged these virtues feel quiteuncomfortable. By the mere force of contrast they begin to see themselvessomething as they really are. Since Hester had come to Lavender House shehad taken very little pains to please others rather than herself, and shewas now almost startled to see how she had allowed selfishness to get thebetter of her. While the Misses Bruce were speaking, old longings, whichhad slept since her mother's death, came back to the young girl, and shebegan to wish that she could be kinder to Susan Drummond, and that shecould overcome her dislike to Annie Forest. She longed to say somethingabout Annie to the little ladies, but they evidently did not wish toallude to the subject. When she was going away, they gave her a smallparcel. "You will kindly give this to your schoolfellow, Miss Forest, Hester, dear, " they both said, and then they kissed her, and said they hoped theyshould see her again; and Hester got into the old-fashioned schoolbrougham, and held the brown paper parcel in her hand. As she was going into the chapel that night, Mary Bell came up to her andwhispered: "We have not got to the bottom of that mystery about Annie Forest yet. Mrs. Willis can evidently make nothing of her, and I believe Mr. Everardis going to talk to her after prayers to-night. " As she was speaking, Annie herself pushed rather rudely past the twogirls; her face was flushed, and her hair was even more untidy than wasits wont. "Here is a parcel for you, Miss Forest, " said Hester, in a much moregentle tone than she was wont to use when she addressed thisobjectionable schoolmate. All the girls were now filing into the chapel, and Hester shouldcertainly not have presented the little parcel at that moment. "Breaking the rules, Miss Thornton, " said Annie; "all right, toss ithere. " Then, as Hester failed to comply, she ran back, knocking herschoolfellows out of place, and, snatching the parcel from Hester's hand, threw it high in the air. This was a piece of not only willful audacityand disobedience, but it even savored of the profane, for Annie's stepwas on the threshold of the chapel, and the parcel fell with a noisy bangon the floor some feet inside the little building. "Bring me that parcel, Annie Forest, " whispered the stern voice of thehead-mistress. Annie sullenly complied; but when she came up to Mrs. Willis, hergoverness took her hand, and pushed her down into a low seat a littlebehind her. CHAPTER XVI. "AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS. " The short evening service was over, and one by one, in orderlyprocession, the girls left the chapel. Annie was about to rise to herfeet to follow her school-companions, when Mrs. Willis stooped down, andwhispered something in her ear. Her face became instantly suffused with adull red; she resumed her seat, and buried her face in both her hands. One or two of the girls noticed her despondent attitude as they left thechapel, and Cecil Temple looked back with a glance of such unutterablesympathy that Annie's proud, suffering little heart would have beentouched could she but have seen the look. Presently the young steps died away, and Annie, raising her head, sawthat she was alone with Mr. Everard, who seated himself in the placewhich Mrs. Willis had occupied by her side. "Your governess has asked me to speak to you, my dear, " he said, in hiskind and fatherly tones; "she wants us to discuss this thing which ismaking you so unhappy quite fully together. " Here the clergyman paused, and noticing a sudden wistful and soft look in the girl's brown eyes, hecontinued: "Perhaps, however, you have something to say to me which willthrow light on this mystery?" "No, sir, I have nothing to say, " replied Annie, and now again the sullenexpression passed like a wave over her face. "Poor child, " said Mr. Everard. "Perhaps, Annie, " he continued, "you donot quite understand me--you do not quite read my motive in talking toyou to-night. I am not here in any sense to reprove you. You are eitherguilty of this sin, or you are not guilty. In either case I pity you; itis very hard, very bitter, to be falsely accused--I pity you much if thisis the case; but it is still harder, Annie, still more bitter, still moreabsolutely crushing to be accused of a sin which we are trying toconceal. In that terrible case God Himself hides His face. Poor child, poor child, I pity you most of all if you are guilty. " Annie had again covered her face, and bowed her head over her hands. Shedid not speak for a moment, but presently Mr. Everard heard a low sob, and then another, and another, until at last her whole frame was shakenwith a perfect tempest of weeping. The old clergyman, who had seen many strange phases of human nature, whohad in his day comforted and guided more than one young school-girl, wasfar too wise to do anything to check this flow of grief. He knew Anniewould speak more fully and more frankly when her tears were over. He wasright. She presently raised a very tear-stained face to the clergyman. "I felt very bitter at your coming to speak to me, " she began. "Mrs. Willis has always sent for you when everything else has failed with usgirls, and I did not think she would treat me so. I was determined not tosay anything to you. Now, however, you have spoken good words to me, andI can't turn away from you. I will tell you all that is in my heart. Iwill promise before God to conceal nothing, if only you will do one thingfor me. " "What is that, my child?" "Will you believe me?" "Undoubtedly. " "Ah, but you have not been tried yet. I thought Mrs. Willis wouldcertainly believe; but she said the circumstantial evidence was toostrong--perhaps it will be too strong for you. " "I promise to believe you, Annie Forest; if, before God, you can assureme that you are speaking the whole truth, I will fully believe you. " Annie paused again, then she rose from her seat and stood a pace awayfrom the old minister. "This is the truth before God, " she said, as she locked her two handstogether and raised her eyes freely and unshrinkingly to Mr. Everard'sface. "I have always loved Mrs. Willis. I have reasons for loving her which thegirls don't know about. The girls don't know that when my mother wasdying she gave me into Mrs. Willis' charge, and she said, 'You must keepAnnie until her father comes back. ' Mother did not know where father was;but she said he would be sure to come back some day, and look for motherand me; and Mrs. Willis said she would keep me faithfully until fathercame to claim me. That is four years ago, and my father has never come, nor have I heard of him, and I think, I am almost sure, that the littlemoney which mother left must be all used up. Mrs. Willis never saysanything about money, and she did not wish me to tell my story to thegirls. None of them know except Cecil Temple. I am sure some day fatherwill come home, and he will give Mrs. Willis back the money she has spenton me; but never, never, never can he repay her for her goodness to me. You see I cannot help loving Mrs. Willis. It is quite impossible for anygirl to have such a friend and not to love her. I know I am very wild, and that I do all sorts of mad things. It seems to me that I cannot helpmyself sometimes; but I would not willingly, indeed, I would notwillingly hurt anybody. Last Wednesday, as you know, there was a greatdisturbance in the school. Dora Russell's desk was tampered with, and sowas Cecil Temple's. You know, of course, what was found in both thedesks. Mrs. Willis sent for me, and asked me about the caricature whichwas drawn in Cecil's book. I looked at it and I told her the truth. I didnot conceal one thing. I told her the whole truth as far as I knew it. She did not believe me. She said so. What more could I do then?" Here Annie paused; she began to unclasp and clasp her hands, and shelooked full at Mr. Everard with a most pleading expression. "Do you mind repeating to me exactly what you said to your governess?" hequestioned. "I said this, sir. I said, 'Yes, Mrs. Willis, I did draw that caricature. You will scarcely understand how I, who love you so much, could have beenso mad and ungrateful as to do anything to turn you into ridicule. Iwould cut off my right hand now not to have done it; but I did do it, andI must tell you the truth. ' 'Tell me, dear, ' she said, quite gently then. 'It was one wet afternoon about a fortnight ago, ' I said to her; 'a lotof us middle-school girls were sitting together, and I had a pencil andsome bits of paper, and I was making up funny little groups of a lot ofus, and the girls were screaming with laughter, for somehow I managed tomake the likeness that I wanted in each case. It was very wrong of me, Iknow. It was against the rules, but I was in one of my maddest humors, and I really did not care what the consequences were. At last one of thegirls said: 'You won't dare to make a picture like that of Mrs. Willis, Annie--you know you won't dare. ' The minute she said that name I began tofeel ashamed. I remembered I was breaking one of the rules, and Isuddenly tore up all my bits of paper and flung them into the fire, and Isaid: 'No, I would not dare to show her dishonor. ' Well, afterward, as Iwas washing my hands for tea up in my room, the temptation came over meso strongly that I felt I could not resist it, to make a funny littlesketch of Mrs. Willis. I had a little scrap of thin paper, and I took outmy pencil and did it all in a minute. It seemed to me very funny, and Icould not help laughing at it; and then I thrust it into my privatewriting-case, which I always keep locked, and I put the key in my pocketand ran downstairs. I forgot all about the caricature. I had never shownit to any one. How it got into Cecil's book is more than I can say. WhenI had finished speaking Mrs. Willis looked very hard at the book. 'Youare right, ' she said; 'this caricature is drawn on a very thin piece ofpaper, which has been cleverly pasted on the title-page. ' Then, Mr. Everard, she asked me a lot of questions. Had I ever parted with my keys?Had I ever left my desk unlocked? 'No, ' I said, 'my desk is alwayslocked, and my keys are always in my pocket. Indeed, ' I added, 'my keyswere absolutely safe for the last week, for they went in a whitepetticoat to the wash, and came back as rusty as possible. ' I could notopen my desk for a whole week, which was a great nuisance. I told allthis story to Mrs. Willis, and she said to me: 'You are positivelycertain that this caricature has been taken out of your desk by somebodyelse, and pasted in here? You are sure that the caricature you drew isnot to be found in your desk?' 'Yes, ' I said; 'how can I be anything butsure; these are my pencil marks, and that is the funny little turn I gaveto your neck which made me laugh when I drew it. Yes; I am certainlysure. ' "'I have always been told, Annie, ' Mrs. Willis said, 'that you are theonly girl in the school who can draw these caricatures. You have neverseen an attempt at this kind of drawing among your schoolfellows, oramong any of the teachers?' "'I have never seen any of them try this special kind of drawing, ' Isaid. 'I wish I was like them. I wish I had never, never done it. ' "'You have got your keys now?' Mrs. Willis said. "'Yes, ' I answered, pulling them all covered with rust out of my pocket. "Then she told me to leave the keys on the table, and to go upstairs andfetch down my little private desk. "I did so, and she made me put the rusty key in the lock and open thedesk, and together we searched through its contents. We pulled outeverything, or rather I did, and I scattered all my possessions about onthe table, and then I looked up almost triumphantly at Mrs. Willis. "'You see the caricature is not here, ' I said; 'somebody picked the lockand took it away. ' "'This lock has not been picked, ' Mrs. Willis said; 'and what is thatlittle piece of white paper sticking out of the private drawer?' "'Oh, I forgot my private drawer, ' I said; 'but there is nothing init--nothing whatever, ' and then I touched the spring, and pulled it open, and there lay the little caricature which I had drawn in the bottom ofthe drawer. There it lay, not as I had left it, for I had never put itinto the private drawer. I saw Mrs. Willis' face turn very white, and Inoticed that her hands trembled. I was all red myself, and very hot, andthere was a choking lump in my throat, and I could not have got a singleword out even if I had wished to. So I began scrambling the things backinto my desk, as hard as ever I could, and then I locked it, and put therusty keys back in my pocket. "'What am I to believe now, Annie?' Mrs. Willis said. "'Believe anything you like now, ' I managed to say; and then I took mydesk and walked out of the room, and would not wait even though shecalled me back. "That is the whole story, Mr. Everard, " continued Annie. "I have noexplanation whatever to give. I did make the one caricature of my deargoverness. I did not make the other. The second caricature is certainly acopy of the first, but I did not make it. I don't know who made it. Ihave no light whatever to throw on the subject. You see after all, " addedAnnie Forest, raising her eyes to the clergyman's face, "it is impossiblefor you to believe me. Mrs. Willis does not believe me, and you cannot beexpected to. I don't suppose you are to be blamed. I don't see how youcan help yourself. " "The circumstantial evidence is very strong against you, Annie, " repliedthe clergyman; "still, I promised to believe, and I have no intention ofgoing back from my word. If, in the presence of God in this littlechurch, you would willingly and deliberately tell me a lie I should nevertrust human being again. No, Annie Forest, you have many faults, but youare not a liar. I see the impress of truth on your brow, in your eyes, onyour lips. This is a very painful mystery, my child; but I believe you. Iam going to see Mrs. Willis now. God bless you, Annie. Be brave, becourageous, don't foster malice in your heart to any unknown enemy. Anenemy has truly done this thing, poor child; but God Himself will bringthis mystery to light. Trust Him, my dear; and now I am going to see Mrs. Willis. " While Mr. Everard was speaking, Annie's whole expressive face hadchanged; the sullen look had left it; the eyes were bright with renewedhope; the lips had parted in smiles. There was a struggle for speech, butno words came: the young girl stooped down and raised the old clergyman'swithered hands to her lips. "Let me stay here a little longer, " she managed to say at last; and thenhe left her. CHAPTER XVII. "THE SWEETS ARE POISONED. " "I think, my dear madam, " said Mr. Everard to Mrs. Willis, "that you mustbelieve your pupil. She has not refused to confess to you from anystubbornness, but from the simple reason that she has nothing to confess. I am firmly convinced that things are as she stated them, Mrs. Willis. There is a mystery here which we neither of us can explain, but which wemust unravel. " Then Mrs. Willis and the clergyman had a long and anxious talk together. It lasted for a long time, and some of its results at least were manifestthe next morning, for, just before the morning's work began, Mrs. Williscame to the large school-room, and, calling Annie Forest to her side, laid her hand on the young girl's shoulder. "I wish to tell you all, young ladies, " she said, "that I completely andabsolutely exonerate Annie Forest from having any part in the disgracefuloccurrence which took place in this school-room a short time ago. Iallude, of course, as you all know, to the book which was found tamperedwith in Cecil Temple's desk. Some one else in this room is guilty, andthe mystery has still to be unraveled, and the guilty girl has still tocome forward and declare herself. If she is willing at this moment tocome to me here, and fully and freely confess her sin, I will quiteforgive her. " The head mistress paused, and, still with her hand on Annie's shoulder, looked anxiously down the long room. The love and forgiveness which shefelt shone in her eyes at this moment. No girl need have feared aught buttenderness from her just then. No one stirred; the moment passed, and a look of sternness returned tothe mistress' fine face. "No, " she said, in her emphatic and clear tones, "the guilty girl preferswaiting until God discovers her sin for her. My dear, whoever you are, that hour is coming, and you cannot escape from it. In the meantime, girls, I wish you all to receive Annie Forest as quite innocent. Ibelieve in her, so does Mr. Everard, and so must you. Any one who treatsMiss Forest except as a perfectly innocent and truthful girl incurs mysevere displeasure. My dear, you may return to your seat. " Annie, whose face was partly hidden by her curly hair during the greaterpart of this speech, now tossed it back, and raised her brown eyes with alook of adoration in them to her teacher. Mrs. Willis' face, however, still looked harassed. Her eyes met Annie's, but no corresponding glowwas kindled in them; their glance was just, calm, but cold. The childish heart was conscious of a keen pang of agony, and Annie wentback to her lessons without any sense of exultation. The fact was this: Mrs. Willis' judgment and reason had been broughtround by Mr. Everard's words, but in her heart of hearts, almost unknownto herself, there still lingered a doubt of the innocence of her waywardand pretty pupil. She said over and over to herself that she really nowquite believed in Annie Forest, but then would come those whisperingsfrom her pained and sore heart. "Why did she ever make a caricature of one who has been as a mother toher? If she made one caricature, could she not make another? Above allthings, if _she_ did not do it, who did?" Mrs. Willis turned away from these unpleasant whispers--she would not letthem stay with her, and turned a deaf ear to their ugly words. She hadpublicly declared in the school her belief in Annie's absolute innocence, but at the moment when her pupil looked up at her with a world of loveand adoration in her gaze, she found to her own infinite distress thatshe could not give her the old love. Annie went back to her companions, and bent her head over her lessons, and tried to believe that she was very thankful and very happy, and CecilTemple managed to whisper a gentle word of congratulation to her, and atthe twelve o'clock walk Annie perceived that a few of her schoolfellowslooked at her with friendly eyes again. She perceived now that when shewent into the play-room she was not absolutely tabooed, and that, if shechose, she might speedily resume her old reign of popularity. Annie had, to a remarkable extent, the gift of inspiring love, and her old favoriteswould quickly have flocked back to their sovereign had she so willed it. It is certainly true that the girls to whom the whole story was known inall its bearings found it difficult to understand how Annie could beinnocent; but Mr. Everard's and Mrs. Willis' assertions were too potentto be disregarded, and most of the girls were only too willing to let thewhole affair slide from their minds, and to take back their favoriteAnnie to their hearts again. Annie, however, herself did not so will it. In the play-room shefraternized with the little ones who were alike her friends in adversityand sunshine; she rejected almost coldly the overtures of her oldfavorites, but played, and romped, and was merry with the children of thesixth class. She even declined Cecil's invitation to come and sit withher in her drawing-room. "Oh, no, " she said. "I hate being still; I am in no humor for talk. Another time, Cecil, another time. Now then, Sybil, my beauty, get wellon my back, and I'll be the willing dog carrying you round and round theroom. " Annie's face had not a trace of care or anxiety on it, but her eyes wouldnot quite meet Cecil's, and Cecil sighed as she turned away, and herheart, too, began to whisper little, mocking, ugly doubts of poor Annie. During the half-hour before tea that evening Annie was sitting on thefloor with a small child in her lap, and two other little ones tumblingabout her, when she was startled by a shower of lollipops being pouredover her head, down her neck, and into her lap. She started up and metthe sleepy gaze of Susan Drummond. "That's to congratulate you, miss, " said Susan; "you're a very lucky girlto have escaped as you did. " The little ones began putting Susan's lollipops vigorously into theirmouths. Annie sprang to her feet shaking the sticky sweetmeats out of herdress on to the floor. "What have I escaped from?" she asked, turning round and facing hercompanion haughtily. "Oh, dear me!" said Susan, stepping back a pace or two. "I--ah--"stifling a yawn--"I only meant you were very near getting into an uglyscrape. It's no affair of mine, I'm sure; only I thought you'd like thelollipops. " "No, I don't like them at all, " said Annie, "nor you, either. Go back toyour own companions, please. " Susan sulkily walked away, and Annie stooped down on the floor. "Now, little darlings, " she said, "you mustn't eat those. No, no, theyare not good at all; and they have come from one of Annie's enemies. Mostlikely they are full of poison. Let us collect them all, every one, andwe will throw them into the fire before we go to tea. " "But I don't think there's any poison in them, " said little Janie West ina regretful tone, as she gobbled down a particularly luscious chocolatecream; "they are all big, and fat, and bursty, and _so_ sweet, Annie, dear. " "Never mind, Janie, they are dangerous sweeties all the same. Come, come, throw them into my apron, and I will run over and toss them into thefire, and we'll have time for a game of leap-frog before tea; oh, fie, Judy, " as a very small fat baby began to whimper, "you would not eat thesweeties of one of Annie's enemies. " This last appeal was successful. The children made a valiant effort, anddashed the tempting goodies into Annie's alapaca apron. When they wereall collected, she marched up the play-room and in the presence of SusanDrummond, Hester Thornton, Cecil Temple, and several more of her schoolcompanions, threw them into the fire. "So much for _that_ overture, Miss Drummond, " she said, making a mockcourtesy, and returning once more to the children. CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE HAMMOCK. Just at this time the weather suddenly changed. After the cold anddreariness of winter came soft spring days--came longer evenings andbrighter mornings. Hester Thornton found that she could dress by daylight, then that she wasno longer cold and shivering when she reached the chapel, then that shebegan intensely to enjoy her mid-day walk, then that she found her winterthings a little too hot, until at last, almost suddenly it seemed to theexpectant and anxious girls, glorious spring weather broke upon theworld, the winds were soft and westerly, the buds swelled and swelledinto leaf on the trees, and the flowers bloomed in the delightfulold-fashioned gardens of Lavender House. Instantly, it seemed to thegirls, their whole lives had altered. The play-room was deserted or onlyput up with on wet days. At twelve o'clock, instead of taking amonotonous walk on the roads, they ran races, played tennis, croquet, orany other game they liked best in the gardens. Later on in the day, whenthe sun was not so powerful, they took their walk; but even then they hadtime to rush back to their beloved shady garden for a little time beforetea and preparation for their next day's work. Easter came this yearabout the middle of April, and Easter found these girls almost enjoyingsummer weather. How they looked forward to their few Easter holidays!what plans they made, what tennis matches were arranged, what games andamusements of all sorts were in anticipation! Mrs. Willis herselfgenerally went away for a few days at Easter; so did the Frenchgoverness, and the school was nominally placed under the charge of MissGood and Miss Danesbury. Mrs. Willis did not approve of long Easterholidays; she never gave more than a week, and in consequence only thegirls who lived quite near went home. Out of the fifty girls who residedat Lavender House about ten went away at Easter; the remaining fortystayed behind, and were often heard to declare that holidays at LavenderHouse were the most delightful things in the world. At this particular Easter time the girls were rather surprised to hearthat Mrs. Willis had made up her mind not to go away as usual; Miss Goodwas to have a holiday, and Mrs. Willis and Miss Danesbury were to lookafter the school. This was felt to be an unusual, indeed unheard of, proceeding, and the girls commented about it a good deal, and somehow, without absolutely intending to do so, they began to settle in their ownminds that Mrs. Willis was staying in the school on account of AnnieForest, and that in her heart of hearts she did not absolutely believe inher innocence. Mrs. Willis certainly gave the girls no reason to come tothis conclusion; she was consistently kind to Annie, and had apparentlyquite restored her to her old place in her favor. Annie was more gentlethan of old, and less inclined to get into scrapes; but the girls lovedher far less in her present unnatural condition of reserve and goodbehavior than they did in her old daring and hoydenish days. Cecil Templealways spent Easter with an old aunt who lived in a neighboring town; sheopenly said this year that she did not wish to go away, but her governesswould not allow her to change her usual plans, and she left LavenderHouse with a curious feeling of depression and coming trouble. As she wasgetting into the cab which was to take her to the station Annie flew toher side, threw a great bouquet of flowers which she had gathered intoher lap, and, flinging her arms tightly round her neck, whisperedsuddenly and passionately: "Oh, Cecil, believe in me. " "I--I--I don't know that I don't, " said Cecil, rather lamely. "No, Cecil, you don't--not in your heart of hearts. Neither you nor Mrs. Willis--you neither of you believe in me from the very bottom of yourhearts; oh, it is hard!" Annie gave vent to a little sob, sprang away from Cecil's arms, anddisappeared into a shrubbery close by. She stayed there until the sound of the retreating cab died away in theavenue, then, tossing back her hair, rearranging her rather tatteredgarden hat, and hastily wiping some tears from her eyes, she came outfrom her retreat, and began to look around her for some amusement. Whatshould she do? Where should she go? How should she occupy herself? Soundsof laughter and merriment filled the air; the garden was all alive withgay young figures running here and there. Girls stood in groups under thehorse-chestnut tree--girls walked two and two up the shady walk at theend of the garden--little ones gamboled and rolled on the grass--a tennismatch was going on vigorously, and the croquet ground was occupied byeight girls of the middle school. Annie was one of the most successfultennis players in the school; she had indeed a gift for all games ofskill, and seldom missed her mark. Now she looked with a certain wistfullonging toward the tennis-court; but, after a brief hesitation, sheturned away from it and entered the shady walk at the farther end of thegarden. As she walked along, slowly, meditatively, and sadly, her eyessuddenly lighted up. Glancing to one of the tall trees she saw a hammocksuspended there which had evidently been forgotten during the winter. Thetree was not yet quite in leaf, and it was very easy for Annie to climbup its branches to re-adjust the hammock, and to get into it. After itswinter residence in the tree this soft couch was found full of witheredleaves, and otherwise rather damp and uncomfortable. Annie tossed theleaves on to the ground, and laughed as she swung herself gently backwardand forward. Early as the season still was the sun was so bright and theair so soft that she could not but enjoy herself, and she laughed withpleasure, and only wished that she had a fairy tale by her side to helpto soothe her off to sleep. In the distance she heard some children calling "Annie, " "Annie Forest;"but she was far too comfortable and too lazy to answer them, andpresently she closed her eyes and really did fall asleep. She was awakened by a very slight sound--by nothing more nor less thanthe gentle and very refined conversation of two girls, who sat under theoak tree in which Annie's hammock swung. Hearing the voices, she bent alittle forward, and saw that the speakers were Dora Russell and HesterThornton. Her first inclination was to laugh, toss down some leaves, andinstantly reveal herself; the next she drew back hastily, and began tolisten with all her ears. "I never liked her, " said Hester--"I never even from the very firstpretended to like her. I think she is under-bred, and not fit toassociate with the other girls in the school-room. " "She is treated with most unfair partiality, " retorted Miss Russell inher thin and rather bitter voice. "I have not the smallest doubt, not thesmallest, that she was guilty of putting those messes into my desk, ofdestroying my composition, and of caricaturing Mrs. Willis in CecilTemple's book. I wonder after that Mrs. Willis did not see through her, but it is astonishing to what lengths favoritism will carry one. Mrs. Willis and Mr. Everard are behaving in a very unfair way to the rest ofus in upholding this commonplace, disagreeable girl; but it will be toMrs. Willis' own disadvantage. Hester, I am, as you know, leaving schoolat midsummer, and I shall certainly use all my influence to induce myfather and mother not to send the younger girls here; they could notassociate with a person like Miss Forest. " "I never take much notice of her, " said Hester; "but of course what yousay is quite right, Dora. You have great discrimination, and your sistersmight possibly be taken in by her. " "Oh, not at all, I assure you; they know a true lady when they see her. However, they must not be imperilled. I will ask my parents to send themto Mdlle. Lablanché. I hear that her establishment is most _recherché_. " "Mrs. Willis is very nice herself, and so are most of the girls, " saidHester, after a pause. Then they were both silent, for Hester had stoopeddown to examine some little fronds and moss which grew at the foot of thetree. After a pause, Hester said: "I don't think Annie is the favorite she was with the girls. " "Oh, of course not; they all, in their heart of hearts, know she isguilty. Will you come indoors, and have tea with me in my drawing-room, Hester?" The two girls walked slowly away, and presently Annie let herself gentlyout of her hammock and dropped to the ground. She had heard every word; she had not revealed herself, and a new andterrible--and, truth to say, absolutely foreign--sensation from her truenature now filled her mind. She felt that she almost hated these two whohad spoken so cruelly, so unjustly of her. She began to trace hermisfortunes and her unhappiness to the date of Hester's entrance into theschool. Even more than Dora Russell did she dislike Hester; she made upher mind to revenge herself on both these girls. Her heart was very, verysore; she missed the old words, the old love, the old brightness, the oldpopularity; she missed the mother-tones in Mrs. Willis' voice--her heartcried out for them, at night she often wept for them. She became more andmore sure that she owed all her misfortunes to Hester, and in a smallerdegree to Dora. Dora believed that she had deliberately insulted her, andinjured her composition, when she knew herself that she was quiteinnocent of even harboring such a thought, far less carrying it intoeffect. Well, now, she would really do something to injure both thesegirls, and perhaps the carrying out of her revenge would satisfy her soreheart. CHAPTER XIX. CUP AND BALL. Just toward the end of the Easter holidays, Hester Thornton was throwninto a great tumult of excitement, of wonder, of half regret and halfjoy, by a letter which she received from her father. In this letter heinformed her that he had made up his mind to break up his establishmentfor several years, to go abroad, and to leave Hester altogether underMrs. Willis' care. When Hester had read so far, she flung her letter on the table, put herhead into her hands, and burst into tears. "Oh, how cruel of father!" she exclaimed; "how am I to live without evergoing home--how am I to endure life without seeing my little Nan?" Hester cried bitterly; the strongest love of her nature was now given tothis pretty and sweet little sister, and dismal pictures rose rapidlybefore her of Nan growing up without in the least rememberingher--perhaps, still worse, of Nan being unkindly treated and neglected bystrangers. After a long pause, she raised her head, wiped her eyes, andresumed her letter. Now, indeed, she started with astonishment, and gavean exclamation of delight--Sir John Thornton had arranged that Mrs. Willis was also to receive little Nan, although she was younger than anyother child present in the school. Hester scarcely waited to finish herletter. She crammed it into her pocket, rushed up to Susan Drummond, andastonished that placid young lady by suddenly kissing her. "Nan is coming, Susy!" she exclaimed; "dear, darling, lovely little Nanis coming--oh, I am so happy!" She was far too impatient to explain matters to stolid Susan, and danceddown stairs, her eyes sparkling and smiles on her lips. It was nothing toher now how long she stayed at school--her heart's treasure would be withher there, and she could not but feel happy. After breakfast Mrs. Willis sent for her, and told her what arrangementswere being made; she said that she was going to remove Susan Drummond outof Hester's bedroom, in order that Hester might enjoy her little sister'scompany at night. She spoke very gently, and entered with full sympathyinto the girl's delight over the little motherless sister, and Hesterfelt more drawn to her governess than she had ever been. Nan was to arrive at Lavender House on the following evening, and for thefirst week her nurse was to remain with her until she got accustomed toher new life. The morning of the day of Nan's arrival was also the last of the Easterholidays, and Hester, awakening earlier than her wont, lay in bed, andplanned what she would do to welcome the little one. The idea of having Nan with her continually had softened Hester. She wasnot unhappy in her school-life--indeed, there was much in its monotonous, busy, and healthy occupation to stimulate and rouse the good in her. Herintellect was being vigorously exercised, and, by contact with herschoolfellows, her character was being molded; but the perfect harmonyand brightness of the school had been much interrupted since Hester'sarrival; her dislike to Annie Forest had been unfortunate in more waysthan one, and that dislike, which was increasing each day, was hardeningHester's heart. But it was not hard this morning--all that was sweetest, and softest, andbest in her had come to the surface--the little sister, whom her motherhad left in her charge, was now to be her daily and hourly companion. ForNan's sake, then, she must be very good; her deeds must be gentle andkind, and her thoughts charitable. Hester had an instinctive feeling thatbaby eyes saw deep below the surface; Hester felt if Nan were to loseeven a shadow of her faith in her she could almost die of shame. Hester had been very proud of Dora Russell's friendship. Never before hadit been known in the school that a first-class girl took a third intosuch close companionship, and Hester's little head had been slightlyturned by the fact. Her better judgment and her better nature had beenrather blinded by the fascinations of this tall, graceful, satiricalDora. She had been weak enough to agree with Dora with her lips when inher heart of hearts she knew she was all wrong. By nature Hester was anhonorable girl, with many fine traits in her character--by nature Dorawas small and mean and poor of soul. This morning Hester ran up to her favorite. "Little Nan is coming to-night, " she said. Dora was talking at the moment to Miss Maitland, another first-classgirl, and the two stared rather superciliously at Hester, and, after apause, Dora said in her finest drawl: "Who _is_ little Nan?" It was Hester's turn to stare, for she had often spoken of Nan to thisbeloved friend, who had listened to her narrative and had appeared tosympathize. "My little sister, of course, " she exclaimed. "I have often talked to youabout her, Dora. Are you not glad she is coming?" "No, my dear child, I can't say that I am. If you wish to retain myfriendship, Hester, you must be careful to keep the little mite away fromme; I can't bear small children. " Hester walked away with her heart swelling, and she fancied she heard thetwo elder girls laughing as she left the play-room. Many other girls, however, in the school thoroughly sympathized withHester, and among them no one was more delighted than Susan Drummond. "I am awfully good-natured not to be as cross as two sticks, Hetty, " sheexclaimed, "for I am being turned out of my comfortable room; and whoseroom do you suppose I am now to share? why, that little imp AnnieForest's. " But Hester felt charitable, even toward Annie, on this happyday. In the evening little Nan arrived. She was a very pretty, dimpled, brown-eyed creature, of just three years of age. She had all theimperious ways of a spoilt baby, and, evidently, fear was a word not tobe found in her vocabulary. She clung to Hester, but smiled and nodded tothe other girls, who made advances to her, and petted her, and thoughther a very charming baby. Beside Nan, all the other little girls in theschool looked old. She was quite two years the youngest, and it was soonvery evident that she would establish that most imperious of allreigns--a baby reign--in the school. Hester fondled her and talked to her, and the little thing sat on herknee and stroked her face. "Me like 'oo, Hetty, " she said several times, and she added many otherendearing and pretty words which caused Hester's heart to swell withdelight. In the midst of their happy little talk together Annie Forest, in herusual careless fashion, entered the play-room. She alone, of all thegirls, had taken no notice of the new plaything. She walked to her usualcorner, sat down on the floor, and began to play cup and ball for thebenefit of two or three of the smallest children. Hester did not regardher in the least; she sat with Nan on her knee, stroking back her sunnycurls, and remarking on her various charms to several of the girls whosat round her. "See, how pretty that dimple in her chin is, " she said, "and oh, my pet, your eyes look wiser, and bigger, and saucier than ever. Look at me, Nan;look at your own Hetty. " Nan's attention, however, was diverted by the gaily-painted cup and ballwhich Annie was using with her wonted dexterity. "Dat a pitty toy, " she said, giving one quick and rather solemn glance ather sister, and again fixing her admiring gaze on the cup and ball. Annie Forest had heard the words, and she darted a sudden, laughing lookat the little one. Annie's power over children was well known. Nan beganto wriggle on Hester's knee. "Dat a pitty lady, " she said again, "and that a pitty, tibby [little]toy; Nan go see. " In an instant, before Hester could prevent her, she had trotted acrossthe room, and was kneeling with the other children and shouting withdelight over Annie's play. "She'll get her, you'll see, Hester, " said one of the girls maliciously;"she'll soon be much fonder of Annie Forest than of you. Annie wins theheart of every little child in the school. " "She won't win my Nan's from me, " said Hester in a confident tone; but inspite of her words a great pang of jealousy had gone through her. Sherose to her seat and followed her little sister. "Nan, you are sleepy, you must go to bed. " "No, no, Hetty; me not s'eepy, me kite awake; go 'way, Hetty, Nan want tosee the pitty tibby toy. " Annie raised her eyes to Hester's. She did not really want to be unkind, and at that moment it had certainty never entered into her head to stealHester's treasure from her, but she could not help a look of suppresseddelight and triumph filling her eyes. Hester could scarcely bear the look; she stooped down, and taking one ofNan's little dimpled hands tried to drag her away. Instantly Annie threw the cup and ball on the floor. "The play is all over to-night, little darling, " she said; "give AnnieForest one kiss, and run to bed with sister Hester. " Nan, who had been puckering up her face to cry, smiled instantly; thenshe scrambled to her feet, and flung her little fat arms round Annie'sneck. "Dat a vedy pitty p'ay, " she said in a patronizing tone, "and me like'oo, me do. " Then she gave her hand willingly to Hester, and trotted out of theplay-room by her side. CHAPTER XX. IN THE SOUTH PARLOR. Immediately after Easter the real excitement of the school-year began. All the girls who had ambition, who had industry, and who had a desire toplease distant fathers, mothers, or guardians, worked hard for that greatday at midsummer when Mrs. Willis distributed her valuable prizes. From the moment of Hester's entrance into the school she had heard thisday spoken of. It was, without doubt, the greatest day of the year atLavender House. Smaller prizes were given at Christmas, but the greathonors were always reserved for this long sunshiny June day, when Mrs. Willis herself presented her marks of approbation to her successfulpupils. The girls who had lived in the school for two or three years gave Hestervivid descriptions of the excitements, the pleasures, the delights ofthis day of days. In the first place it was the first of the holidays, inthe second it was spent almost from morning to night in the open air--fora great tent was erected on the lawn; and visitors thronged to LavenderHouse, and fathers and mothers, and aunts and uncles, arrived from adistance to witness the triumphs of the favored children who had won theprizes. The giving away of the prizes was, of course, _the_ event of theday; but there were many other minor joys. Always in the evenings therewas some special entertainment. These entertainments differed from yearto year, Mrs. Willis allowing the girls to choose them for themselves, and only making one proviso, that they must take all the trouble, and allthe pains--in short, that they themselves must be the entertainers. Oneyear they had tableaux vivants; another a fancy ball, every pretty dressof which had been designed by themselves, and many even made by their ownindustrious little fingers. Mrs. Willis delighted in the interest andoccupation that this yearly entertainment gave to her pupils, and she notonly encouraged them in their efforts to produce something very uniqueand charming, but took care that they should have sufficient time to workup their ideas properly. Always after Easter she gave the girls of thethree first classes two evenings absolutely to themselves; and these theyspent in a pretty room called the south parlor, which belonged to Mrs. Willis' part of the house, and was rarely used, except for these greatpreparations. Hester, therefore, after Easter found her days very full indeed. Everyspare moment she devoted to little Nan, but she was quite determined towin a substantial prize, and she was also deeply interested in variousschemes proposed in the south parlor. With regard to prizes, Mrs. Willis also went on a plan of her own. Eachgirl was expected to come up to a certain standard of excellence in allher studies, and if she fell very much below this standard she was notallowed to try for any prize; if she came up to it, she could select onesubject, but only one, for competition. On the Monday after the Easter holidays the special subjects for themidsummer prizes were given out, and the girls were expected to send intheir answers as to the special prize they meant to compete for by thefollowing Friday. When this day arrived Hester Thornton and Dora Russell both discoveredthat they had made the same choice--they were going to try for theEnglish composition prize. This subject always obtained one of the mostcostly prizes, and several of the girls shook their heads over Hester'schoice. "You are very silly to try for that, Hetty, " they exclaimed, "for Mrs. Willis has such queer ideas with regard to English composition. Ofcourse, we go in for it in a general way, and learn the rules of grammarand punctuation, and so forth, but Mrs. Willis says that schoolgirls'themes are so bad and affected, as a rule, and she says she does notthink any one will go in for her pet prize who has not natural ability. In consequence, she gives only one prize for composition between thethree first classes. You had better change your mind, Hetty, before it istoo late, for much older girls will compete with you, and there areseveral who are going to try. " Hester, however, only smiled, and assured her eager friend that she wouldstick to her pet subject, and try to do the best she could. On the morning when the girls signified their choice of subject, Mrs. Willis came into the school-room and made one of her little yearlyspeeches with regard to the right spirit in which her girls should tryfor these honors. The few and well-chosen words of the head mistressgenerally roused those girls who loved her best to a fever of enthusiasm, and even Hester, who was comparatively a newcomer, felt a great wish, asshe listened to that clear and vibrating voice and watched the manyexpressions which passed over the noble face, that she might findsomething beyond the mere earthly honor and glory of success in thiscoming trial. Having finished her little speech, Mrs. Willis made severalremarks with regard to the choice of subjects. She spoke of the Englishcomposition prize last, and here she heightened the interest andexcitement which always hung around this special prize. Contrary to herusual rule, she would this year give no subject for an English theme. Each girl might choose what pleased her best. On hearing these words Annie Forest, who had been sitting by her desklooking rather dull and dejected, suddenly sprang to her feet, her faceaglow, her eyes sparkling, and began whispering vigorously to Miss Good. Miss Good nodded, and, going up to Mrs. Willis, said aloud that Annie hadchanged her mind, and that from not wishing to try for any of the prizes, she now intended to compete for the English composition. Mrs. Willis looked a little surprised, but without any comment sheimmediately entered Annie's name in the list of competitors, and Anniesat down again, not even glancing at her astonished schoolfellows, whocould not conceal their amazement, for she had never hitherto shown theslightest desire to excel in this department. On the evening of this Friday the girls of the three first classesassembled for the first time in the south parlor. Hitherto these meetingshad been carried on in a systematic and business-like fashion. It wasimpossible for all the girls who belonged to these three large classes toassemble on each occasion. Careful selections, therefore, were, as arule, made from their numbers. These girls formed a committee tosuperintend and carry on the real preparations for the coming treat, andthe others only met when specially summoned by the committee to appear. As usual now the three classes found themselves in the south parlor--asusual they chattered volubly, and started schemes, to reject them againwith peals of laughter. Many ideas were put forward, to be cast aside asutterly worthless. No one seemed to have any very brilliant thought, andas the first step on these occasions was to select what the entertainmentshould be, proceedings seemed to come to a standstill. The fact was the most daring originator, the one whose ideas were alwaysflavored with a spice of novelty, was absolutely silent. Cecil Temple, who had taken a seat near Annie, suddenly bent forward andspoke to her aloud. "We have all said what we would like, and we none of us appear to havethought of anything at all worth having, " she said; "but you have notspoken at all, Annie. Give us an idea, dear--you know you originated thefancy ball last year. " Thus publicly appealed to, Annie raised her full brown eyes, glanced ather companions, not one of whom, with the exception of Cecil, returnedher gaze fully; then, rising to her feet, she spoke in a slightlycontemptuous tone. "These preparations seem to me to be much ado about nothing; they take upa lot of our time, and the results aren't worth the trouble--I havenothing particular to say. Oh, well, yes, if you like--let's have blindman's buff and a magic lantern;" and then, dropping a mock curtsey to hercompanions, she dropped out of the south parlor. "Insufferable girl!" said Dora Russell; "I wonder you try to draw herout, Cecil. You know perfectly that we none of us care to have anythingto do with her. " "I know perfectly that you are all doing your best to make her lifemiserable, " said Cecil, suddenly and boldly. "No one in this school hasobeyed Mrs. Willis' command to treat Annie as innocent--you arepractically sending her to Coventry, and I think it is unjust and unfair. You don't know, girls, that you are ruining poor Annie's happiness. " "Oh, dear! she doesn't seem at all dull, " said Miss West, a second-classgirl. "I do think she's a hardened little wretch. " "Little you know about her, " said Cecil, the color fading out of her paleface. Then after a pause, she added; "The injustice of the whole thing isthat in this treatment of Annie you break the spirit of Mrs. Willis'command--you, none of you, certainly tell her that she is guilty, but youtreat her as such. " Here Hester Thornton said a daring thing. "I don't believe Mrs. Willis in her heart of hearts considers Annieguiltless. " These words of Hester's were laughed at by most of the girls, but DoraRussell gave her an approving nod, and Cecil, looking paler than ever, dropped suddenly into her seat, and no longer tried to defend her absentfriend. "At any rate, " said Miss Conway, who as the head girl of the whole schoolwas always listened to with great respect, "it is unfortunate for thesuccess of our entertainment that there should be all this discussion andbad feeling with regard to Miss Forest. For my own part, I cannot makeout why the poor little creature should be hunted down, or what affair itis of ours whether she is innocent or not. If Mr. Everard and Mrs. Willissay she is innocent, is not that enough? The fact of her guilt orinnocence can't hurt us one way or another. It is a great pity, however, for our own sakes, that we should be out with her now, for, whatever herfaults, she is the only one of us who is ever gifted with an originalthought. But, as we can't have her, let us set to work without her--wereally can't waste the whole evening over this sort of talk. " Discussions as to the coming pleasure were now again resumed with vigor, and after a great deal of animated arguing it was resolved that two shortplays should be acted; that a committee should be immediately formed, whoshould select the plays, and apportion their various parts to thedifferent actors. The committee selected included Miss Russell, Miss Conway, HesterThornton, Cecil Temple, and two other girls of the second class. Theconference then broke up, but there was a certain sense of flatness overeverything, and Cecil was not the only girl who sighed for the merrymeetings of last year--when Annie had been the life and soul of all theproceedings, and when one brilliant idea after another with regard to thecostumes for the fancy ball had dropped from her merry tongue. CHAPTER XXI. STEALING HEARTS. When Annie ran out of the south parlor she found herself suddenly face toface with Mrs. Willis. "Well, my dear child, " said the head mistress in her kindest voice, "where are you running to? But I suppose I must not ask; you are, ofcourse, one of the busy and secret conclave in the south parlor?" "No. I have left them, " said Annie, bending her head, and after her usualhabit when agitated, shaking her hair about her face. "Left them?" repeated Mrs. Willis, "you mean, dear, that they have sentyou for some message. " "No. I am not one of them. May I go into the garden, Mrs. Willis?" "Certainly, my dear. " Annie did not even glance at her governess. She pushed aside the baizedoor, and found herself in the great stone hall which led to theplay-room and school-room. Her garden hat hung on a peg in the hall, andshe tossed it off its place, and holding it in her hand ran toward theside door which opened directly into the garden. She had a wild wish toget to the shelter of the forsaken hammock and there cry out her wholeheart. The moment she got into the open air, however, she was met by awhole troop of the little children, who were coming in after their usualshort exercise before going to bed. Miss Danesbury was with them, andwhen Annie ran out by the open door, she entered holding two little onesby the hands. Last in this group toddled Hester's little sister Nan. Themoment she saw Annie, her little face broke into smiles, she held out twohands eagerly, and fled to the young girl's side. "Where dat pitty toy?" she said, raising her round face to Annie's; "someone did buy dat toy, and it's vedy pitty, and me wants it--where's dattoy?" Annie stooped down, and spoke suddenly and impulsively to the littlechild. "You shall have the toy for your very own, Nan if you will do somethingfor me?" Nan's baby eyes looked straight into Annie's. "Me will, " she said emphatically; "me want dat toy. " "Put your arms, round me, little darling, and give me a great tight hug. " This request was great fun to Nan, who squeezed her little arms roundAnnie's neck, and pressed her dimpled cheek to her lips. "Dere, " she said triumphantly, "will dat do?" "Yes, you little treasure, and you'll try to love me, won't you?" "Me do, " said Nan, in a solemn voice; but then Miss Danesbury called her, and she ran into the house. As Nan trotted into the house she put up her dimpled hand to wipesomething from her round cheek--it was a tear which Annie Forest had leftthere. Annie herself, when all the little ones had disappeared, walked slowlyand sadly down toward the shady walk. The sun had just set, and though itwas now nearly May, and the evenings long, the wind was sufficiently coldto cause Annie to shiver in her thin house frock. At all times utterlyfearless with regard to her health, she gave it no thought now, butentering the walk where she knew she should not be disturbed, she lookedup at the hammock, and wondered whether she should climb into it. Shedecided, however, not to do so--the great and terrible weight of tearswhich had pressed close to her heart were relieved by Nan's embrace; sheno longer cared to cry until she could cry no longer--the worst of herpain had been soothed by the sweet baby graciousness of the little one. Then there darted into poor Annie's sore heart and perplexed brain thatdangerous thought and temptation which was to work so much future painand trouble. She already loved little Nan, and Nan, as most children did, had taken a fancy to her. Annie stood still, and clasped her hands as thedark idea came to her to steal the heart of little Nan from Hester, andso revenge herself on her. By doing this she would touch Hester in hermost vulnerable point--she would take from her what she valued most. Thetemptation came swiftly, and Annie listened to it, and thought how easyit would be to carry it into effect. She knew well that no little childcould resist her when she chose to exercise her charms--it would be easy, easy work to make that part of Nan which was most precious all her own. Annie became fascinated by the idea; how completely then she would haverevenged all her wrongs on Hester! Some day Hester would bitterly repentof her unjust prejudice toward her; some day Hester would come to her, and beg of her in agony to give her back her darling's love; ah! whenthat day came it would be her turn to triumph. She felt more than satisfied as the temptation grew upon her; she shutout persistently from her view all the other side of the picture; shewould not let herself think that the work she was about to undertake wascruel and mean. Hester had been more than unjust, and she was going topunish her. Annie paced faster and faster up and down the shady walk, and wheneverher resolution wavered, the memory of Hester's face as she had seen itthe same night in the south parlor came visibly back and strengthened it. Yes, her turn had come at last Hester had contrived since her entranceinto the school to make Annie's life thoroughly miserable. Well, nevermind, it was Annie's turn now to make her wretched. CHAPTER XXII. IN BURN CASTLE WOOD. In concentrating her thoughts of revenge on Hester, Annie ceased totrouble her head about Dora Russell. She considered Hester a cruelerenemy than Dora. Hester belonged to her own set, worked in her own class, and would naturally, had things not turned out so unjustly, so unfairly, have been her friend, and not her enemy. Dora had nothing to say toAnnie, and before Hester's advent into the school had scarcely noticedher existence. Annie therefore concentrated all her powers on punishingHester. This gave her an aim and an occupation, and at first she feltthat her revenge might give her real pleasure. Susan Drummond now shared Annie's bedroom, and Annie was rather startledone evening to hear this phlegmatic young person burst out into a strongtirade against Hester and Dora. Dora had managed, for some inexplicablereason, to offend Susan, and Susan now looked to Annie for sympathy, andboldly suggested that they should get up what she was pleased to called"a lark" between them for the punishment of this very dignified younglady. Annie had never liked Susan, and she now stared at her, and said, in herquick way: "You won't catch me helping you in any of your larks. I've had troubleenough on that score as it is. " Susan gazed at her stupidly, and a dull red spread over her face. "But I thought you hated Dora and Hester, " she said--"I'm sure they hateyou. " Annie was silent. "You do hate them, don't you?" persisted Miss Drummond. "It's nothing to you what I feel toward them, Susy, " said Annie. "Pleasedon't disturb me with any more of your chatter; I am very sleepy, and youare keeping me awake. " Thus silenced, Susan had to content herself by turning on her back, andgoing into the land of dreams; but she was evidently a good dealsurprised and disappointed, and began to entertain a certain respect, andeven fear, of Annie which had been hitherto unknown to her. Meanwhile Hester was very busy, very happy, and more satisfied--brighterand better employed than she had ever been in her life before. Nan's lovesatisfied the affectionate side of her nature, and all her intellect wasstrained to the utmost to win honors in the coming struggle. She had stuck firmly to her resolve to work for the English compositionprize, and she firmly made up her own mind to leave no stone unturned towin it. What affection she possessed for Miss Russell was not at all of acharacter to prevent her from thoroughly enjoying taking the prize out ofher hands. Her love for Dora had been fed by vanity, and was not at allof a deep or noble character. She was some time carefully choosing thesubject of her theme, and at last she resolved to write a briefhistorical description of the last days of Marie Antoinette. To writeproperly on this subject she had to read up a great deal, and had to findreferences in books which were not usually allowed as school-roomproperty. Mrs. Willis, however, always allowed the girls who were workingfor the English composition prize to have access to her rather extensivelibrary, and here Hester was often to be found during play-hours. Twoevenings in the week were also taken up in preparation for the comingplays, and as Hester was to take rather an important part in one, and asmall character in another, she was obliged to devote herself to gettingup her parts during the weekly half-holidays. Thus every moment was busy, and, except at night, she had little time to devote herself to Nan. Nan slept in a pretty crib in Hester's room, and each evening the younggirl knelt down by her sister's side, and gazed at her with love, whichwas almost motherly, swelling in her breast. All that was best of Hester was drawn out at these moments; somethinggreater than ambition--something far and away above school triumphs andschool jealousies spoke then in her heart of hearts. These moments foundher capable of being both sympathizing and forgiving; these momentsfollowed out in her daily life might have made Hester almost great. Nowwas the time, with her eyes full of tears and her lips trembling withemotion, for Annie Forest to have caught a glimpse of the divine inHester; the hardness, the pride, the haughty spirit were all laid aside, and hers was the true child-heart as she knelt by the sleeping baby. Hester prayed earnestly at these moments, and, in in truth, Nan didbetter for her than any sermon; better for her than even Mrs. Willis'best influences. Nan was as the voice of God to her sister. Hester, in her very busy life, had no time to notice, however, a veryslight and almost imperceptible change in bright little Nan. In themornings she was in too great a hurry to pay much heed to the littleone's chatter; in the afternoons she had scarcely an instant to devote toher, and when she saw her playing happily with the other children she wasquite content, and always supposed that when a spare half-hour did comein her busy life, Nan would rush to her with the old ecstasy, and giveher the old devotion. One day, toward the end of a very fine May, the girls were all to go fora picnic to some woods about four miles away. They had looked forward forseveral days to this relaxation, and were in the highest state of delightand the wildest spirits. After an early dinner they were to drive inseveral large wagonettes to the place of rendezvous, where they were tobe regaled with gypsy-tea, and were to have a few hours in the lovelywoods of Burn Castle, one of the show places of the neighborhood. Mrs. Willis had invited the Misses Bruce to accompany them, and they were allto leave the house punctually at two o'clock. The weather was wonderfullyfine and warm, and it was decided that all the children, even Nan, shouldgo. Perhaps none of the girls looked forward to this day's pleasure withgreater joy than did Hester; she determined to make it a real holiday, and a real time of relaxation. She would forget her English theme; shewould cease to worry herself about Marie Antoinette; she would cease torepeat her part in the coming play; and she would devote herselfexclusively and determinately to Nan's pleasure. She pictured the littleone's raptures; she heard her gay shouts of joy, her ceaseless littlerippling chatter, her baby glee, and, above all things, her intensehappiness at being with her own Hetty for the greater part of a wholeday. Hester would ride her on her shoulder, would race with her; all herusual companions would be as nothing to her on this occasion, she wouldgive herself up solely to Nan. As she was dressing that morning she said a word or two to the childabout the coming treat. "We'll light a fire in the wood, Nan, and hang a kettle over it, and maketea--such good tea; won't it be nice?" Nan clapped her hands. "And may I take out my little ummabella(umbrella), case it might wain?" she asked anxiously. Hester flew to her and kissed her. "You funny darling!" she said. "Oh, we shall have such a day! You'll bewith your own Hetty all day long--your own Hetty; won't you be glad?" "Me am, " said Nan; "own Hetty, and own Annie; me am glad. " Hester scarcely heard the last words, for the prayer-gong sounded, andshe had to fly down stairs. At dinner time the girls were discussing who would go with each, and allwere very merry and full of fun. "Miss Danesbury will take the little children, " said Miss Good. "Mrs. Willis says that all the little ones are to be in Miss Danesbury'scharge. " "Oh, please, " said Hester, suddenly, "may Nan come with me, Miss Good?She'll be so disappointed if she doesn't, and I'll take such care ofher. " Miss Good nodded a careless acquiescence, and Hester proceeded with herdinner, feeling thoroughly satisfied. Immediately after dinner the girls flew to their rooms to prepare fortheir expedition. Hastily opening a drawer, Hester pulled out a whitefrock, white piqué pelisse, and washing hat for Nan--she meant herdarling to look as charming as possible. "Oh, dear, Miss Danesbury should have brought her here by now, " she saidto herself impatiently, and then, hearing the crunching of carriagewheels on the drive, she flew to the bell and rang it. In a few moments one of the maids appeared. "Do you know where Miss Nan is, Alice? She is to go to Burn Castle withme, and I want to dress her, for it is nearly time to go. " Alice looked a little surprised. "If you please, miss, " she said, "I think Miss Nan has just gone. " "What do you mean, Alice? Miss Good said especially she was to go withme. " "I know nothing about that, miss; I only know that I saw Miss Forestcarrying her down stairs in her arms about three minutes ago, and theywent off in the wagonette with all the other little children and MissDanesbury. " Hester stood perfectly still, her color changed from red to white; forfull half a minute she was silent. Then, hearing voices from belowcalling to her, she said in a cold, quiet tone: "That will do, Alice; thank you for letting me know. " She turned to her drawer and put back Nan's white and pretty things, andalso replaced a new and very becoming shady hat which she had meant towear herself. In her old winter hat, and looking almost untidy for her, she walked slowly down stairs and took her place in the wagonette whichwas drawn up at the door. Cecil Temple and one or two other girls whom Hester liked very much werein the same wagonette, but she scarcely cared to talk to them, and onlyjoined in their laughter by a strong effort. She was deeply wounded, buther keenest present desire was to hide any feelings of jealousy she hadtoward Annie from the quick eyes of her schoolfellows. "Why, " suddenly exclaimed Julia Morris, a particularly unobservant girl, "I thought you were going to bring that dear baby sister with you, Hester. Oh, I do hope there is nothing the matter with her. " "Nan has gone on in the first wagonette with the little children, " saidHester as cheerfully as she could speak, but she colored slightly, andsaw that Cecil was regarding her attentively. Susan Drummond exclaimed suddenly: "I saw Annie Forest rushing down the stairs with little Nan, and Nan hadher arms round her neck, and was laughing merrily. You need not beanxious about Nan, Hester; she was quite content to go with Annie. " "I did not say I was anxious, " replied Hester in a cold voice. "How verybeautiful that avenue of beech trees is, Cecil!" "But Annie heard Miss Good say that you were to take Nan, " persistedJulia Morris. "She could not but have noticed it, for you did flush upso, Hester, and looked so eager. I never saw any one more in earnestabout a trifle in my life; it was impossible for Annie not to haveheard. " "The great thing is that Nan is happy, " said Hester in a fretted voice. "Do let us change the subject, girls. " Cecil instantly began talking about the coming plays, and soon theconversation became of an absorbing character, and Hester's voice washeard oftener than the others, and she laughed more frequently than hercompanions. For all this forced merriment, however, Cecil did not fail to observethat when Hester got to the place of meeting at Burn Castle she lookedaround her with a quick and eager glance. Then the color faded from herface, and her eyes grew dim. That look of pain on Hester's face was quite enough for kind-heartedCecil. She had thrown herself on the grass with an exclamation ofdelight, but in an instant she was on her feet. "Now, of course, the first thing is to find little Nan, " she said;"she'll be missing you dreadfully, Hetty. " Cecil held out her hand to Hester to run with her through the wood, but, to her surprise, Hester drew back. "I'm tired, " she said; "I daresay we shall find Nan presently. She issure to be safe, as she is under Miss Danesbury's care. " Cecil made no remark, but set off by herself to find the little children. Presently, standing on a little knoll, and putting her two hands roundher lips, so as to form a speaking trumpet, she shouted to Hester. Hestercame slowly and apparently unwillingly toward her, but when she got tothe foot of the knoll, Cecil flew down, and, taking her by the hand, ranwith her to the top. "Oh, do come quick!" she exclaimed; "it is such a pretty sight. " Down in the valley about fifty yards away were the ten or twelve littlechildren who formed the infant portion of the school. Miss Danesbury wassitting at some distance off quietly reading, and the children, deckedwith flowers, and carrying tall grasses and reeds in their hands, wereflying round and round in a merry circle, while in their midst, and thecenter attraction, stood Annie, whose hat was tossed aside, and whosebright, curling hair was literally crowned with wild flowers. On Annie'sshoulder stood little Nan, carefully and beautifully poised, and roundNan's wavy curls was a starry wreath of wood-anemones. Nan was shoutinggleefully and clapping her hands, while Annie balanced her slightestmovement with the greatest agility, and kept her little feet steady onher shoulders with scarcely an effort. As the children ran round andround Annie she waltzed gracefully backward and forward to meet them, andthey all sang snatches of nursery rhymes. When Cecil and Hester appearedthey had reached in their varied collection: "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. " Here Nan exclaimed, in her clear, high-pitched voice: "Me no fall, Annie, " and the small children on the ground clapped theirhands and blew kisses to her. "Isn't it pretty? Isn't Annie sweet with children?" said Cecil, lookinground to Hester with all the admiration she felt for her friend shiningin her face. The expression, however, which Hester wore at that momentreally startled Cecil; she was absolutely colorless, and presently shecalled aloud in a harsh, strained voice: "Be careful of her! How wicked of you to put her like that on yourshoulder! She will fall--yes, I know she will fall; oh, do be careful!" Hester's voice startled the children, who ceased singing and dancing;Annie made a hasty step forward, and one little voice alone kept singingout the words: "Humpty-Dumpty got a great fall!"-- when there was a crash and a cry, and Nan, in some inexplicable way, hadfallen backward from Annie's shoulders. In one instant Hester was in the midst of the group. "Don't touch her, " she said, as Annie flew to pick up the child, who, falling with some force on her head, had been stunned; "don't touchher--don't dare! It was your doing; you did it on purpose--you wished todo it!" "You are unjust, " said Annie, in a low tone. "Nan was perfectly safeuntil you startled her. Like all the rest you are unjust. Nan would havecome to no harm if you had not spoken. " Hester did not vouchsafe another word. She sat on the ground with theunconscious and pretty little flower-crowned figure laid across her lap;she was terrified, and thought in her inexperience that Nan must be dead. At the first mention of the accident Cecil had flown to fetch some water, and when she and Miss Danesbury applied it to little Nan's temples, shepresently sighed, and opened her brown eyes wide. "I hope--I trust she is not much hurt, " said Miss Danesbury; "but I thinkit safest to take her home at once. Cecil, dear, can you do anythingabout fetching a wagonette round to the stile at the entrance of thewood? Now the puzzle is, who is to take care of the rest of the littlechildren? If only they were under Miss Good's care, I should breathe moreeasily. " "I am going home with Nan, " said Hester in a hard voice. "Of course, my love; no one would think of parting you from your littlesister, " said the governess, soothingly. "If you please, Miss Danesbury, " said Annie, whose face was quite as paleas Hester's, and her eyes heavy as though she longed to cry, "will youtrust me with the little ones? If you do, I will promise to take themstraight to Miss Good, and to be most careful of them. " Miss Danesbury's gentle and kind face looked relieved. "Thank you, Annie--of course I trust you, dear. Take the children at onceto the meeting-place under the great oak, and wait there until Miss Goodappears. " Annie suddenly sprang forward, and threw her arms round MissDanesbury's neck. "Miss Danesbury, you comfort me, " she said, in a kind of stifled voice, and then she ran off with the children. CHAPTER XXIII. "HUMPTY-DUMPTY HAD A GREAT FALL. " All the stupor and languor which immediately followed Nan's fall passedoff during her drive home; she chatted and laughed, her cheeks wereflushed, her eyes bright. Hester turned with a relieved face to MissDanesbury. "My little darling is all right, is she not?" she said. "Oh, I was soterrified--oh, how thankful I am no harm has been done!" Miss Danesbury did not return Hester's full gaze; she attempted to takelittle Nan on her knee, but Nan clung to Hetty. Then she said: "You must be careful to keep the sun off her, dear--hold your parasolwell down--just so. That is better. When we get home, I will put her tobed at once. Please God, there _is_ nothing wrong; but one cannot be toocareful. " Something in Miss Danesbury's manner affected Hester strangely; sheclasped Nan's slight baby form closer and closer to her heart, and nolonger joined in the little one's mirth. As the drive drew to a close, Nan again ceased talking, and fell into a heavy sleep. Miss Danesbury's face grew graver and graver, and, when the wagonettedrew up at Lavender House, she insisted on lifting the sleeping child outof Hester's arms, and carrying her up to her little crib. When Nan'slittle head was laid on the cool pillow, she again opened her eyes, andinstantly asked for a drink. Miss Danesbury gave her some milk and water, but the moment she drank it she was sick. "Just as I feared, " said the governess; "there is some littlemischief--not much, I hope--but we must instantly send for the doctor. " As Miss Danesbury walked across the room to ring the bell, Hesterfollowed her. "She's not in danger?" she whispered in a hoarse voice. "If she is, Annieis guilty of murder. " "Don't, my dear, " said the governess; "you must keep quiet for Nan'ssake. Please God, she will soon be better. All I really apprehend is alittle excitement and feverishness, which will pass off in a few dayswith care. Hester, my dear, I suddenly remember that the house is nearlyempty, for all the servants are also enjoying a holiday. I think I mustsend you for Dr. Mayflower. The wagonette is still at the door. Drive atonce to town, my dear, and ask the coachman to take you to No. 10, TheParade. If you are very quick, you will catch Dr. Mayflower before hegoes out on his afternoon rounds. " Hester glanced for half an instant at Nan, but her eyes were againclosed. "I will take the best care of her, " said the governess in a kind voice;"don't lose an instant, dear. " Hester snatched up her hat and flew down stairs. In a moment she was inthe wagonette, and the driver was speedily urging his horses in thedirection of the small town of Sefton, two miles and a half away. Hesterwas terrified now--so terrified, in such an agony, that she even forgotAnnie; her hatred toward Annie became of secondary importance to her. Allher ideas, all her thoughts, were swallowed up in the one greathope--Should she be in time to reach Dr. Mayflower's house before he setoff on his afternoon rounds? As the wagonette approached Sefton sheburied her face in her hands and uttered a sharp inward cry of agony. "Please God, let me find the doctor!" It was a real prayer from her heartof hearts. The wagonette drew up at the doctor's residence, to discoverhim stepping into his brougham. Hester was a shy child, and had neverseen him before; but she instantly raised her voice, and almost shoutedto him: "You are to come with me; please, you are to come at once. Little Nan isill--she is hurt. Please, you are to come at once. " "Eh! young lady?" said the round-faced doctor "Oh! I see; you are one ofthe little girls from Lavender House. Is anything wrong there, dear?" Hester managed to relate what had occurred; whereupon the doctorinstantly opened the door of the wagonette. "Jump out, young lady, " he said; "I will drive you back in my brougham. Masters, " addressing his coachman, "to Lavender House. " Hester sat back in the soft-cushioned carriage, which bowled smoothlyalong the road. It seemed to her impatience that the pace at which theywent was not half quick enough--she longed to put her head out of thewindow to shout to the coachman to go faster. She felt intensely provokedwith the doctor, who sat placidly by her side reading a newspaper. Presently she saw that his eyes were fixed on her. He spoke in hisquietest tones. "We always take precisely twenty minutes to drive from the Parade toLavender House--twenty minutes, neither more or less. We shall be therenow in exactly ten minutes. " Hester tried to smile, but failed; her agony of apprehension grew andgrew. She breathed more freely when they turned into the avenue. Whenthey stopped at the wide stone porch, and the doctor got out, she uttereda sigh of relief. She took Dr. Mayflower herself up to Nan's room. MissDanesbury opened the door, the doctor went inside, and Hester croucheddown on the landing and waited. It seemed to her that the good physicianwould never come out. When he did she raised a perfectly blanched face tohis, she opened her lips, tried to speak, but no words would come. Heragitation was so intense that the kind-hearted doctor took instant pityon her. "Come into this room, my child, " he said. "My dear, you will be illyourself if you give way like this. Pooh! pooh! this agitation isextreme--is uncalled for. You have got a shock. I shall prescribe a glassof sherry at once. Come down stairs with me, and I will see that you getone. " "But how is she, sir--how is she?" poor Hester managed to articulate. "Oh! the little one--sweet, pretty, little darling. I did not know shewas your sister--a dear little child. She got an ugly fall, though--cameon a nasty place. " "But, please, sir, how is she? She--she--she is not in danger?" "Danger? by no means, unless you put her into it. She must be kept veryquiet, and, above all things, not excited. I will come to see her againto-morrow morning. With proper care she ought to be quite herself in afew days. Ah! now you've got a little color in your cheek, come down withme and have that glass of sherry, and you will feel all right. " CHAPTER XXIV. ANNIE TO THE RESCUE. The picnic-party arrived home late. The accident to little Nan had notshortened the day's pleasure, although Mrs. Willis, the moment she heardof it, had come back; for she entered the hall just as the doctor wasstepping into his carriage. He gave her his opinion, and said that hetrusted no further mischief, beyond a little temporary excitement, hadbeen caused. He again, however, spoke of the great necessity of keepingNan quiet, and said that her schoolfellows must not come to her, and thatshe must not be excited in any way. Mrs. Willis came into the great hallwhere Hester was standing. Instantly she went up to the young girl, andput her arm around and drew her to her side. "Darling, " she said, "this is a grievous anxiety for you; no words canexpress my sorrow and my sympathy; but the doctor is quite hopeful, Hester, and, please God, we shall soon have the little one as well asever. " "You are really sorry for me?" said Hester, raising her eyes to thehead-mistress' face. "Of course, dear; need you ask?" "Then you will have that wicked Annie Forest punished--well punished--wellpunished. " "Sometimes, Hester, " said Mrs. Willis, very gravely, "God takes thepunishment of our wrongdoings into His own hands. Annie came home withme. Had you seen her face as we drove together you would not have asked_me_ to punish her. " "Unjust, always unjust, " muttered Hester, but in so low a voice that Mrs. Willis did not hear the words. "Please may I go to little Nan?" she said. "Certainly, Hester--some tea shall be sent up to you presently. " Miss Danesbury arranged to spend that night in Nan's room. A sofa bed wasbrought in for her to lie on, for Mrs. Willis had yielded to Hester'salmost feverish entreaties that she might not be banished from her littlesister. Not a sound reached the room where Nan was lying--even the girlstook off their shoes as they passed the door--not a whisper came todisturb the sick child. Little Nan slept most of the evening, onlysometimes opening her eyes and looking up drowsily when Miss Danesburychanged the cold application to her head. At nine o'clock there came alow tap at the room door. Hester went to open it; one of herschoolfellows stood without. "The prayer-gong is not to be sounded to-night. Will you come to thechapel now? Mrs. Willis sent me to ask. " Hester shook her head. "I cannot, " she whispered; "tell her I cannot come. " "Oh, I am so sorry!" replied the girl; "is Nan very bad?" "I don't know; I hope not. Good-night. " Hester closed the room door, took off her dress, and began very softly toprepare to get into bed. She put on her dressing-gown, and knelt down asusual to her private prayers. When she got on her knees, however, shefound it impossible to pray: her brain felt in a whirl, her feelings wereunprayer-like; and with the temporary relief of believing Nan in noimmediate danger came such a flood of hatred toward Annie as almostfrightened her. She tried to ask God to make Nan better--quite well; buteven this petition seemed to go no way--to reach no one--to fall flat onthe empty air. She rose from her knees, and got quietly into bed. Nan lay in that half-drowsy and languid state until midnight. Hester, with all her very slight experience of illness, thought that as long asNan was quiet she must be getting better; but Miss Danesbury was by nomeans so sure, and, notwithstanding the doctor's verdict, she feltanxious about the child. Hester had said that she could not sleep; but atMiss Danesbury's special request she got into bed, and before she knewanything about it was in a sound slumber. At midnight, when all the housewas quiet, and Miss Danesbury kept a lonely watch by the sick child'spillow, there came a marked change for the worse in the little one. Sheopened her feverish eyes wide and began to call out piteously; but hercry now was, not for Hester, but for Annie. "Me want my Annie, " she said over and over, "me do, me do. No, no; go'way, naughty Day-bury, me want my Annie; me do want her. " Miss Danesbury felt puzzled and distressed. Hester, however, was awakenedby the piteous cry, and sat up in bed. "What is it, Miss Danesbury?" she asked. "She is very much excited, Hester; she is calling for Annie Forest. " "Oh, that is quite impossible, " said Hester, a shudder passing throughher. "Annie can't come here. The doctor specially said that none of thegirls were to come near Nan. " "Me want Annie; me want my own Annie, " wailed the sick child. "Give me my dressing-gown, please, Miss Danesbury, and I will go to her, "said Hester. She sprang out of bed, and approached the little crib. The brightness ofNan's feverish eyes was distinctly seen. She looked up at Hester, whobent over her; then she uttered a sharp cry and covered her little face. "Go 'way, go 'way, naughty Hetty--Nan want Annie; Annie sing, Annie p'aywith Nan--go 'way, go 'way, Hetty. " Hester's heart was too full to allow her to speak; but she knelt by thecrib and tried to take one of the little hot hands in hers. Nan, however, pushed her hands away, and now began to cry loudly. "Annie!--Annie!--Annie! me want 'oo; Nan want 'oo--poor tibby Nan want'oo, Annie!" Miss Danesbury touched Hester on her shoulder. "My dear, " she said, "the child's wish must be gratified. Annie has anextraordinary power over children, and under the circumstances I shalltake it upon me to disobey the doctor's directions. The child must bequieted at all hazards. Run for Annie, dear--you know her room. I hadbetter stay with little Nan, for, though she loves you best, you don'tsooth her at present--that is often so with a fever case. " "One moment, " said Hester. She turned again to the little crib. "Hetty is going to fetch Annie for Nan. Will Nan give her own Hetty onekiss?" Instantly the little arms were flung round Hester's neck. "Me like 'oo now, dood Hetty. Go for Annie, dood Hetty. " Instantly Hester ran out of the room. She flew quickly down the longpassage, and did not know what a strange little figure she made as themoon from a large window at one end fell full upon her. So eerie, soghost-like was her appearance as she flew noiselessly with her bare feetalong the passage that some one--Hester did not know whom--gave a stifledcry. The cry seemed to come from a good way off, and Hester was toopreoccupied to notice it. She darted into the room where Susan Drummondand Annie Forest slept. "Annie, you are to come to Nan, " she said in a sharp high-pitched voicewhich she scarcely recognized as her own. "Coming, " said Annie, and she walked instantly to the door with her dresson and stood in the moonlight. "You are dressed!" said Hester in astonishment. "I could not undress--I lay down as I was. I fancied I heard Nan's voicecalling me. I guessed I should be sent for. " "Well, come now, " said Hester in her hardest tones. "You were only sentfor because Nan must be quieted at any risk. Come and see if you canquiet her. I don't suppose, " with a bitter laugh "that you will succeed. " "I think so, " replied Annie, in a very soft and gentle tone. She walked back by Hester's side and entered the sick-room. She walkedstraight up to the little cot and knelt down by Nan, and said, in thatstrangely melodious voice of hers: "Little darling, Annie has come. " "Me like 'oo, " said Nan with a satisfied coo in her voice, and she turnedround on her side with her back to Miss Danesbury and Hester and her eyesfixed on Annie. "Sing 'Four-and-twenty, ' Annie; sing 'Four-and-twenty, '" she saidpresently. "Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, " sang Annie in a low clearvoice, without a moment's hesitation. She went through the old nurseryrhyme once--twice. Then Nan interrupted her fretfully: "Me don't want dat 'dain; sing 'Boy Blue, ' Annie. " Annie sang. "'Tree Little Kittens, ' Annie, " interrupted the little voice presently. For more than two hours Annie knelt by the child, singing nursery rhymeafter nursery rhyme, while the bright beautiful eyes were fixed on herface, and the little voice said incessantly: "Sing, Annie--sing. " "Baby Bun, now, " said Nan, when Annie had come almost to the end of herselection. "Bye baby bunting, Daddy's gone a hunting-- He's gone to fetch a rabbit-skin, To place the baby bunting in. " Over and over and over did Annie sing the words. Whenever, even for abrief moment she paused, Nan said: "Sing, Annie--sing 'Baby Bun. '" And all the time the eyes remained wide open, and the little hands wereburning hot; but, gradually, after more than two hours of constantsinging, Annie began to fancy that the burning skin was cooler. Then--could she believe it?--she saw the lids droop over the wide-openeyes. Five minutes later, to the tune of "Baby Bunting, " Nan had falleninto a deep and sound sleep. CHAPTER XXV. A SPOILED BABY. In the morning Nan was better, and although for days she was in a veryprecarious state, and had to be kept as quiet as possible, yet MissDanesbury's great dread that fever would set in had passed away. Thedoctor said, however, that Nan had barely escaped real injury to herbrain, and that it would be many a day before she would romp again, andplay freely and noisily with the other children. Nan had chosen her ownnurse, and, with the imperiousness of all babies--to say nothing of sickbabies--she had her way. From morning till night Annie remained with her, and when the doctor saw how Annie alone could soothe and satisfy thechild he would not allow it to be otherwise. At first Nan would lie withher hand in Annie's, and her little cry of "sing, Annie, " going on fromtime to time; but as she grew better Annie would sit with her by the openwindow, with her head pillowed on her breast, and her arm round thelittle slender form, and Nan would smile and look adoringly at Annie, whowould often return her gaze with intense sadness, and an indescribablesomething in her face which caused the little one to stroke her cheektenderly, and say in her sweet baby voice: "Poor Annie; poor tibby Annie!" They made a pretty picture as they sat there. Annie, with her charminggypsy face, her wild luxuriant, curly hair, all the sauciness and unrestin her soothed by the magic of the little child's presence; and thelittle child herself, with her faint, wild-rose color, her dark, deepeyes, clear as summer pools, and her sunshiny golden hair. But pretty asthe picture was Hester loathed it, for Hester thought during thesewretched days that her heart would break. Not that Nan turned away from Hetty; she petted her and kissed her, andsometimes put an arm round Hetty and and an arm round Annie, as though, if she could, she would draw them together; but any one could see thather heart of hearts was given to Annie, and that Hester ranked second inher love. Hester would not for worlds express any of her bitter feelingsbefore Annie; nay, as the doctor and Miss Danesbury both declared that, however culpable Annie might have been in causing the accident, she hadsaved little Nan's life by her wonderful skill in soothing her to sleepon the first night of her illness, Hester had felt obliged to grumblesomething which might have been taken for "thanks. " Annie, in reply to this grumble, had bestowed upon Hester one of herquickest, brightest glances, for she fathomed the true state of Hester'sheart toward her well enough. These were very bad days for poor Hester, and but for the avidity withwhich she threw herself into her studies she could scarcely have bornethem. By slow degrees Nan got better; she was allowed to come down stairs andto sit in Annie's arms in the garden, and then Mrs. Willis interfered, and said that Annie must go back to her studies, and only devote herusual play hours and half-holidays to Nan's service. This mandate, however, produced woe and tribulation. The spoiled childscreamed and beat her little hands, and worked herself up into such apitch of excitement that that night she found her way in her sleep toAnnie's room, and Annie had to quiet her by taking her into her bed. Inthe morning the doctor had to be sent for, and he instantly prescribed aday or two more of Annie's company for the child. Mrs. Willis felt dreadfully puzzled. She had undertaken the charge of thelittle one; her father was already far away, so it was impossible now tomake any change of plans; the child was ill--had been injured by anaccident caused by Annie's carelessness and by Hester's want ofself-control. But weak and ill as Nan still was, Mrs. Willis felt that anundue amount of spoiling was good for no one. She thought it highlyunjust to Annie to keep her from her school employments at this mostimportant period of the year. If Annie did not reach a certain degree ofexcellence in her school marks she could not be promoted in her class. Mrs. Willis did not expect the wild and heedless girl to carry off anyspecial prizes; but her abilities were quite up to the average, and shealways hoped to rouse sufficient ambition in her to enable her to acquirea good and sound education. Mrs. Willis knew how necessary this was forpoor Annie's future, and, after giving the doctor an assurance that Nan'swhims and pleasures should be attended to for the next two or three days, she determined at the end of that time to assert her own authority withthe child, and to insist on Annie working hard at her lessons, andreturning to her usual school-room life. On the morning of the third day Mrs. Willis made inquiries, heard thatNan had spent an excellent night, eaten a hearty breakfast, and wasaltogether looking blooming. When the girls assembled in the school-roomfor their lessons, Annie brought her little charge down to the largeplay-room, where they established themselves cozily, and Annie began toinstruct little Nan in the mysteries of "Tic, tac, too, The little horse has lost his shoe. " Nan was entering into the spirit of the game, was imagining herself alittle horse, and was holding out her small foot to be shod, when Mrs. Willis entered the room. "Come with me, Nan, " she said; "I have got something to show you. " Nan got up instantly, held out one hand to Mrs. Willis and the other toAnnie, and said, in her confident baby tones: "Me tum; Annie tumming too. " Mrs. Willis said nothing, but holding the little hand, and accompanied byAnnie, she went out of the play-room, across the stone hall, and throughthe baize doors until she reached her own delightful privatesitting-room. There were heaps of pretty things about, and Nan gazed round her with theappreciative glance of a pleased connoisseur. "Pitty 'oom, " she said approvingly. "Nan likes this 'oom. Me'll stayhere, and so will Annie. " Here she uttered a sudden cry of rapture--on the floor, with its leavestemptingly open, lay a gaily-painted picture-book, and curled up in asoft fluffy ball by its side was a white Persian kitten asleep. Mrs. Willis whispered something to Annie, who ran out of the room, andNan knelt down in a perfect rapture of worship by the kitten's side. "Pitty tibby pussy!" she exclaimed several times, and she rubbed it sopersistently the wrong way that the kitten shivered and stood up, archedits back very high, yawned, turned round three times, and lay down again, Alas! "tibby pussy" was not allowed to have any continuous slumber. Nandragged the Persian by its tail into her lap, and when it resisted thisindignity, and with two or three light bounds disappeared out of theroom, she stretched out her little hands and began to cry for it. "Tum back, puss, puss--tum back, poor tibby puss--Nan loves 'oo. Annie, go fetch puss for Nan. " Then for the first time she discovered that Anniewas absent, and that she was alone, with the exception of Mrs. Willis, who sat busily writing at a distant table. Mrs. Willis counted for nothing at all with Nan--she did not consider herof the smallest importance and after giving her a quick glance of somedisdain she began to trot round the room on a voyage of discovery. Anymoment Annie would come back--Annie had, indeed, probably gone to fetchthe kitten, and would quickly return with it. She walked slowly round andround, keeping well away from that part of the room where Mrs. Willissat. Presently she found a very choice little china jug, which shecarefully abstracted with her small fingers from a cabinet, whichcontained many valuable treasures. She sat down on the floor exactlybeneath the cabinet, and began to play with her jug. She went through ineager pantomime a little game which Annie had invented for her, andimagined that she was a little milkmaid, and that the jug was full ofsweet new milk; she called out to an imaginary set of purchasers, "Wantany milk?" and then she poured some by way of drops of milk into the palmof her little hand, which she drank up in the name of her customers withconsiderable gusto. Presently knocking the little jug with some vehemenceon the floor she deprived it with one neat blow of its handle and spout. Mrs. Willis was busily writing, and did not look up. Nan was not in theleast disconcerted; she said aloud: "Poor tibby zug b'oke, " and then she left the fragments on the floor, andstarted off on a fresh voyage of discovery. This time she dragged down alarge photographic album on to a cushion, and, kneeling by it, began tolook through the pictures, flapping the pages together with a loud noise, and laughing merrily as she did so. She was now much nearer to Mrs. Willis, who was attracted by the sound, and looking up hastened to therescue of one of her most precious collections of photographs. "Nan, dear, " she said, "shut up that book at once. Nan mustn't touch. Shut the book, darling, and go and sit on the floor, and look at yournice-colored pictures. " Nan, still holding a chubby hand between the leaves of the album, gaveMrs. Willis a full defiant glance, and said: "Me won't. " "Come, Nan, " said the head-mistress. "Me want Annie, " said Nan, still kneeling by the album, and, bending herhead over the photographs, she turned the page and burst into a peal oflaughter. "Pitty bow vow, " she said, pointing to a photograph of a retriever; "oh, pitty bow woo, Nan loves 'oo. " Mrs. Willis stooped down and lifted the little girl into her arms. "Nan, dear, " she said, "it is naughty to disobey. Sit down by yourpicture-book, and be a good girl. " "Me won't, " said Nan again, and here she raised her small dimpled handand gave Mrs. Willis a smart slap on her cheek. "Naughty lady, me don't like 'oo; go 'way. Nan want Annie--Nan do wantAnnie. Me don't love 'oo, naughty lady; go 'way. " Mrs. Willis took Nan on her knee. She felt that the little will must bebent to hers, but the task was no easy one. The child scarcely knew her, she was still weak and excitable, and she presently burst into storms oftears, and sobbed and sobbed as though her little heart would break, herone cry being for "Annie, Annie, Annie. " When Annie did join her in theplay hour, the little cheeks were flushed, the white brow ached, and thechild's small hands were hot and feverish. Mrs. Willis felt terriblypuzzled. CHAPTER XXVI. UNDER THE LAUREL BUSH. Mrs. Willis owned to herself that she was non-plussed; it was quiteimpossible to allow Annie to neglect her studies, and yet little Nan'shealth was still too precarious to allow her to run the risk of havingthe child constantly fretted. Suddenly a welcome idea occurred to her; she would write at once to Nan'sold nurse, and see if she could come to Lavender House for the remainderof the present term. Mrs. Willis dispatched her letter that very day, andby the following evening the nurse was once more in possession of hermuch-loved little charge. The habits of her babyhood were too strong forNan; she returned to them gladly enough, and though in her heart ofhearts she was still intensely loyal to Annie, she no longer fretted whenshe was not with her. Annie resumed her ordinary work, and though Hester was very cold to her, several of the other girls in the school frankly confided to theirfavorite how much they had missed her, and how glad they were to have herback with them once more. Annie found herself at this time in an ever-shifting mood--one moment shelonged intensely for a kiss, and a fervent pardon from Mrs. Willis' lips;another, she said to herself defiantly she could and would live withoutit; one moment the hungry and sorrowful look in Hester's eyes wentstraight to Annie's heart, and she wished she might restore her littletreasure whom she had stolen; the next she rejoiced in her strange powerover Nan, and resolved to keep all the love she could get. In short, Annie was in that condition when she could be easily influencedfor good or evil--she was in that state of weakness when temptation isleast easily resisted. A few days after the arrival of Nan's nurse Mrs. Willis was obligedunexpectedly to leave home; a near relative was dangerously ill inLondon, and the school-mistress went away in much trouble and anxiety. Some of her favorite pupils flocked to the front entrance to see theirbeloved mistress off. Among the group Cecil stood, and several girls ofthe first class; many of the little girls were also present, but Anniewas not among them. Just at the last moment she rushed up breathlessly;she was tying some starry jasmine and some blue forget-me-nots together, and as the carriage was moving off she flung the charming bouquet intoher mistress' lap. Mrs. Willis rewarded her with one of her old looks of confidence andlove; she raised the flowers to her lips and kissed them, and her eyessmiled on Annie. "Good-by, dear, " she called out; "good-by, all my dear girls; I will tryand be back to-morrow night. Remember, my children, during my absence Itrust you. " The carriage disappeared down the avenue, and the group of girls meltedaway. Cecil looked round for Annie, but Annie had been the first todisappear. When her mistress had kissed the flowers and smiled at her, Annie dartedinto the shrubbery and stood there wiping the fast-falling tears from hereyes. She was interrupted in this occupation by the sudden cries of twoglad and eager voices, and instantly her hands were taken, and some girlsrather younger than herself began to drag her in the opposite directionthrough the shrubbery. "Come; Annie--come at once, Annie, darling, " exclaimed Phyllis and NoraRaymond. "The basket has come; it's under the thick laurel-tree in theback avenue. We are all waiting for you; we none of us will open it tillyou arrive. " Annie's face, a truly April one, changed as if by magic. The tears driedon her cheeks; her eyes filled with sunlight; she was all eager for thecoming fun. "Then we won't lose a moment, Phyllis, " she said: "we'll see what thatduck of a Betty has done for us. " The three girls scampered down the back avenue, where they found five oftheir companions, among them Susan Drummond, standing in differentattitudes of expectation near a very large and low-growing laurel-tree. Every one raised a shout when Annie appeared; she was undoubtedlyrecognized as queen and leader of the proceedings. She took her postwithout an instant's hesitation, and began ordering her willing subjectsabout. "Now, is the coast clear? yes, I think so. Come, Susie, greedy as youare, you must take your part. You alone of all of us can cackle with theexact imitation of an old hen: get behind that tree at once and watch theyard. Don't forget to cackle for your life if you even see the shadow ofa footfall. Nora, my pretty birdie, you must be the thrush for the nonce;here, take your post, watch the lawn and the front avenue. Now then, girls, the rest of us can see what spoils Betty has provided for us. " The basket was dragged from its hiding-place, and longing faces peeredeagerly and greedily into its contents. "Oh, oh! I say, cherries! and what a lot! Good Betty! dear, darling Betty!you gathered those from your own trees, and they are as ripe as yourapple-blossom cheeks! Now then, what next? I do declare, meringues! Bettyknew my weakness. Twelve meringues--that is one and a half apiece; SusanDrummond sha'n't have more than her share. Meringues and cheesecakesand--tartlets--oh! oh! what a duck Betty is! A plum-cake--good, excellentBetty, she deserves to be canonized! What have we here? Roastchickens--better and better! What is in this parcel? Slices of ham; Bettyknew she dare not show her face again if she forgot the ham. Knives andforks, spoons--fresh rolls--salt and pepper, and a dozen bottles ofginger-beer, and a little corkscrew in case we want it. " These various exclamations came from many lips. The contents of thebasket were carefully and tenderly replaced, the lid was fastened down, and it was once more consigned to its hiding place under the thick boughsof the laurel. Not a moment too soon, for just at this instant Susan cackled fiercely, and the little group withdrew, Annie first whispering: "At twelve to-night, then, girls--oh, yes, I have managed the key. " CHAPTER XXVII. TRUANTS. It was a proverbial saying in the school that Annie Forest was always inhot water; she was exceedingly daring, and loved what she called a spiceof danger. This was not the first stolen picnic at which Annie reigned asqueen, but this was the largest she had yet organized, and this was thefirst time she had dared to go out of doors with her satellites. Hitherto these naughty sprites had been content to carry their basketsfull of artfully-concealed provisions to a disused attic which wasexactly over the box-room, and consequently out of reach of the inhabitedpart of the house. Here, making a table of a great chest which stood inthe attic, they feasted gloriously, undisturbed by the musty smell or bythe innumerable spiders and beetles which disappeared rapidly in alldirections at their approach; but when Annie one day incautiouslysuggested that on summer nights the outside world was all at theirdisposal, they began to discover flaws in their banqueting hall. MaryPrice said the musty smell made her half sick; Phyllis declared that atthe sight of a spider she invariably turned faint; and Susan Drummond washeard to murmur that in a dusty, fusty attic even meringues scarcely kepther awake. The girls were all wild to try a midnight picnic out of doors, and Annie in her present mood, was only too eager for the fun. With her usual skill she organized the whole undertaking, and eightagitated, slightly frightened, but much excited girls retired to theirrooms that night. Annie, in her heart of hearts, felt rather sorry thatMrs. Willis should happen to be away; dim ideas of honor andtrustworthiness were still stirring in her breast, but she dared notthink now. The night was in every respect propitious; the moon would not rise untilafter twelve, so the little party could get away under the friendlyshelter of the darkness, and soon afterward have plenty of light to enjoytheir stolen feast. They had arranged to make no movement until close onmidnight, and then they were all to meet in a passage which belonged tothe kitchen regions, and where there was a side door which openeddirectly into the shrubbery. This door was not very often unlocked, andAnnie had taken the key from its place in the lock some days before. Shewent to bed with her companions at nine o'clock as usual, and presentlyfell into an uneasy doze. She awoke to hear the great clock in the hallstrike eleven, and a few minutes afterward she heard Miss Danesbury'sfootsteps retiring to her room at the other end of the passage. "Danesbury is always the last to go to bed, " whispered Annie to herself;"I can get up presently. " She lay for another twenty minutes, then, softly rising, began to put onher clothes in the dark. Over her dress she fastened her waterproof, andplaced a close-fitting brown velvet cap on her curly head. Having dressedherself, she approached Susan's bed, with the intention of rousing her. "I shall have fine work now, " she said, "and shall probably have toresort to cold water. Really, if Susy proves too hard to wake, I shalllet her sleep on--her drowsiness is past bearing. " Annie, however, was considerably startled when she discovered that MissDrummond's bed was without an occupant. At this moment the room door was very softly opened, and Susan, fullydressed and in her waterproof, came in. "Why, Susy, where have you been?" exclaimed Annie. "Fancy you being awakea moment before it is necessary!" "For once in a way I was restless, " replied Miss Drummond, "so I thoughtI would get up, and take a turn in the passage outside. The house isperfectly quiet, and we can come now; most of the girls are alreadywaiting at the side door. " Holding their shoes in their hands, Annie and Susan went noiselessly downthe carpetless stairs, and found the remaining six girls waiting for themby the side door. "Rover is our one last danger now, " said Annie, as she fitted thewell-oiled key into the lock. "Put on your shoes, girls, and let me outfirst; I think I can manage him. " She was alluding to a great mastiff which was usually kept chained up byday. Phyllis and Nora laid their hands on her arm. "Oh, Annie, oh love, suppose he seizes on you, and knocks you down--oh, dare you venture?" "Let me go, " said Annie a little contemptuously; "you don't suppose I amafraid?" Her fingers trembled, for her nerves were highly strung; but she managedto unlock the door and draw back the bolts, and, opening it softly, shewent out into the silent night. Very slight as the noise she made was, it had aroused the watchful Rover, who trotted around swiftly to know what was the matter. But Annie hadmade friends with Rover long ago, by stealing to his kennel door andfeeding him, and she had now but to say "Rover" in her melodious voice, and throw her arms around his neck, to completely subvert his morals. "He is one of us, girls, " she called in a whisper to her companions;"come out. Rover will be as naughty as the rest of us, and go with us asour body-guard to the fairies' field. Now, I will lock the door on theoutside, and we can be off. Ah, the moon is getting up splendidly, andwhen we have secured Betty's basket, we shall be quite out of reach ofdanger. " At Annie's words of encouragement the seven girls ventured out. Shelocked the door, put the key into her pocket, and, holding Rover by hiscollar, led the way in the direction of the laurel-bush. The basket wassecured, and Susan, to her disgust, and Mary Morris were elected for thefirst part of the way to carry it. The young truants then walked quicklydown the avenue until they came to a turnstile which led into a wood. CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE FAIRIES' FIELD. The moon had now come up brilliantly, and the little party were in thehighest possible spirits. They had got safely away from the house, andthere was now, comparatively speaking, little fear of discovery. The moretimid ones, who ventured to confess that their hearts were in theirmouths while Annie was unlocking the side door, now became the mostexcited, and perhaps the boldest, under the reaction which set in. Eventhe wood, which was comparatively dark, with only patches of moonlighthere and there, and queer weird shadows where the trees were thinnest, could not affect their spirits. The poor sleepy rabbits must have been astonished that night at theshouts of the revelers, as they hurried past them, and the birds musthave taken their sleepy heads from under their downy wings, and wonderedif the morning had come some hours before its usual time. More than one solemn old owl blinked at them, and hooted as they passed, and told them in owl language what silly, naughty young things they were, and how they would repent of this dissipation by-and-by. But if the girlswere to have an hour of remorse, it did not visit them then; their heartswere like feathers, and by the time they reached the fields where thefairies were supposed to play, their spirits had become almostuncontrollable. Luckily for them this small green field lay in a secluded hollow, andmore luckily for them no tramps were about to hear their merriment. Rover, who constituted himself Annie's protector, now lay down by herside, and as she was the real ringleader and queen of the occasion, sheordered her subjects about pretty sharply. "Now, girls, quick; open the basket. Yes, I'm going to rest. I haveorganized the whole thing, and I'm fairly tired; so I'll just sit quietlyhere, and Rover will take care of me while you set things straight. Ah!good Betty; she did not even forget the white table-cloth. " Here one of the girls remarked casually that the grass was wet with dew, and that it was well they had all put on their waterproofs. Annie interrupted again in a petulant voice: "Don't croak, Mary Morris. Out with the chickens, lay the ham in thiscorner, and the cherries will make a picturesque pile in the middle. Twelve meringues in all; that means a meringue and a half each. We shallhave some difficulty in dividing. Oh, dear! oh, dear! how hungry I am! Iwas far too excited to eat anything at supper-time. " "So was I, " said Phyllis, coming up and pressing close to Annie. "I dothink Miss Danesbury cuts the bread and butter too thick--don't you, Annie? I could not eat mine at all to-night, and Cecil Temple asked me ifI was not well. " "Those who don't want chicken hold up their hands, " here interruptedAnnie, who had tossed her brown cap on the grass, and between whose browsa faint frown had passed for an instant at the mention of Cecil's name. The feast now began in earnest and silence reigned for a short time, broken only by the clatter of plates and such an occasional remark as"Pass the salt, please, " "Pepper this way, if you've no objection, " "Howgood chicken tastes in fairy-land, " etc. At last the ginger-beer bottlesbegan to pop--the girls' first hunger was appeased. Rover gladly crunchedup all the bones, and conversation flowed once more, accompanied by thedelicate diversion of taking alternate bites at meringues andcheesecakes. "I wish the fairies would come out, " said Annie. "Oh, don't!" shivered Phyllis, looking round her nervously. "Annie darling, do tell us a ghost story, " cried several voices. Annie laughed and commenced a series of nonsense tales, all of a slightlyeerie character, which she made up on the spot. The moon riding high in the heavens looked down on the young giddy heads, and their laughter, naughty as they were, sounded sweet in the night air. Time flew quickly and the girls suddenly discovered that they must packup their table-cloth and remove all traces of the feast unless theywished the bright light of morning to discover them. They rose hastily, sighing and slightly depressed now that their fun was over. The whitetable-cloth, no longer very white, was packed into the basket, theginger-beer bottles placed on top of it and the lid fastened down. Not acrumb of the feast remained; Rover had demolished the bones and the eightgirls had made short work of everything else, with the exception of thecherry-stones, which Phyllis carefully collected and popped into a littlehole in the ground. The party then progressed slowly homeward and once more entered the darkwood. They were much more silent now; the wood was darker, and the chillwhich foretells the dawn was making itself felt in the air. Either thesense of cold or a certain effect produced by Annie's ridiculous stories, made many of the little party unduly nervous. They had only taken a few steps through the wood when Phyllis suddenlyuttered a piercing shriek. This shriek was echoed by Nora and by MaryMorris, and all their hearts seemed to leap into their mouths when theysaw something move among the trees. Rover uttered a growl, and, but forAnnie's detaining hand, would have sprung forward. The high-spirited girlwas not to be easily daunted. "Behold, girls, the goblin of the woods, " she exclaimed. "Quiet, Rover;stand still. " The next instant the fears of the little party reached their culminationwhen a tall, dark figure stood directly in their paths. "If you don't let us pass at once, " said Annie's voice, "I'll set Roverat you. " The dog began to bark loudly and quivered from head to foot. The figure moved a little to one side, and a rather deep and slightlydramatic voice said: "I mean you no harm, young ladies; I'm only a gypsy-mother from the tentsyonder. You are welcome to get back to Lavender House. I have then onecourse plain before me. " "Come on, girls, " said Annie, now considerably frightened, while Phyllis, and Nora, and one or two more began to sob. "Look here, young ladies, " said the gypsy in a whining voice, "I don'tmean you no harm, my pretties, and it's no affair of mine telling thegood ladies at Lavender House what I've seen. You cross my hand, dears, each of you, with a bit of silver, and all I'll do is to tell your prettyfortunes, and mum is the word with the gypsy-mother as far as thisnight's prank is concerned. " "We had better do it, Annie--we had better do it, " here sobbed Phyllis. "If this was found out by Mrs. Willis we might be expelled--we might, indeed; and that horrid woman is sure to tell of us--I know she is. " "Quite sure to tell, dear, " said the tall gypsy, dropping a courtesy in amanner which looked frightfully sarcastic in the long shadows made by thetrees. "Quite sure to tell, and to be expelled is the very least thatcould happen to such naughty little ladies. Here's a nice little bit ofclearing in the wood, and we'll all come over, and Mother Rachel willtell your fortunes in a twinkling, and no one will be the wiser. Sixpenceapiece, my dears--only sixpence apiece. " "Oh, come; do, do come, " said Nora, and the next moment they were allstanding in a circle round Mother Rachel, who pocketed her blackmaileagerly, and repeated some gibberish over each little hand. Over Annie'spalm she lingered for a brief moment, and looked with her penetratingeyes into the girl's face. "You'll have suffering before you, miss; some suspicion, and danger evento life itself. But you'll triumph, my dear, you'll triumph. You're aplucky one, and you'll do a brave deed. There--good-night, young ladies;you have nothing more to fear from Mother Rachel. " The tall dark figure disappeared into the blackest shadows of the wood, and the girls, now like so many frightened hares, flew home. Theydeposited their basket where Betty would find it, under the shadow of thegreat laurel in the back avenue. They all bade Rover an affectionate"good-night. " Annie softly unlocked the side-door, and one by one, withtheir shoes in their hands, they regained their bedrooms. They were allvery tired, and very cold, and a dull fear and sense of insecurity restedover each little heart. Suppose Mother Rachel proved unfaithful, notwithstanding the sixpences? CHAPTER XXIX. HESTER'S FORGOTTEN BOOK. It wanted scarcely three weeks to the holidays, and therefore scarcelythree weeks to that auspicious day when Lavender House was to be thescene of one long triumph, and was to be the happy spot selected for amidsummer holiday, accompanied by all that could make a holidayperfect--for youth and health would be there, and even the unsuccessfulcompetitors for the great prizes would not have too sore hearts, for theywould know that on the next day they were going home. Each girl who haddone her best would have a word of commendation, and only those who werevery naughty, or very stubborn, could resist the all-potent elixir ofhappiness which would be poured out so abundantly for Mrs. Willis' pupilson this day. Now that the time was drawing so near, those girls who were working forprizes found themselves fully occupied from morning to night. Inplay-hours even, girls would be seen with their heads bent over theirbooks, and, between the prizes and the acting, no little bees in any hivecould be more constantly employed than were these young girls just now. No happiness is, after all, to be compared to the happiness of healthfuloccupation. Busy people have no time to fret and no time to grumble. According to our old friend, Dr. Watts, people who are healthily busyhave also no time to be naughty, for the old doctor says that it is foridle hands that mischief is prepared. Be that as it may, and there is great truth in it, some naughty sprites, some bad fairies, were flitting around and about that apparently peacefulatmosphere. That sunny home, governed by all that was sweet and good, wasnot without its serpent. Of all the prizes which attracted interest and aroused competition, theprize for English composition was this year the most popular. In thefirst place, this was known to be Mrs. Willis' own favorite subject. Shehad a great wish that her girls should write intelligibly--she had agreater wish that, if possible, they should think. "Never was there so much written and printed, " she was often heard tosay; "but can any one show me a book with thoughts in it? Can any oneshow me, unless as a rare exception, a book which will live? Oh, yes, these books which issue from the press in thousands are, many of them, very smart, a great many of them clever, but they are thrown off tooquickly. All great things, great books among them, must be evolvedslowly. " Then she would tell her pupils what she considered the reason of this. "In these days, " she would say, "all girls are what is called highlyeducated. Girls and boys alike must go in for competitive examinations, must take out diplomas, and must pass certain standards of excellence. The system is cramming from beginning to end. There is no time forreflection. In short, my dear girls, you swallow a great deal, but you donot digest your intellectual food. " Mrs. Willis hailed with pleasure any little dawnings of real thought inher girls' prize essays. More than once she bestowed the prize upon theessay which seemed to the girls the most crude and unfinished. "Never mind, " she would say, "here is an idea--or at least half an idea. This little bit of composition is original, and not, at best, a poorimitation of Sir. Walter Scott or Lord Macaulay. " Thus the girls found a strong stimulus to be their real selves in theselittle essays, and the best of them chose their subject and let itferment in their brains without the aid of books, except for the moretechnical parts. More than one girl in the school was surprised at Dora Russell exertingherself to try for the prize essay. She was just about to close herschool career, and they could not make out why she roused herself to workfor the most difficult prize, for which she would have to compete withany girl in the school who chose to make a similar attempt. Dora, however, had her own, not very high motive for making the attempt. She was a thoroughly accomplished girl, graceful in her appearance andmanner; in short, just the sort of girl who would be supposed to docredit to a school. She played with finish, and even delicacy of touch. There was certainly no soul in her music, but neither were there anywrong notes. Her drawings were equally correct, her perspective good, hertrees were real trees, and the coloring of her water-color sketches waspure. She spoke French extremely well, and with a correct accent, and herGerman also was above the average. Nevertheless, Dora was commonplace, and those girls who knew her best spoke sarcastically, and smiled at oneanother when she alluded to her prize essay, and seemed confident ofbeing the successful competitor. "You won't like to be beaten, Dora, say, by Annie Forest, " they wouldlaughingly remark; whereupon Dora's calm face, would slightly flush andher lips would assume a very proud curve. If there was one thing shecould not bear it was to be beaten. "Why do you try for it, Dora?" her class-fellows would ask; but here Doramade no reply: she kept her reason to herself. The fact was, Dora, who must be a copyist to the end of the chapter, andwho could never to her latest day do anything original, had determined totry for the composition prize because she happened accidentally to hear aconversation between Mrs. Willis and Miss Danesbury, in which somethingwas said about a gold locket with Mrs. Willis' portrait inside. Dora instantly jumped at the conclusion that this was to be the greatprize bestowed upon the successful essayist. Delightful idea; how wellthe trinket would look round her smooth white throat! Instantly shedetermined to try for this prize, and of course as instantly the bareidea of defeat became intolerable to her. She went steadily andmethodically to work. With extreme care she chose her subject. Knowingsomething of Mrs. Willis' peculiarities, she determined that her themeshould not be historical; she believed that she could express herselffreely and with power if only she could secure an unhackneyed subject. Suddenly an idea which she considered brilliant occurred to her. Shewould call her composition "The River. " This should not bear reference toFather Thames, or any other special river of England, but it should tracethe windings of some fabled stream of Dora's imagination, which, as itflowed along, should tell something of the story of the many places bywhich it passed. Dora was charmed with her own thought, and worked hard, evening after evening, at her subject, covering sheets of manuscriptpaper with penciled jottings, and arranging and rearranging her somewhatconfused thoughts. She greatly admired a perfectly rounded period, andshe was most particular as to the style in which she wrote. For thepurpose of improving her style she even studied old volumes of Addison's_Spectator_; but after a time she gave up this course of study, for shefound it so difficult to mold her English to Addison's that she came tothe comfortable conclusion that Addison was decidedly obsolete, and thatif she wished to do full justice to "The River" she must trust to her ownunaided genius. At last the first ten pages were written. The subject was entered uponwith considerable flourishes, and some rather apt poetical quotationsfrom a book containing a collection of poems; the river itself hadalready left its home in the mountain, and was careering merrily pastsunny meadows and little rural, impossible cottages, where thegolden-haired children played. Dora made a very neat copy of her essay so far. She now began to see herway clearly--there would be a very powerful passage as the riverapproached the murky town. Here, indeed, would be room for powerful andpathetic writing. She wondered if she might venture so far as to hide asuicide in her rushing waters; and then at last the brawling river wouldlose itself in the sea; and, of course, there would not be the smallestconnection between her river, and Kingsley's well-known song, "Clear and cool. " She finished writing her ten pages, and being now positively certain ofher gold locket, went to bed in a happy state of mind. This was the very night when Annie was to lead her revelers through thedark wood, but Dora, who never troubled herself about the youngerclasses, would have been certainly the last to notice the fact that a fewof the girls in Lavender House seemed little disposed to eat theirsuppers of thick bread and butter and milk. She went to bed and dreamedhappy dreams about her golden locket, and had little idea that anymischief was about to be performed. Hester Thornton also, but in a very different spirit, was working hard ather essay. Hester worked conscientiously; she had chosen "MarieAntoinette" as her theme, and she read the sorrowful story of thebeautiful queen with intense interest, and tried hard to get herself intothe spirit of the times about which she must write. She had scarcelybegun her essay yet, but she had already collected most of the historicalfacts. Hester was a very careful little student, and as she prepared herself forthe great work, she thought little or nothing about the prize--she onlywanted to do justice to the unfortunate queen of France. She was in bedthat night, and just dropping off to sleep, when she suddenly rememberedthat she had left a volume of French poetry on her school desk. This wasagainst the rules, and she knew that Miss Danesbury would confiscate thebook in the morning, and would not let her have it back for a week. Hester particularly wanted this special book just now, as some of theverses bore reference to her subject, and she could scarcely get on withher essay without having it to refer to. She must lose no time ininstantly beginning to write her essay, and to do without her book ofpoetry for a week would be a serious injury to her. She resolved, therefore, to break through one of the rules, and, afterlying awake until the whole house was quiet, to slip down stairs, enterthe school-room and secure her poems. She heard the clock strike eleven, and she knew that in a very few moments Miss Danesbury and Miss Goodwould have retired to their rooms. Ah, yes, that was Miss Danesbury'sstep passing her door. Ten minutes later she glided out of bed, slippedon her dressing-gown, and opening her door ran swiftly down thecarpetless stairs, and found herself in the great stone hall which led tothe school-room. She was surprised to find the school-room door a little ajar, but sheentered the room without hesitation, and, dark as it was, soon found herdesk, and the book of poems lying on the top. Hester was about to returnwhen she was startled by a little noise in that portion of the room wherethe first class girls sat. The next moment somebody came heavily andrather clumsily down the room, and the moon, which was just beginning torise, fell for an instant on a girl's face. Hester recognized the face ofSusan Drummond. What could she be doing here? She did not dare to speak, for she herself had broken a rule in visiting the school-room. Sheremained, therefore, perfectly still until Susan's steps died away, andthen, thankful to have secured her own property, returned to her bedroom, and a moment or two later was sound asleep. CHAPTER XXX. "A MUDDY STREAM. " In the morning Dora Russell sat down as usual before her orderly andneatly-kept desk. She raised the lid to find everything in its place--herbooks and exercises all as they should be, and her pet essay in a neatbrown paper cover, lying just as she had left it the night before. Shewas really getting quite excited about her river, and as this was ahalf-holiday, she determined to have a good work at it in the afternoon. She was beginning also to experience that longing for an auditor whichoccasionally is known to trouble the breasts of genius. She felt thatthose graceful ideas, that elegant language, those measured periods, might strike happily on some other ears before they were read aloud asthe great work of the midsummer holidays. She knew that Hester Thornton was making what she was pleased to term apoor little attempt at trying for the same prize. Hester would scarcelyventure to copy anything from Dora's essay; she would probably bediscouraged, poor girl, in working any longer at her own composition; butDora felt that the temptation to read "The River, " as far as it had gone, to Hester was really too great to be resisted. Accordingly, after dinnershe graciously invited Hester to accompany her to a bower in the garden, where the two friends might revel over the results of Dora'sextraordinary talents. Hester was still, to a certain extent, under Dora's influence, and hadnot the courage to tell her that she intended to be very busy over herown essay this afternoon. "Now, Hester, dear, " said Dora, when they found themselves both seated inthe bower, "you are the only girl in the school to whom I could confidethe subject of my great essay. I really believe that I have hit onsomething absolutely original. My dear child, I hope you won't allowyourself to be discouraged. I fear that you won't have much heart to goon with your theme after you have read my words; but, never mind, dear, it will be good practice for you, and you know it _was_ rather silly togo in for a prize which I intended to compete for. " "May I read your essay, please, Dora?" asked Hester. "I am very muchinterested in my own study, and, whether I win the prize or not, I shallalways remember the pleasure I took in writing it. " "What subject did you select, dear?" inquired Miss Russell. "Well, I am attempting a little sketch of Marie Antoinette. " "Ah, hackneyed, my dear girl--terribly hackneyed; but, of course, I don'tmean to discourage you. _Now I_--I draw a life-picture, and I call it'The River. ' See how it begins--why, I declare I know the words by heart, '_As our eyes rest on this clear and limpid stream, as we see the sunsparkle_----' My dear Hester, you shall read me my essay aloud. I shalllike to hear my own words from your lips, and you have really a prettyaccent, dear. " Hester folded back the brown paper cover, and wanting to have her taskover began to read hastily. But, as her eyes rested on the first lines, she turned to her companion, and said: "Did you not tell me that your essay was called 'The River'?" "Yes, dear; the full title is 'The Windings of a Noble River. '" "That's very odd, " replied Hester. "What I see here is 'The Meanderingsof a Muddy Stream. ' '_As our dull orbs rest on this turbid water on whichthe sun cannot possibly shine. _' Why, Dora, this cannot be your essay, and yet, surely, it is your handwriting. " Dora, with her face suddenly flushing a vivid crimson, snatched themanuscript from Hester's hand, and looked over it eagerly. Alas! therewas no doubt. The title of this essay was "The Meanderings of a MuddyStream, " and the words which immediately followed were a smart andridiculous parody on her own high flown sentences. The resemblance to herhandwriting was perfect. The brown paper cover, neatly sewn on to protectthe white manuscript, was undoubtedly her cover; the very paper on whichthe words were written seemed in all particulars the same. Dora turnedthe sheets eagerly, and here for the first time she saw a difference. Only four or five pages of the nonsense essay had been attempted, and thenight before, when finishing her toil, she had proudly numbered her tenthpage. She looked through the whole thing, turning leaf after leaf, whileher cheeks were crimson, and her hands trembled. In the first moment ofhorrible humiliation and dismay she literally could not speak. At last, springing to her feet, and confronting the astonished and almostfrightened Hester, she found her voice. "Hester, you must help me in this. The most dreadful, the most atrociousfraud has been committed. Some one has been base enough, audaciousenough, wicked enough, to go to my desk privately, and take away my realessay--my work over which I have labored and toiled. The expressions ofmy--my--yes, I will say it--my genius, have been ruthlessly burned, orotherwise made away with, and _this_ thing has been put in their place. Hester, why don't you speak--why do you stare at me like this?" "I am puzzled by the writing, " said Hester; "the writing is yours. " "The writing is mine!--oh, you wicked girl! The writing is an imitationof mine--a feeble and poor imitation. I thought, Hester, that by thistime you knew your friend's handwriting. I thought that one in whom Ihave confided--one whom I have stooped to notice because, I fancied wehad a community of soul, would not be so ridiculous and so silly as tomistake this writing for mine. Look again, please, Hester Thornton, andtell me if I am ever so vulgar as to cross my _t's_. You know I _always_loop them; and do I make a capital B in this fashion? And do I indulge inflourishes? I grant you that the general effect to a casual observerwould be something the same, but you, Hester--I thought you knew mebetter. " Here Hester, examining the false essay, had to confess that the crossed_t's_ and the flourishes were unlike Miss Russell's calligraphy. "It is a forgery, most cleverly done, " said Dora. "There is such a thing, Hester, as being wickedly clever. This spiteful, cruel attempt to injureanother can have but proceeded from one very low order of mind. Hester, there has been plenty of favoritism in this school, but do you suppose Ishall allow such a thing as this to pass over unsearched into? Ifnecessary, I shall ask my father to interfere. This is a slight--anoutrage; but the whole mystery shall at last be cleared up. Miss Good andMiss Danesbury shall be informed at once, and the very instant Mrs. Willis returns she shall be told what a serpent she has been nursing inthis false, wicked girl, Annie Forest. " "Stop, Dora, " said Hester suddenly. She sprang to her feet, clasping herhands, and her color varied rapidly from white to red. A sudden lightpoured in upon her, and she was about to speak when something--quite asmall, trivial thing--occurred. She only saw little Nan in the distanceflying swiftly, with outstretched arms, to meet a girl, whose knees sheclasped in baby ecstasy. The girl stooped down and kissed the littleface, and the round arms were flung around her neck. The next instantAnnie Forest continued her walk alone, and Nan, looking wistfully backafter her, went in another direction with her nurse. The whole scene tookbut a moment to enact, but as she watched, Hester's face grew hard andwhite. She sat down again, with her lips firmly pressed together. "What is it, Hester?" exclaimed Dora. "What were you going to say? Yousurely know nothing about this?" "Well, Dora, I am not the guilty person. I was only going to remark thatyou cannot be _sure_ it is Annie Forest. " "Oh, so you are going to take that horrid girl's part now? I wonder atyou! She all but killed your little sister, and then stole her love awayfrom you. Did you see the little thing now, how she flew to her? Why, shenever kisses you like that. " "I know--I know, " said Hester, and she turned away her face with a groan, and leaned forward against the rustic bench, pressing her hot foreheaddown on her hands. "You'll have your triumph, Hester, when Miss Forest is publiclyexpelled, " said Dora, tapping her lightly on the shoulder, and then, taking up the forged essay, she went slowly out of the garden. CHAPTER XXXI. GOOD AND BAD ANGELS. Hester stayed behind in the shady little arbor, and then, on that softspring day, while the birds sang overhead, and the warm light breezescame in and fanned her hot cheeks, good angels and bad drew near to fightfor a victory. Which would conquer? Hester had many faults, but hithertoshe had been honorable and truthful; her sins had been those of pride andjealousy, but she had never told a falsehood in her life. She knewperfectly--she trembled as the full knowledge overpowered her--that shehad it in her power to exonerate Annie. She could not in the leastimagine how stupid Susan Drummond could contrive and carry out such aclever and deep-laid plot; but she knew also that if she related what shehad seen with her own eyes the night before, she would probably give sucha clue to the apparent mystery that the truth would come to light. If Annie was cleared from this accusation, doubtless the old story of hersupposed guilt with regard to Mrs. Willis' caricature would also be readwith its right key. Hester was a clever and sharp girl; and the fact ofseeing Susan Drummond in the school-room in the dead of night opened hereyes also to one or two other apparent little mysteries. While Susan washer own room-mate she had often given a passing wonder to the fact of herextraordinary desire to overcome her sleepiness, and had laughed over theexpedients Susan had used to wake at all moments. These things, at the time, had scarcely given her a moment's seriousreflection; but now she pondered them carefully, and became more and morecertain, that, for some inexplicable and unfathomable reason sleepy, andapparently innocent, Susan Drummond wished to sow the seeds of mischiefand discord in the school. Hester was sure that if she chose to speak nowshe could clear poor Annie, and restore her to her lost place in Mrs. Willis' favor. Should she do so? ah! should she? Her lips trembled, her color came andwent as the angels, good and bad, fought hard for victory within her. Howshe had longed to revenge herself on Annie! How cordially she had hatedher! Now was the moment of her revenge. She had but to remain silent now, and to let matters take their course; she had but to hold her tongueabout the little incident of last night, and, without any doubt, circumstantial evidence would point at Annie Forest, and she would beexpelled from the school. Mrs. Willis must condemn her now. Mr. Everardmust pronounce her guilty now. She would go, and when the coast was againclear the love which she had taken from Hester--the precious love ofHester's only little sister--would return. "You will be miserable; you will be miserable, " whispered the good angelssorrowfully in her ear; but she did not listen to them. "I said I would revenge myself, and this is my opportunity, " shemurmured. "Silence--just simply silence--will be my revenge. " Then the good angels went sorrowfully back to their Father in heaven, andthe wicked angels rejoiced. Hester had fallen very low. CHAPTER XXXII. FRESH SUSPICIONS. Mrs. Willis was not at home many hours before Dora Russell begged for aninterview with her. Annie had not as yet heard anything of the changedessay; for Dora had resolved to keep the thing a secret until Mrs. Willisherself took the matter in hand. Annie was feeling not a little anxious and depressed. She was sorry nowthat she had led the girls that wild escapade through the wood. Phyllisand Nora were both suffering from heavy colds in consequence, and SusanDrummond was looking more pasty about her complexion, and was moredismally sleepy than usual. Annie was going through her usual season ofintense remorse after one of her wild pranks. No one repented with moreapparent fervor than she did, and yet no one so easily succumbed to thenext temptation. Had Annie been alone in the matter she would have gonestraight to Mrs. Willis and confessed all; but she could not do thiswithout implicating her companions, who would have screamed with horrorat the very suggestion. All the girls were more or less depressed by the knowledge that the gypsywoman, Mother Rachel, shared their secret; and they often whisperedtogether as to the chances of her betraying them. Old Betty they couldtrust; for Betty, the cake-woman, had been an arch-conspirator with thenaughty girls of Lavender House from time immemorial. Betty had alwaysmanaged to provide their stolen suppers for them, and had been mostaccommodating in the matter of pay. Yes, with Betty they felt they weresafe; but Mother Rachel was a different person. She might like to be paida few more sixpences for her silence; she might hover about the grounds;she might be noticed. At any moment she might boldly demand an interviewwith Mrs. Willis. "I'm awfully afraid of Mother Rachel, " Phyllis moaned, as she shiveredunder the influence of her bad cold. Nora said "I should faint if I saw her again, I know I should;" while theother girls always went out provided with stray sixpences, in case thegypsy mother should start up from some unexpected quarter and demandblackmail. On the day of Mrs. Willis' return, Annie was pacing up and down the shadywalk, and indulging in some rather melancholy and regretful thoughts, when Susan Drummond and Mary Morris rushed up to her, white with terror. "She's down there by the copse, and she's beckoning to us! Oh, do comewith us--do, darling, dear Annie. " "There's no use in it, " replied Annie; "Mother Rachel wants money, and Iam not going to give her any. Don't be afraid of her, girls, and don'tgive her money. After all, why should she tell on us? she would gainnothing by doing so. " "Oh, yes, she would, Annie--she would, Annie, " said Mary Morris, beginning to sob; "oh, do come with us, do! We must pacify her, we reallymust. " "I can't come now, " said Annie; "hark! some one is calling me. Yes, MissDanesbury--what is it?" "Mrs. Willis wishes to see you at once, Annie, in her privatesitting-room, " replied Miss Danesbury; and Annie, wondering not a little, but quite unsuspicious, ran off. The fact, however, of her having deliberately disobeyed Mrs. Willis, anddone something which she knew would greatly pain her, brought a shade ofembarrassment to her usually candid face. She had also to confess toherself that she did not feel quite so comfortable about Mother Rachel asshe had given Mary Morris and Susan Drummond to understand. Her stepslagged more and more as she approached the house, and she wished, oh, howlongingly! oh, how regretfully! that she had not been naughty and wildand disobedient in her beloved teacher's absence. "But where is the use of regretting what is done?" she said, half aloud. "I know I can never be good--never, never!" She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains which shaded the door of theprivate sitting-room, and went in, to find Mrs. Willis seated by herdesk, very pale and tired and unhappy looking, while Dora Russell, withcrimson spots on her cheeks and a very angry glitter in her eyes, stoodby the mantel-piece. "Come here, Annie dear, " said Mrs. Willis in her usual gentle andaffectionate tone. Annie's first wild impulse was to rush to her governess' side, to flingher arms round her neck, and, as a child would confess to her mother, totell her all that story of the walk through the wood, and the stolenpicnic in the fairies' field. Three things, however, restrained her--shemust not relieve her own troubles at the expense of betraying others; shecould not, even if she were willing, say a word in the presence of thiscold and angry-looking Dora; in the third place, Mrs. Willis looked verytired and very sad. Not for worlds would she add to her troubles at thisinstant. She came into the room, however, with a slight hesitation ofmanner and a clouded brow, which caused Mrs. Willis to watch her withanxiety and Dora with triumph. "Come here, Annie, " repeated the governess. "I want to speak to you. Something very dishonorable and disgraceful has been done in my absence. " Annie's face suddenly became as white as a sheet. Could the gypsy motherhave already betrayed them all? Mrs. Willis, noticing her too evident confusion, continued in a voicewhich, in spite of herself, became stern and severe. "I shall expect the truth at any cost, my dear. Look at thismanuscript-book. Do you know anything of the handwriting?" "Why, it is yours, of course, Dora, " said Annie, who was now absolutelybewildered. "It is _not_ mine, " began Dora, but Mrs. Willis held up her hand. "Allow me to speak, Miss Russell. I can best explain matters. Annie, during my absence some one has been guilty of a very base and wicked act. One of the girls in this school has gone secretly to Dora Russell's deskand taken away ten pages of an essay which she had called 'The River, 'and which she was preparing for the prize competition next month. Insteadof Dora's essay this that you now see was put in its place. Examine it, my dear. Can you tell me anything about it?" Annie took the manuscript-book and turned the leaves. "Is it meant for a parody?" she asked, after a pause; "it soundsridiculous. No, Mrs. Willis, I know nothing whatever about it; some onehas imitated Dora's handwriting. I cannot imagine who is the culprit. " She threw the manuscript-book with a certain easy carelessness on thetable by her side, and glanced up with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes atDora. "I suppose it is meant for a clever parody, " she repeated; "at least itis amusing. " Her manner displeased Mrs. Willis, and very nearly maddened poor Dora. "We have not sent for you, Annie, " said her teacher, "to ask you youropinion of the parody, but to try and get you to throw light on thesubject. We must find out, and at once, who has been so wicked as todeliberately injure another girl. " "But why have you sent for _me_?" asked Annie, drawing herself up, andspeaking with a little shade of haughtiness. "Because, " said Dora Russell, who could no longer contain her outragedfeelings, "because you alone can throw light on it--because you alone inthe school are base enough to do anything so mean--because you alone cancaricature. " "Oh, that is it, " said Annie; "you suspect me, then. Do _you_ suspect me, Mrs. Willis?" "My dear--what can I say?" "Nothing, if you do. In this school my word has long gone for nothing. Iam a naughty, headstrong, willful girl, but in this matter I am perfectlyinnocent. I never saw that essay before: I never in all my life went toDora Russell's desk. I am headstrong and wild, but I don't do spitefulthings. I have no object in injuring Dora; she is nothing to me--nothing. She is trying for the essay prize, but she has no chance of winning it. Why should I trouble myself to injure her? Why should I even take thepains to parody her words and copy her handwriting? Mrs. Willis, you neednot believe me--I see you do not believe me--but I am quite innocent. " Here Annie burst into sudden tears, and ran out of the room. CHAPTER XXXIII. UNTRUSTWORTHY. Dora Russell had declared, in Hester's presence, and with intense energyin her manner, that the author of the insult to which she had beenexposed should be publicly punished and, if possible, expelled. On theevening of her interview with the head teacher, she had so far forgottenherself as to reiterate this desire with extreme vehemence. She hadboldly declared her firm conviction of Annie's guilt, and had broadlyhinted at Mrs. Willis' favoritism toward her. The great dignity, however, of her teacher's manner, and the half-sorrowful, half-indignant look shebestowed on the excited girl, calmed her down after a time. Mrs. Willisfelt full sympathy for Dora, and could well understand how trying andaggravating this practical joke must be to so proud a girl; but althoughher faith was undoubtedly shaken in Annie, she would not allow thissentiment to appear. "I will do all I can for you, Dora, " she said, when the weeping Annie hadleft the room; "I will do everything in my power to find out who hasinjured you. Annie has absolutely denied the accusation you bring againsther, and unless her guilt can be proved it is but right to believe herinnocent. There are many other girls in Lavender House, and to-morrowmorning I will sift this unpleasant affair to the very bottom. Go, now, my dear, and if you have sufficient self-command and self-control, try tohave courage to write your essay over again. I have no doubt that yoursecond rendering of your subject will be more attractive than the first. Beginners cannot too often re-write their themes. " Dora gave her head a proud little toss, but she was sufficiently in aweof Mrs. Willis to keep back any retort, and she went out of the roomfeeling unsatisfied and wretched, and inclined for a sympathizing chatwith her little friend Hester Thornton. Hester, however when she reached her, seemed not at all disposed to talkto any one. "I've had it all out with Mrs. Willis, and there is no doubt she will beexposed to-morrow morning, " said Dora half aloud. Hester, whose head was bent over her French history, looked up with anannoyed expression. "Who will be exposed?" she asked, in a petulant voice. "Oh, how stupid you are growing, Hester Thornton!" exclaimed Dora; "why, that horrid Annie Forest, of course--but really I have no patience totalk to you; you have lost all your spirit. I was very foolish to demeanmyself by taking so much notice of one of the little girls. " Dora sailed down the play-room to her own drawing-room, fully expectingHester to rise and rush after her; but to her surprise Hester did notstir, but sat with her head bent over her book, and her cheeks slightlyflushed. The next morning Mrs. Willis kept her word to Dora, and made the verystrictest inquiries with regard to the practical joke to which Dora hadbeen subjected. She first of all fully explained what had taken place inthe presence of the whole school, and then each girl was called up inrotation, and asked two questions: first, had she done this mischievousthing herself? second, could she throw any light on the subject. One by one each girl appeared before her teacher, replied in the negativeto both queries, and returned to her seat. "Now, girls, " said Mrs. Willis, "you have each of you denied this charge. Such a thing as has happened to Dora could not have been done withouthands. The teachers in the school are above suspicion; the servants arenone of them clever enough to perform this base trick. I suspect one ofyou, and I am quite determined to get at the truth. During the whole ofthis half-year there has been a spirit of unhappiness, of mischief, andof suspicion in our midst. Under these circumstances love cannot thrive;under these circumstances the true and ennobling sense of brotherlykindness, and all those feelings which real religion prompt mustlanguish. I tell you all now plainly that I will not have this thing inLavender House. It is simply disgraceful for one girl to play such trickson her fellows. This is not the first time nor the second time that theschool desks have been tampered with. I will find out--I am determined tofind out, who this dishonest person is; and as she has not chosen toconfess to me, as she has preferred falsehood to truth, I will visit her, when I do discover her, with my very gravest displeasure. In this schoolI have always endeavored to inculcate the true principles of honor and oftrust. I have laid down certain broad rules, and expect them to beobeyed; but I have never hampered you with petty and humiliatingrestraints. I have given you a certain freedom, which I believed to befor your best good, and I have never suspected one of you until you havegiven me due cause. "Now, however, I tell you plainly that I alter all my tactics. One girlsitting in this room is guilty. For her sake I shall treat you all asguilty, and punish you accordingly. For the remainder of this term, oruntil the hour when the guilty girl chooses to release her companions, you are all, with the exception of the little children and Miss Russell, who can scarcely have played this trick on herself, under punishment. Iwithdraw your half-holidays, I take from you the use of the south parlorfor your acting, and every drawing-room in the play-room is confiscated. But this is not all that I do. In taking from you my trust, I must treatyou as untrustworthy--you will no longer enjoy the liberty you used todelight in--everywhere you will be watched. A teacher will sit in yourplay-room with you, a teacher will accompany you into the grounds, and Itell you plainly, girls, that chance words and phrases which drop fromyour lips shall be taken up, and used, if necessary, to the elucidationof this disgraceful mystery. " Here Mrs. Willis left the room, and the teachers desired the severalgirls in their classes to attend to their morning studies. Nothing could exceed the dismay which her words had produced. Theinnocent girls were fairly stunned, and from that hour for many a day allsunshine and happiness seemed really to have left Lavender House. The two, however, who felt the change most acutely, and on whose alteredfaces their companions began to fix suspicious eyes, were Annie Forestand Hester Thornton. Hester was burdened with an intolerable sense of theshameful falsehood she had told; Annie, guilty in another matter, succumbed at last utterly to a sense of misery and injustice. Herorphaned and lonely position for the first time began to tell on her; sheate little and slept little, her face grew very pale and thin, and herhealth really suffered. All the routine of happy life at Lavender House was changed. In the largeplay-room the drawing-rooms were unused; there were no pleasant littleknots of girls whispering happily and confidentially together, forwhenever two or three girls sat down to have a chat they found that oneor another of the teachers was within hearing. The acting for the comingplay progressed so languidly that no one expected it would really takeplace, and the one relief and relaxation to the unhappy girls lay in thefact that the holidays were not far off, and that in the meantime theymight work hard for the prizes. The days passed in a truly melancholy fashion, and, perhaps, for thefirst time the girls fully appreciated the old privileges of freedom andtrust which were now forfeited. There was a feeble little attempt at ajoke and a laugh in the school at Dora's expense. The most frivolous ofthe girls whispered of her as she passed as "the muddy stream;" but noone took up the fun with avidity--the shadow of somebody's sin had fallentoo heavily upon all the bright young lives. CHAPTER XXXIV. BETTY FALLS ILL AT AN AWKWARD TIME. The eight girls who had gone out on their midnight picnic were muchstartled one day by an unpleasant discovery. Betty had never come for herbasket. Susan Drummond, who had a good deal of curiosity, and alwayspoked her nose into unexpected corners, had been walking with a MissAllison in that part of the grounds where the laurel-bush stood. She hadcaught a peep of the white handle of the basket, and had instantly turnedher companion's attention to something else. Miss Allison had notobserved Susan's start of dismay; but Susan had taken the firstopportunity of getting rid of her, and had run off in search of one ofthe girls who had shared in the picnic. She came across Annie Forest, whowas walking, as usual, by herself, with her head slightly bent, and hercurling hair in sad confusion. Susan whispered the direful intelligencethat old Betty had forsaken them, and that the basket, with itsginger-beer bottles and its stained table-cloth, might be discovered atany moment. Annie's pale face flushed slightly at Susan's words. "Why should we try to conceal the thing?" she said, speaking with suddenenergy, and a look of hope and animation coming back to her face. "Susy, let's go, all of us, and tell the miserable truth to Mrs. Willis; it willbe much the best way. We did not do the other thing, and when we haveconfessed about this, our hearts will be at rest. " "No, we did not do the other thing, " said Susan, a queer, gray colorcoming over her face; "but confess about this, Annie Forest!--I think youare mad. You dare not tell. " "All right, " said Annie, "I won't, unless you all agree to it, " and thenshe continued her walk, leaving Susan standing on the graveled path withher hands clasped together, and a look of most genuine alarm and dismayon her usually phlegmatic face. Susan quickly found Phyllis and Nora, and it was only too easy to arousethe fears of these timid little people. Their poor little faces becamealmost pallid, and they were not a little startled at the fact of AnnieForest, their own arch-conspirator, wishing to betray their secret. "Oh, " said Susan Drummond, "she's not out and out shabby; she says shewon't tell unless we all wish it. But what is to become of the basket?" "Come, come, young ladies; no whispering, if you please, " said Miss Good, who came up at this moment. "Susan, you are looking pale and cold, walkup and down that path half-a-dozen times, and then go into the house. Phyllis and Nora, you can come with me as far as the lodge. I want totake a message from Mrs. Willis to Mary Martin about the fowl forto-morrow's dinner. " Phyllis and Nora, with dismayed faces, walked solemnly away with theEnglish teacher, and Susan was left to her solitary meditations. Things had come to such a pass that her slow wits were brought into play, and she neither felt sleepy, nor did she indulge in her usual habit ofeating lollipops. That basket might be discovered any day, and then--then disgrace wasimminent. Susan could not make out what had become of old Betty; neverbefore had she so utterly failed them. Betty lived in a little cottage about half a mile from Lavender House. She was a sturdy, apple-cheeked, little old woman, and had for many a dayadded to her income--indeed, almost supported herself--by means of thegirls at Lavender House. The large cherry-trees in her little garden boretheir rich crop of fruit year after year for Mrs. Willis' girls, andevery day at an early hour Betty would tramp into Sefton and return witha temptingly-laden basket of the most approved cakes and tarts. There wasa certain paling at one end of the grounds to which Betty used to come. Here on the grass she would sit contentedly, with the contents of herbaskets arranged in the most tempting order before her, and to thisseductive spot she knew well that those little misses who loved goodies, cakes and tartlets would be sure to find their way. Betty charged highfor her wares; but, as she was always obliging in the matter of credit, the thoughtless girls cared very little that they paid double the shopprices for Betty's cakes. The best girls in the school, certainly, neverwent to Betty; but Annie Forest, Susan Drummond, and several others hadregular accounts with her, and few days passed that their young faceswould not peep over the paling and their voices ask: "What have you got to tempt me with to-day, Betty?" It was, however, in the matter of stolen picnics, of grand feasts in theold attic, etc. , etc. , that Betty was truly great. No one so clever asshe in concealing a basket of delicious eatables, no one knew better whatschoolgirls liked. She undoubtedly charged her own prices, but what shegave was of the best, and Betty was truly in her element when she had anorder from the young ladies of Lavender House for a grand secret feast. "You shall have it, my pretties--you shall have it, " she would say, wrinkling up her bright blue eyes, and smiling broadly. "You leave it toBetty, my little loves; you leave it to Betty. " On the occasion of the picnic to the fairies' field Betty had, indeed, surpassed herself in the delicious eatables she had provided; all hadgone smoothly, the basket had been placed in a secure hiding-place underthe thick laurel. It was to be fetched away by Betty herself at an earlyhour on the following morning. No wonder Susan was perplexed as she paced about and pretended to warmherself. It was a June evening, but the weather was still a little cold. Susan remembered now that Betty had not come to her favorite station atthe stile for several days. Was it possible that the old woman was ill?As this idea occurred to her, Susan became more alarmed. She knew thatthere was very little chance of the basket remaining long in concealment. Rover might any day remember his pleasant picnic with affection, and dragthe white basket from under the laurel-bush. Michael the gardener wouldbe certain to see it when next he cleaned up the back avenue. Oh, it wasmore than dangerous to leave it there, and yet Susan knew of no betterhiding-place. A sudden idea came to her; she pulled out her pretty littlewatch, and saw that she need not return to the house for anotherhalf-hour. "Suppose she ran as fast as possible to Betty's little cottageand begged of the old woman to come by the first light in the morning andfetch away the basket?" The moment Susan conceived this idea she resolved to put it intoexecution. She looked around her hastily: no teacher was in sight, MissGood was away at the lodge, Miss Danesbury was playing with the littlechildren. Mademoiselle, she knew, had gone indoors with a bad headache. She left the broad walk where she had been desired to stay, and plunginginto the shrubbery, soon reached Betty's paling. In a moment she hadclimbed the bars, had jumped lightly into the field, and was running asfast as possible in the direction of Betty's cottage. She reached thehigh road, and started and trembled violently as a carriage with someladies and gentlemen passed her. She thought she recognized the faces ofthe two little Misses Bruce, but did not dare to look at them, andhurried panting along the road, and hoping she might be mistaken. In less than a quarter of an hour she had reached Betty's little cottage, and was standing trying to recover her breath by the shut door. The placehad a deserted look, and several overripe cherries had fallen from thetrees and were lying neglected on the ground. Susan knocked impatiently. There was no discernible answer. She had no time to wait, she lifted thelatch, which yielded to her pressure, and went in. Poor old Betty, crippled, and in severe pain with rheumatism, was lyingon her little bed. "Eh, dear--and is that you, my pretty missy?" she asked, as Susan, hotand tired, came up to her side. "Oh, Betty, are you ill?" asked Miss Drummond "I came to tell you youhave forgotten the basket. " "No, my dear, no--not forgot. By no means that, lovey; but I has beentook with the rheumatism this past week, and can't move hand or foot. Iwas wondering how you'd do without your cakes and tartlets, dear, and tothink of them cherries lying there good for nothing on the ground isenough to break one's 'eart. " "So it is, " said Susan, giving an appreciative glance toward the opendoor. "They are beautiful cherries, and full of juice, I am sure. I'lltake a few, Betty, as I am going out, and pay you for them another day. But what I have come about now is the basket. You must get the basketaway, however ill you are. If the basket is discovered we are all lost, and then good-by to your gains. " "Well, missy, dear, if I could crawl on my hands and knees I'd go andfetch it, rather than you should be worried; but I can't set foot to theground at all. The doctor says as 'tis somethink like rheumatic fever asI has. " "Oh, dear, oh, dear, " said Susan, not wasting any of her precious momentsin pitying the poor suffering old woman. "What _is_ to be done? I tellyou, Betty, if that basket is found we are all lost. " "But the laurel is very thick, lovey: it ain't likely to be found--itain't, indeed. " "I tell you it _is_ likely to be found, you tiresome old woman, and youreally must go for it or send for it. You really must. " Old Betty began to ponder. "There's Moses, " she said, after a pause of anxious thought; "he's a'cute little chap, and he might go. He lives in the fourth cottage alongthe lane. Moses is his name--Moses Moore. I'd give him a pint of cherriesfor the job. If you wouldn't mind sending Moses to me, Miss Susan, why, I'll do my best; only it seems a pity to let anybody into your secrets, young ladies, but old Betty herself. " "It is a pity, " said Susan, "but, under the circumstances, it can't behelped. What cottage did you say this Moses lived in?" "The fourth from here, down the lane, lovey--Moses is the lad's name;he's a freckled boy, with a cast in one eye. You send him up to me, dearie; but don't mention the cherries, or he'll be after stealing them. He's a sad rogue, is Moses; but I think I can tempt him with thecherries. " Susan did not wait to bid poor old Betty "good-bye, " but ran out of thecottage, shutting the door after her, and snatching up two or three ripecherries to eat on her way. She was so far fortunate as to find theredoubtable Moses at home, and to convey him bodily to old Betty'spresence. The queer boy grinned horribly, and looked as wicked as boycould look; but on the subject of cherries he was undoubtedlysusceptible, and after a good deal of haggling and insisting that thepint should be a quart, he expressed his willingness to start off at fouro'clock on the following morning, and bring away the basket from underthe laurel-tree. CHAPTER XXXV. "YOU ARE WELCOME TO TELL. " Annie continued her walk. The circumstances of the last two months hadcombined to do for her what nothing had hitherto effected. When a littlechild she had known hardship and privation, she had passed through thatexperience which is metaphorically spoken of as "going down hill. " As ababy little Annie had been surrounded by comforts and luxuries, and herfather and mother had lived in a large house, and kept a carriage, andAnnie had two nurses to wait on herself alone. These were in the daysbefore she could remember anything. With her first early memories camethe recollection of a much smaller house, of much fewer servants, of hermother often in tears, and her father often away. Then there was no houseat all that the Forests could call their own, only rooms of a tolerablycheerful character--and Annie's nurse went away, and she took her dailywalks by her mother's side and slept in a little cot in her mother'sroom. Then came a very, very sad day, when her mother lay cold and stilland fainting on her bed, and her tall and handsome father caught Annie inhis arms and pressed her to his heart, and told her to be a good childand to keep up her spirits, and, above all things, to take care ofmother. Then her father had gone away; and though Annie expected himback, he did not come, and she and her mother went into poorer andshabbier lodgings, and her mother began to try her tear-dimmed eyes byworking at church embroidery, and Annie used to notice that she coughed agood deal as she worked. Then there was another move, and this time Mrs. Forest and her little daughter found themselves in one bedroom, andthings began to grow very gloomy, and food even was scarce. At last therewas a change. One day a lady came into the dingy little room, and all ona sudden it seemed as if the sun had come out again. This lady broughtcomforts with her--toys and books for the child, good, brave words ofcheer for the mother. At last Annie's mother died, and she went away toLavender House to live with this good friend who had made her mother'sdying hours easy. "Annie, Annie, " said the dying mother, "I owe everything to Mrs. Willis;we knew each other long ago when we were girls, and she has come to menow and made everything easy. When I am gone she will take care of you. Oh, my child, I cannot repay her; but will you try?" "Yes, mother, " said little Annie, gazing full into her mother's face withher sweet bright eyes, "I'll--I'll love her, mother; I'll give her lotsand lots of love. " Annie had gone to Lavender House, and kept her word, for she had almostworshiped the good mistress who was so true and kind to her, and who hadso befriended her mother. Through all the vicissitudes of her shortexistence Annie had, however, never lost one precious gift. Hers was anaffectionate, but also a wonderfully bright, nature. It was as impossiblefor Annie to turn away from laughter and merriment as it would be for aflower to keep its head determinately turned from the sun. In theirdarkest days Annie had managed to make her mother laugh; her little facewas a sunbeam, her very naughtinesses were of a laughable character. Her mother died--her father was still away, but Annie retained her braveand cheerful spirit, for she gave and received love. Mrs. Willis lovedher--she bestowed upon her among all her girls the tenderest glances, themost motherly caresses. The teachers undoubtedly corrected and evenscolded her, but they could not help liking her, and even her worstscrapes made them smile. Annie's companions adored her; the littlechildren would do anything for their own Annie, and even the servants inthe school said that there was no young lady in Lavender House fit tohold a candle to Miss Forest. During the last half-year, however, things had been different. Suspicionand mistrust began to dog the footsteps of the bright young girl; she wasno longer a universal favorite--some of the girls even openly expressedtheir dislike of her. All this Annie could have borne, but for the fact that Mrs. Willis joinedin the universal suspicion. The old glance now never came to her eyes, nor the old tone to her voice. For the first time Annie's spirits utterlyflagged; she could not bear this universal coldness, this universalchill. She began to droop physically as well as mentally. She was pacing up and down the walk, thinking very sadly, wonderingvaguely, if her father would ever return, and conscious of a feeling ofmore or less indifference to everything and every one, when she wassuddenly roused from her meditation by the patter of small feet and by avery eager little exclamation: "Me tumming--me tumming, Annie!" and then Nan raised her charming faceand placed her cool baby hand in Annie's. There was delicious comfort in the clasp of the little hand, and in thelook of love and pleasure which lit up the small face. "Me yiding from naughty nurse--me 'tay with you, Annie--me love 'oo, Annie. " Annie stooped down, kissed the little one, and lifted her into her arms. "Why ky?" said Nan, who saw with consternation two big tears in Annie'seyes; "dere, poor ickle Annie--me love 'oo--me buy 'oo a new doll. " "Dearest little darling, " said Annie in a voice of almost passionatepain; then, with that wonderful instinct which made her in touch with alllittle children, she cheered up, wiped away her tears, and allowedlaughter once more to wreathe her lips and fill her eyes. "Come, Nan, "she said, "you and I will have such a race. " She placed the child on her shoulder, clasped the little hands securelyround her neck, and ran to the sound of Nan's shouts down the shady walk. At the farther end Nan suddenly tightened her clasp, drew herself up, ceased to laugh, and said with some fright in her voice: "Who dat?" Annie, too, stood still with a sudden start, for the gypsy woman, MotherRachel, was standing directly in their path. "Go 'way, naughty woman, " said Nan, shaking her small hand imperiously. The gypsy dropped a low courtesy, and spoke in a slightly mocking tone. "A pretty little dear, " she said. "Yes, truly now, a pretty littlewinsome dear; and oh, what shoes! and little open-work socks! and I don'tdoubt real lace trimming on all her little garments--I don't doubt it abit. " "Go 'way--me don't like 'oo, " said Nan. "Let's wun back--gee, gee, " shesaid, addressing Annie, whom she had constituted into a horse for thetime being. "Yes, Nan; in one minute, " said Annie. "Please, Mother Rachel, what areyou doing here?" "Only waiting to see you, pretty missie, " replied the tall gypsy. "Youare the dear little lady who crossed my hand with silver that night inthe wood. Eh, but it was a bonny night, with a bonny bright moon, andnone of the dear little ladies meant any harm--no, no, Mother Rachelknows that. " "Look here, " said Annie, "I'm not going to be afraid of you. I have nomore silver to give you. If you like, you may go up to the house and tellwhat you have seen. I am very unhappy, and whether you tell or not canmake very little difference to me now. Good-night; I am not the leastafraid of you--you can do just as you please about telling Mrs. Willis. " "Eh, my dear?" said the gypsy; "do you think I'd work you any harm--you, and the seven other dear little ladies? No, not for the world, mydear--not for the world. You don't know Mother Rachel when you thinkshe'd be that mean. " "Well, don't come here again, " said Annie. "Good-night. " She turned on her heel, and Nan shouted back: "Go way, naughty woman--Nan don't love 'oo, 'tall, 'tall. " The gypsy stood still for a moment with a frown knitting her brows; thenshe slowly turned, and, creeping on all-fours through the underwood, climbed the hedge into the field beyond. "Oh, no, " she laughed, after a moment; "the little missy thinks she ain'tafraid of me; but she be. Trust Mother Rachel for knowing that much. Imake no doubt, " she added after a pause, "that the little one's clothesare trimmed with real lace. Well, little Missie Annie Forest, I can seewith half an eye that you set store by that baby-girl. You had better notcross Mother Rachel's whims, or she can punish you in a way you don'tthink of. " CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW MOSES MOORE KEPT HIS APPOINTMENT. Susan Drummond got back to Lavender House without apparent discovery. Shewas certainly late when she took her place in the class-room for her nextday's preparation; but, beyond a very sharp reprimand from mademoiselle, no notice was taken of this fact. She managed to whisper to Nora andPhyllis that the basket would be moved by the first dawn the nextmorning, and the little girls went to bed happier in consequence. Nothingever could disturb Susan's slumbers, and that night she certainly sleptwithout rocking. As she was getting into bed she ventured to tell Anniehow successfully she had manoeuvered; but Annie received her news withthe most absolute indifference, looking at her for a moment with a queersmile, and then saying: "My own wish is that this should be found out. As a matter of course, Isha'n't betray you, girls; but as things now stand I am anxious that Mrs. Willis should know the very worst of me. " After a remark which Susan considered so simply idiotic, there was, ofcourse, no further conversation between the two girls. Moses Moore had certainly promised Betty to rise soon after dawn on thefollowing morning, and go to Lavender House to carry off the basket fromunder the laurel-tree. Moses, a remarkably indolent lad, had beenstimulated by the thought of the delicious cherries which would be his assoon as he brought the basket to Betty. He had cleverly stipulated that aquart--not a pint--of cherries was to be his reward, and he lookedforward with considerable pleasure to picking them himself, and putting afew extra ones into his mouth on the sly. Moses was not at all the kind of a boy who would have scrupled to steal afew cherries; but in this particular old Betty, ill as she was, was toosharp for him or for any of the other village lads. Her bed was drawn upclose to her little window, and her window looked directly on to the twocherry trees. Never, to all appearance, did Betty close her eyes. Howeverearly the hour might be in which a village boy peeped over the wall ofher garden, he always saw her white night-cap moving, and he knew thather bright blue eyes would be on him, and he would be proclaimed a thiefall over the place before many minutes were over. Moses, therefore, was very glad to secure his cherries by fair means, ashe could not obtain them by foul; and he went to bed and to sleep, determined to be off on his errand with the dawn. A very natural thing, however, happened. Moses, unaccustomed to gettingup at half-past three in the morning, never opened his eyes until thechurch clock struck five. Then he started upright, rubbed and rubbed athis sleepy orbs, tumbled into his clothes, and, softly opening thecottage door, set off on his errand. The fact of his being nearly an hour and a half late did not trouble himin the least. In any case, he would get to Lavender House before sixo'clock, and would have consumed his cherries in less than an hour fromthat date. Moses sauntered gaily along the roads, whistling as he went, andoccasionally tossing his battered cap in the air. He often lingered onhis way, now to cut down a particularly tempting switch from the hedge, now to hunt for a possible bird's nest. It was very nearly six o'clockwhen he reached the back avenue, swung himself over the gate, which waslocked, and ran softly on the dewy grass in the direction of the laurelbush. Old Betty had given him most careful instructions, and he was fartoo sharp a lad to forget what was necessary for the obtaining of a quartof cherries. He found his tree, and lay flat down on the ground in orderto pull out the basket. His fingers had just clasped the handle whenthere came a sudden interruption--a rush, a growl, and some very sharpteeth had inserted themselves into the back of his ragged jacket. PoorMoses found himself, to his horror, in the clutches of a great mastiff. The creature held him tight, and laid one heavy paw on him to prevent himrising. Under these circumstances, Moses thought it quite unnecessary to retainany self-control. He shrieked, he screamed, he wriggled; his piercingyells filled the air, and, fortunately for him, his being two hours toolate brought assistance to his aid. Michael, the gardener, and a strongboy who helped him, rushed to the spot, and liberated the terrified lad, who, after all, was only frightened, for Rover had satisfied himself withtearing his jacket to pieces, not himself. "Give me the b-basket, " sobbed Moses, "and let me g-g-go. " "You may certainly go, you little tramp, " said Michael, "but Jim and mewill keep the basket. I much misdoubt me if there isn't mischief here. What's the basket put hiding here for, and who does it belong to?" "Old B-B-Betty, " gasped forth the agitated Moses. "Well, let old Betty fetch it herself. Mrs. Willis will keep it for her, "said Michael. "Come along, Jim, get to your weeding, do. There, littlescamp, you had better make yourself scarce. " Moses certainly took his advice, for he scuttled off like a hare. Whetherhe ever got his cherries or not, history does not disclose. Michael, looking gravely at Jim, opened the basket, examined itscontents, and, shaking his head solemnly, carried it into the house. "There's been deep work going on, Jim, and my missis ought to know, " saidMichael, who was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. Jim, however, hada soft corner in his heart for the young ladies, and he commenced hisweeding with a profound sigh. CHAPTER XXXVII A BROKEN TRUST. The next morning Annie Forest opened her eyes with that strange feelingof indifference and want of vivacity which come so seldom to youth. Shesaw the sun shining through the closed blinds; she heard the birdstwittering and singing in the large elm-tree which nearly touched thewindows; she knew well how the world looked at this moment, for often andoften in her old light-hearted days she had risen before the maid came tocall her, and, kneeling by the deep window-ledge, had looked out at thebright, fresh, sparkling day. A new day, with all its hours before it, its light vivid but not too glaring, its dress all manner of tendershades and harmonious colorings! Annie had a poetical nature, and shegloried in these glimpses which she got all by herself of the fresh, gladworld. To-day, however, she lay still, sorry to know that the brief night was atan end, and that the day, with its coldness and suspicion, its terribleabsence of love and harmony, was about to begin. Annie's nature was very emotional; she was intensely sensitive to hersurroundings; the grayness of her present life was absolute destructionto such a nature as hers. The dressing-bell rang; the maid came in to draw up the blinds, and callthe girls. Annie rose languidly and began to dress herself. She first finished her toilet, and then approached her little bed, andstood by its side for a moment hesitating. She did not want to pray, andyet she felt impelled to go down on her knees. As she knelt with hercurls falling about her face, and her hands pressed to her eyes, one lineof one of her favorite poems came flashing with swiftness and poweracross her memory: "A soul which has sinned and is pardoned again. " The words filled her whole heart with a sudden sense of peace and ofgreat longing. The prayer-bell rang: she rose, and, turning to Susan Drummond, saidearnestly: "Oh, Susy, I do wish Mrs. Willis could know about our going to thefairy-field; I do so want God to forgive me. " Susan stared in her usual dull, uncomprehending way; then she flushed alittle, and said brusquely: "I think you have quite taken leave of your senses, Annie Forest. " Annie said no more, but at prayers in the chapel she was glad to findherself near gentle Cecil Temple, and the words kept repeating themselvesto her all during the morning lessons: "A soul which has sinned and is pardoned again. " Just before morning school several of the girls started and lookeddistressed when they found that Mrs. Willis lingered in the room. Shestood for a moment by the English teacher's desk, said something to herin a low voice, and then, walking slowly to her own post at the head ofthe great school-room, she said suddenly: "I want to ask you a question, Miss Drummond. Will you please just standup in your place in class and answer me without a moment's hesitation. " Phyllis and Nora found themselves turning very pale; Mary Price and oneor two more of the rebels also began to tremble, but Susan looked doggedand indifferent enough as she turned her eyes toward her teacher. "Yes, madam, " she said, rising and dropping a courtesy. "My friends, the Misses Bruce, came to call on me yesterday evening, Susan, and told me that they saw you running very quickly on the highroad in the direction of the village. You, of course, know that you brokea very distinct rule when you left the grounds without leave. Tell me atonce where you were going. " Susan hesitated, colored to her dullest red, and looked down. Then, because she had no ready excuse to offer, she blurted out the truth: "I was going to see old Betty. " "The cake-woman?" "Yes. " "What for?" "I--I heard she was ill. " "Indeed--you may sit down, Miss Drummond. Miss Good, will you ask Michaelto step for a moment into the school-room?" Several of the girls now indeed held their breath, and more than oneheart beat with heavy, frightened bumps as a moment later Michaelfollowed Miss Good into the room, carrying the redoubtable picnic-basketon his arm. "Michael, " said Mrs. Willis, "I wish you to tell the young ladies exactlyhow you found the basket this morning. Stand by my side, please, andspeak loud enough for them to hear. " After a moment's pause Michael related somewhat diffusely and with anoccasional break in his narrative the scene which had occurred betweenhim and Moses that morning. "That will do, Michael; you can now go, " said the head mistress. She waited until the old servant had closed the door, and then she turnedto her girls: "It is not quite a fortnight since I stood where I now stand, and askedone girl to be honorable and to save her companions. One girl was guiltyof sin and would not confess, and for her sake all her companions are nowsuffering. I am tired of this sort of thing--I am tired of standing inthis place and appealing to your honor, which is dead, to your truthwhich is nowhere. Girls, you puzzle me--you half break my heart. In thiscase more than one is guilty. How many of the girls in Lavender House aregoing to tell me a lie this morning?" There was a brief pause; then a slight cry, and a girl rose from her seatand walked up the long school-room. "I am the most guilty of all, " said Annie Forest. "Annie!" said Mrs. Willis, in a tone half of pain, half of relief, "haveyou come to your senses at last?" "Oh, I'm so glad to be able to speak the truth, " said Annie. "Pleasepunish me very, very hard; I am the most guilty of all. " "What did you do with this basket?" "We took it for a picnic--it was my plan, I led the others. " "Where was your picnic?" "In the fairies' field. " "Ah! At what time?" "At night--in the middle of the night--the night you went to London. " Mrs. Willis put her hand to her brow; her face was very white and thegirls could see that she trembled. "I trusted my girls----" she said; then she broke off abruptly. "You had companions in this wickedness--name them. " "Yes, I had companions; I led them on. " "Name them, Miss Forest. " For the first time Annie raised her eyes to Mrs. Willis' face; then sheturned and looked down the long school-room. "Oh, won't they tell themselves?" she said. Nothing could be more appealing than her glance. It melted the hearts ofPhyllis and Nora, who began to sob, and to declare brokenly that they hadgone too, and that they were very, very sorry. Spurred by their example Mary Price also confessed, and one by one allthe little conspirators revealed the truth, with the exception of Susan, who kept her eyes steadily fixed on the floor. "Susan Drummond, " said Mrs. Willis, "come here. " There was something in her tone which startled every girl in the school. Never had they heard this ring in their teacher's voice before. "Susan, " said Mrs. Willis, "I don't ask you if you are guilty; I fear, poor miserable girl, that if I did you would load your conscience with afresh lie. I don't ask you if you are guilty because I know you are. Thefact of your running without leave to see old Betty is circumstantialevidence. I judge you by that and pronounce you guilty. Now, youngladies, you who have treated me so badly, who have betrayed my trust, whohave been wanting in honor, I must think, I must ask God to teach me howto deal with you. In the meantime, you cannot associate with yourcompanions. Miss Good, will you take each of these eight girls to theirbedrooms. " As Annie was leaving the room she looked full into Mrs. Willis' face. Strange to say, at this moment of her great disgrace the cloud which hadso long brooded over her was lifted. The sweet eyes never looked sweeter. The old Annie, and yet a better and a braver Annie than had ever existedbefore, followed her companions out of the school-room. CHAPTER XXXVIII. IS SHE STILL GUILTY? On the evening of that day Cecil Temple knocked at the door of Mrs. Willis' private sitting-room. "Ah, Cecil! is that you?" said her governess. "I am always glad to seeyou, dear; but I happen to be particularly busy to-night. Have youanything in particular to say to me?" "I only wanted to talk about Annie, Mrs. Willis. You believe in her atlast, don't you?" "Believe in her at last!" said the head-mistress in a tone ofastonishment and deep pain. "No, Cecil, my dear; you ask too much of myfaith. I do not believe in Annie. " Cecil paused; she hesitated, and seemed half afraid to proceed. "Perhaps, " she said at last in a slightly timid tone, "you have not seenher since this morning?" "No; I have been particularly busy. Besides, the eight culprits are underpunishment; part of their punishment is that I will not see them. " "Don't you think, Mrs. Willis, " said Cecil, "that Annie made rather abrave confession this morning?" "I admit, my dear, that Annie spoke in somewhat of her old impulsive way;she blamed herself, and did not try to screen her misdemeanors behind hercompanions. In this one particular she reminded me of the old Annie who, notwithstanding all her faults, I used to trust and love. But as to herconfession being very brave, my dear Cecil, you must remember that shedid not _confess_ until she was obliged; she knew, and so did all theother girls, that I could have got the truth out of old Betty had theychosen to keep their lips sealed. Then, my dear, consider what she did. On the very night that I was away she violated the trust I had inher--she bade me 'good-bye' with smiles and sweet glances, and then shedid this in my absence. No, Cecil, I fear poor Annie is not what wethought her. She has done untold mischief during the half-year, and haswillfully lied and deceived me. I find, on comparing dates, that it wason the very night of the girls' picnic that Dora's theme was changed. There is no doubt whatever that Annie was the guilty person. I did mybest to believe in her, and to depend on Mr. Everard's judgment of hercharacter, but I confess I can do so no longer. Cecil, dear. I am notsurprised that you look pale and sad. No, we will not give up this poorAnnie: we will try to love her even through her sin. Ah! poor child, poorchild! how much I have prayed for her! She was to me as a child of myown. Now, dear Cecil, I must ask you to leave me. " Cecil went slowly out of her governess' presence, and, wandering acrossthe wide stone hall, she entered the play-room. It happened to be a wetnight, and the room was full of girls, who hung together in groups andwhispered softly. There were no loud voices, and, except from the littleones, there was no laughter. A great depression hung over the place, andfew could have recognized the happy girls of Lavender House in these sadyoung faces. Cecil walked slowly into the room, and presently findingHester Thornton, she sat down by her side. "I can't get Mrs. Willis to see it, " she said very sadly. "What?" asked Hester. "Why, that we have got our old Annie back again; that she did take thegirls out to that picnic, and was as wild, and reckless, and naughty aspossible about it; and then, just like the old Annie I have always known, the moment the fun was over she began to repent, and that she has gone onrepenting ever since, which has accounted for her poor sad little faceand white cheeks. Of course she longed to tell--Nora and Phyllis havetold me so--but she would not betray them. Now at last there is a loadoff her heart, and, though she is in great disgrace and punishment, sheis not very unhappy. I went to see her an hour ago, and I saw in her facethat my own darling Annie has returned. But what do you think Mrs. Willisdoes, Hester? She is so hurt and disappointed, that she believes Annie isguilty of the other thing--she believes that Annie stole Dora's theme, and that she caricatured her in my book some time ago. She believesit--she is sure of it. Now, do you think, Hester, that Annie's face wouldlook quite peaceful and happy to-night if she had only confessed half herfaults--if she had this meanness, this sin, these lies still resting onher soul? Oh! I wish Mrs. Willis would see her! I wish--I wish! but I cando nothing. You agree with me, don't you, Hester? Just put yourself inAnnie's place, and tell me if _you_ would feel happy, and if your heartwould be at rest, if you had only confessed half your sin, and if throughyou all your schoolfellows were under disgrace and suspicion? You couldnot, could you, Hester? Why, Hester, how white you are!" "You are so metaphysical, " said Hester, rising; "you quite puzzle me. Howcan I put myself in your friend Annie's place? I never understood her--Inever wanted to. Put myself in her place?--no, certainly that I'm neverlikely to. I hope that I shall never be in such a predicament. " Hester walked away, and Cecil sat still in great perplexity. Cecil was a girl with a true sense of religion. The love of God guidedevery action of her simple and straightforward life. She was neitherbeautiful nor clever; but no one in the school was more respected andhonored, no one more sincerely loved. Cecil knew what the peace of Godmeant, and when she saw even a shadowy reflection of that peace onAnnie's little face, she was right in believing that she must be innocentof the guilt which was attributed to her. The whole school assembled for prayers that night in the little chapel, and Mr. Everard, who had heard the story of that day's confession fromMrs. Willis, said a few words appropriate to the occasion to the unhappyyoung girls. Whatever effect his words had on the others, and they were very simpleand straightforward, Annie's face grew quiet and peaceful as she listenedto them. The old clergyman assured the girls that God was waiting toforgive those who truly repented, and that the way to repent was to riseup and sin no more. "The present fun is not worth the after-pain, " he said, in conclusion. "It is an old saying that stolen waters are sweet, but only at the time;afterward only those who drink of them know the full extent of theirbitterness. " This little address from Mr. Everard strengthened poor Annie for anordeal which was immediately before her, for Mrs. Willis asked all theschool to follow her to the play-room, and there she told them that shewas about to restore to them their lost privileges; that circumstances, in her opinion, now so strongly pointed the guilt of the stolen essay inthe direction of one girl, that she could no longer ask the school tosuffer for her sake. "She still refuses to confess her sin, " said Mrs. Willis, "but, unlessanother girl proclaims herself guilty, and proves to me beyond doubt thatshe drew the caricature which was found in Cecil Temple's book, and thatshe changed Dora Russell's essay, and, imitating her hand, put another inits place, I proclaim the guilty person to be Annie Forest, and on heralone I visit my displeasure. You can retire to your rooms, young ladies. Tomorrow morning Lavender House resumes its old cheerfulness. " CHAPTER XXXIX. HESTER'S HOUR OF TRIAL. However calmly or however peacefully Annie slept that night, poor Hesterdid not close her eyes. The white face of the girl she had wronged andinjured kept rising before her. Why had she so deceived Annie? Why fromthe very first had she turned from her, and misjudged her, andmisrepresented her? Was Annie, indeed, all bad? Hester had to own toherself that to-night Annie was better than she--was greater than she. Could she now have undone the past, she would not have acted as she haddone; she would not for the sake of a little paltry revenge have defiledher conscience with a lie, have told her governess that she could throwno light on the circumstance of the stolen essay. This was the first lieHester had ever told; she was naturally both straightforward andhonorable, but her sin of sins, that which made her hard and almostunlovable, was an intensely proud and haughty spirit. She was very sorryshe had told that lie; she was very sorry she had yielded to thattemptation; but not for worlds would she now humble herself toconfess--not for worlds would she let the school know of her cowardiceand shame. No, if there was no other means of clearing Annie exceptthrough her confession, she must remain with the shadow of this sin overher to her dying day. Hester, however, was now really unhappy, and also truly sorry for poorAnnie. Could she have got off without disgrace or punishment, she wouldhave been truly glad to see Annie exonerated. She was quite certain thatSusan Drummond was at the bottom of all the mischief which had been donelately at Lavender House. She could not make out how stupid Susan wasclever enough to caricature and to imitate peoples' hands. Still she wasconvinced that she was the guilty person, and she wondered and wonderedif she could induce Susan to come forward and confess the truth, and sosave Annie without bringing her, Hester, into any trouble. She resolved to speak to Susan, and without confessing that she had beenin the school-room on the night the essay was changed, to let her knowplainly that she suspected her. She became much calmer when she determined to carry out this resolve, andtoward morning she fell asleep. She was awakened at a very early hour by little Nan clambering over theside of her crib, and cuddling down cozily in a way she loved by Hester'sside. "Me so 'nug, 'nug, " said little Nan. "Oh, Hetty, Hetty, there's a wy onthe teiling!" Hester had then to rouse herself, and enter into an animated conversationon the subject of flies generally, and in especial she had to talk ofthat particular fly which would perambulate on the ceiling over Nan'shead. "Me like wies, " said Nan, "and me like 'oo, Hetty, and me love--me loveAnnie. " Hester kissed her little sister passionately; but this last observation, accompanied by the expression of almost angelic devotion which filledlittle Nan's brown eyes, as she repeated that she liked flies and Hetty, but that she loved Annie, had the effect of again hardening her heart. Hester's hour of trial, however, was at hand, and before that day wasover she was to experience that awful emptiness and desolation whichthose know whom God is punishing. Lessons went on as usual at Lavender House that morning, and, to thesurprise of several, Annie was seen in her old place in class. She workedwith a steadiness quite new to her; no longer interlarding her hours ofstudy with those indescribable glances of fun and mischief, first at oneschool-companion and then at another, which used to worry her teachers somuch. There were no merry glances from Annie that morning; but she workedsteadily and rapidly, and went through that trying ordeal, her Frenchverbs, with such satisfaction that mademoiselle was on the point ofpraising her, until she remembered that Annie was in disgrace. After school, however, Annie did not join her companions in the grounds, but went up to her bedroom, where, by Mrs. Willis' orders, she was toremain until the girls went in. She was to take her own exercise later inthe day. It was now the tenth of June--an intensely sultry day; a misty heatbrooded over everything, and not a breath of air stirred the leaves inthe trees. The girls wandered about languidly, too enervated by the heatto care to join in any noisy games. They were now restored to their fullfreedom, and there is no doubt they enjoyed the privileges of havinglittle confabs, and whispering secrets to each other without having MissGood and Miss Danesbury forever at their elbows. They talked of manythings--of the near approach of the holidays, of the prize day which wasnow so close at hand, of Annie's disgrace, and so on. They wondered, many of them, if Annie would ever be brought to confessher sin, and, if not, how Mrs. Willis would act toward her. Dora Russellsaid in her most contemptuous tones: "She is nothing, after all, but a charity child, and Mrs. Willis hassupported her for years for nothing. " "Yes, and she's too clever by half; eh, poor old Muddy Stream?" remarkeda saucy little girl. "By the way, Dora, dear, how goes the river now? Hasit lost itself in the arms of mother ocean yet?" Dora turned red and walked away, and her young tormentor exclaimed withconsiderable gusto: "There, I have silenced her for a bit; I do hate the way she talks aboutcharity children. Whatever her faults, Annie is the sweetest andprettiest girl in the school, in my opinion. " In the meantime Hester was looking in all directions for Susan Drummond. She thought the present a very fitting opportunity to open her attack onher, and she was the more anxious to bring her to reason as a certainlook in Annie's face--a pallid and very weary look--had gone to herheart, and touched her in spite of herself. Now, even though little Nanloved her, Hester would save Annie could she do so not at her ownexpense. Look, however, as she would, nowhere could she find Miss Drummond. Shecalled and called, but no sleepy voice replied. Susan, indeed, knewbetter; she had curled herself up in a hammock which hung between theboughs of a shady tree, and though Hester passed under her very head, shewas sucking lollipops and going off comfortably into the land of dreams, and had no intention of replying. Hester wandered down the shady walk, and at its farther end she was gratified by the sight of little Nan, who, under her nurse's charge, was trying to string daisies on the grass. Hester sat down by her side, and Nan climbed over and made fine havoc ofher neat print dress, and laughed, and was at her merriest and best. "I hear say that that naughty Miss Forest has done something out-and-outdisgraceful, " whispered the nurse. "Oh, don't!" said Hester impatiently. "Why should every one throw mud ata girl when she is down? If poor Annie is naughty and guilty, she issuffering now. " "Annie _not_ naughty, " said little Nan. "Me love my own Annie; me do, medo. " "And you love your own poor old nurse, too?" responded the somewhatjealous nurse. Hester left the two playing happily together, the little one caressingher nurse, and blowing one or two kisses after her sister's retreatingform. Hester returned to the house, and went up to her room to preparefor dinner. She had washed her hands, and was standing before thelooking-glass re-plaiting her long hair, when Susan Drummond, lookingextremely wild and excited, and with her eyes almost starting out of herhead, rushed into the room. "Oh, Hester, Hester!" she gasped, and she flung herself on Hester's bed, with her face downward; she seemed absolutely deprived for the moment ofthe power of any further speech. "What is the matter, Susan?" inquired Hester half impatiently. "What haveyou come into my room for? Are you going into a fit of hysterics? You hadbetter control yourself, for the dinner gong will sound directly. " Susan gasped two or three times, made a rush to Hester's wash-hand stand, and, taking up a glass, poured some cold water into it, and gulped itdown. "Now I can speak, " she said. "I ran so fast that my breath quite left me. Hester, put on your walking things or go without them, just as youplease--only go at once if you would save her. " "Save whom?" asked Hester. "Your little sister--little Nan. I--I saw it all. I was in the hammock, and nobody knew I was there, and somehow I wasn't so sleepy as usual, andI heard Nan's voice, and I looked over the side of the hammock, and shewas sitting on the grass picking daisies, and her nurse was with her, andpresently you came up. I heard you calling me, but I wasn't going toanswer. I felt too comfortable. You stayed with Nan and her nurse for alittle, and then went away; and I heard Nan's nurse say to her: 'Sithere, missy, till I come back to you; I am going to fetch another reel ofsewing cotton from the house. Sit still, missy; I'll be back directly. 'She went away, and Nan went on picking her daisies. All on a sudden Iheard Nan give a sharp little cry, and I looked over the hammock, andthere was a tall, dark woman, with such a wicked face, and she snatchedup Nan in her arms, and put a thick shawl over her face, and ran off withher. It was all done in an instant. I shouted and I scrambled out of thehammock, and I rushed down the path; but there wasn't a sign of anybodythere. I don't know where the woman went--it seemed as if the earthswallowed up both her and little Nan. Why, Hester, are you going tofaint?" "Water!" gasped Hester--"one sip--now let me go. " CHAPTER XL. A GYPSY MAID. In a few moments every one in Lavender House was made acquainted withSusan's story. At such a time ceremony was laid aside, dinner forgotten, teachers, pupils, servants all congregated in the grounds, all rushed tothe spot where Nan's withered daisies still lay, all peered through theunderwood, and all, alas! looked in vain for the tall dark woman and thelittle child. Little Nan, the baby of the school, had been stolen--therewere loud and terrified lamentations. Nan's nurse was almost tearing herhair, was rushing frantically here, there, and everywhere. No one blamedthe nurse for leaving her little charge in apparent safety for a fewmoments, but the poor woman's own distress was pitiable to see. Mrs. Willis took Hester's hand, and told the poor stunned girl that she wassending to Sefton immediately for two or three policemen, and that in themeantime every man on the place should commence the search for the womanand child. "Without any doubt, " Mrs. Willis added, "we shall soon have our littleNan back again; it is quite impossible that the woman, whoever she is, can have taken her so far away in so short a time. " In the meantime, Annie in her bedroom heard the fuss and the noise. Sheleaned out of her window and saw Phyllis in the distance; she called toher. Phyllis ran up, the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh, something so dreadful!" she gasped; "a wicked, wicked woman hasstolen little Nan Thornton. She ran off with her just where theundergrowth is so thick at the end of the shady walk. It happened to herhalf an hour ago, and they are all looking, but they cannot find thewoman or little Nan anywhere. Oh, it is so dreadful! Is that you, Mary?" Phyllis ran off to join her sister, and Annie put her head in again, andlooked round her pretty room. "The gypsy, " she murmured, "the tall, dark gypsy has taken little Nan!" Her face was very white, her eyes shone, her lips expressed a firm andalmost obstinate determination. With all her usual impulsiveness, shedecided on a course of action--she snatched up a piece of paper andscribbled a hasty line: "DEAR MOTHER-FRIEND:--However badly you think of Annie, Annie loves you with all her heart. Forgive me, I must go myself to look for little Nan. That tall, dark woman is a gypsy--I have seen her before; her name is Mother Rachel. Tell Hetty I won't return until I bring her little sister back. --Your repentant and sorrowful ANNIE. " Annie twisted up the note, directed it to Mrs. Willis, and left it on herdressing-table. Then, with a wonderful amount of forethought for her, she emptied thecontents of a little purse into a tiny gingham bag, which she fastenedinside the front of her dress. She put on her shady hat, and threw ashawl across her arm, and then, slipping softly downstairs, she went outthrough the deserted kitchens, down the back avenue, and past the laurelbush, until she came to the stile which led into the wood--she was goingstraight to the gypsies' encampment. Annie, with some of the gypsy's characteristics in her own blood, hadalways taken an extraordinary interest in these queer wandering people. Gypsies had a fascination for her, she loved stories about them; if agypsy encampment was near, she always begged the teachers to walk in thatdirection. Annie had a very vivid imagination, and in the days when shereigned as favorite in the school she used to make up stories for theexpress benefit of her companions. These stories, as a rule, alwaysturned upon the gypsies. Many and many a time had the girls of LavenderHouse almost gasped with horror as Annie described the queer ways ofthese people. For her, personally, their wildness and their freedom had acertain fascination, and she was heard in her gayest moments to remarkthat she would rather like to be stolen and adopted by a gypsy tribe. Whenever Annie had an opportunity, she chatted with the gypsy wives, andallowed them to tell her fortune, and listened eagerly to theirnarratives. When a little child she had once for several months beenunder the care of a nurse who was a reclaimed gypsy, and this girl hadgiven her all kinds of information about them. Annie often felt that shequite loved these wild people, and Mother Rachel was the first gypsy shecordially shrank from and disliked. When the little girl started now on her wild-goose chase after Nan, shewas by no means devoid of a plan of action. The knowledge she had takenso many years to acquire came to her aid, and she determined to use itfor Nan's benefit. She knew that the gypsies, with all their wanderingand erratic habits, had a certain attachment, if not for homes, at leastfor sites; she knew that as a rule they encamped over and over again inthe same place; she knew that their wanderings were conducted withmethod, and their apparently lawless lives governed by strict self-maderules. Annie made straight now for the encampment, which stood in a little dellat the other side of the fairies' field. Here for weeks past the gypsies'tents had been seen; here the gypsy children had played, and the men andwomen smoked and lain about in the sun. Annie entered the small field now, but uttered no exclamation of surprisewhen she found that all the tents, with the exception of one, had beenremoved, and that this tent also was being rapidly taken down by a manand a girl, while a tall boy stood by, holding a donkey by the bridle. Annie wasted no time in looking for Nan here. Before the girl and the mancould see her, she darted behind a bush, and removing her little bag ofmoney, hid it carefully under some long grass; then she pulled a verybright yellow sash out of her pocket, tied it round her blue cottondress, and leaving her little shawl also on the ground, tripped gaily upto the tent. She saw with pleasure that the girl who was helping the man was about herown size. She went up and touched her on the shoulder. "Look here, " she said, "I want to make such a pretty play by-and-by--Iwant to play that I'm a gypsy girl. Will you give me your clothes, if Igive you mine? See, mine are neat, and this sash is very handsome. Willyou have them? Do. I am so anxious to play at being a gypsy. " The girl turned and stared. Annie's pretty blue print and gay sash werecertainly tempting bait. She glanced at her father. "The little lady wants to change, " she said in an eager voice. The man nodded acquiescence, and the girl taking Annie's hand, ranquickly with her to the bottom of the field. "You don't mean it, surely?" she said. "Eh, but I'm uncommon willing. " "Yes, I certainly mean it, " said Annie. "You are a dear, good, obliginggirl, and how nice you will look in my pretty blue cotton! I like thatstriped petticoat of yours, too, and that gay handkerchief you wear roundyour shoulders. Thank you so very much. Now, do I look like a real, realgypsy?" "Your hair ain't ragged enough, miss. " "Oh, clip it, then; clip it away. I want to be quite the real thing. Haveyou got a pair of scissors?" The girl ran back to the tent, and presently returned to shear poorAnnie's beautiful hair in truly rough fashion. "Now, miss, you look much more like, only your arms are a bit too white. Stay, we has got some walnut-juice; we was just a-using of it. I'll touchyou up fine, miss. " So she did, darkening Annie's brown skin to a real gypsy tone. "You're a dear, good girl, " said Annie, in conclusion; and as the girl'sfather called her roughly at this moment, she was obliged to go away, looking ungainly enough in the English child's neat clothes. CHAPTER XLI. DISGUISED. Annie ran out of the field, mounted the stile which led into the wood, and stood there until the gypsy man and girl, and the boy with thedonkey, had finally disappeared. Then she left her hiding-place, andtaking her little gingham bag out of the long grass, secured it once morein the front of her dress. She felt queer and uncomfortable in her newdress, and the gypsy girl's heavy shoes tired her feet; but she was notto be turned from her purpose by any manner of discomforts, and shestarted bravely on her long trudge over the dusty roads, for her objectwas to follow the gypsies to their next encampment, about ten miles away. She had managed, with some tact, to obtain a certain amount ofinformation from the delighted gypsy girl. The girl told Annie that shewas very glad they were going from here; that this was a very dull place, and that they would not have stayed so long but for Mother Rachel, who, for some reasons of her own, had refused to stir. Here the girl drew herself up short, and colored under her dark skin. ButAnnie's tact never failed. She even yawned a little, and seemed scarcelyto hear the girl's words. Now, in the distance, she followed these people. In her disguise, uncomfortable as it was, she felt tolerably safe. Shouldany of the people in Lavender House happen to pass her on the way, theywould never recognize Annie Forest in this small gypsy maiden. When shedid approach the gypsies' dwelling she might have some hope of passing asone of themselves. The only one whom she had really to fear was the girlwith whom she had changed clothes, and she trusted to her wits to keepout of this young person's way. When Zillah, her old gypsy nurse, had charmed her long ago with gypsylegends and stories, Annie had always begged to hear about the fairEnglish children whom the gypsies stole, and Zillah had let her into somesecrets which partly accounted for the fact that so few of these childrenare ever recovered. She walked very fast now; her depression was gone, a great excitement, agreat longing, a great hope, keeping her up. She forgot that she hadeaten nothing since breakfast; she forgot everything in all the world nowbut her great love for little Nan, and her desire to lay down her verylife, if necessary, to rescue Nan from the terrible fate which awaitedher if she was brought up as a gypsy's child. Annie, however, was unaccustomed to such long walks, and besides, recentevents had weakened her, and by the time she reached Sefton--for her roadlay straight through this little town--she was so hot and thirsty thatshe looked around her anxiously to find some place of refreshment. In an unconscious manner she paused before a restaurant, where she andseveral other girls of Lavender House had more than once been regaledwith buns and milk. The remembrance of the fresh milk and the nice buns came gratefullybefore the memory of the tired child now. Forgetting her queer attire, she went into the shop, and walked boldly up to the counter. Annie's disguise, however, was good, and the young woman who was serving, instead of bending forward with the usual gracious "What can I get foryou, miss?" said very sharply: "Go away at once, little girl; we don't allow beggars here; leave theshop instantly. No, I have nothing for you. " Annie was about to reply rather hotly, for she had an idea that even agypsy's money might purchase buns and milk, when she was suddenlystartled, and almost terrified into betraying herself, by encounteringthe gentle and fixed stare of Miss Jane Bruce, who had been leaning overthe counter and talking to one of the shop-women when Annie entered. "Here is a penny for you, little girl, " she said. "You can get a nicehunch of stale bread for a penny in the shop at the corner of the Highstreet. " Annie's eyes flashed back at the little lady, her lips quivered, and, clasping the penny, she rushed out of the shop. "My dear, " said Miss Jane, turning to her sister, "did you notice theextraordinary likeness that little gypsy girl bore to Annie Forest?" Miss Agnes sighed. "Not particularly, love, " she answered; "but Iscarcely looked at her. I wonder if our dear little Annie is any happierthan she was. Ah, I think we have done here. Good-afternoon, Mrs. Tremlett. " The little old ladies trotted off, giving no more thoughts to the gypsychild. Poor Annie almost ran down the street, and never paused till she reacheda shop of much humbler appearance, where she was served with some coldslices of German sausage, some indifferent bread and butter, and milk byno means over-good. The coarse fare, and the rough people who surroundedher, made the poor child feel both sick and frightened. She found shecould only keep up her character by remaining almost silent, for themoment she opened her lips people turned round and stared at her. She paid for her meal, however, and presently found herself at the otherside of Sefton, and in a part of the country which was comparativelystrange to her. The gypsies' present encampment was about a mile awayfrom the town of Oakley, a much larger place than Sefton. Sefton andOakley lay about six miles apart. Annie trudged bravely on, her headaching; for, of course, as a gypsy girl, she could use no parasol toshade her from the sun. At last the comparative cool of the eveningarrived, and the little girl gave a sigh of relief, and looked forward toher bed and supper at Oakley. She had made up her mind to sleep there, and to go to the gypsies' encampment very early in the morning. It wasquite dark by the time she reached Oakley, and she was now so tired, andher feet so blistered from walking in the gypsy girl's rough shoes, thatshe could scarcely proceed another step. The noise and the size ofOakley, too, bewildered and frightened her. She had learned a lesson inSefton, and dared not venture into the more respectable streets. Howcould she sleep in those hot, common, close houses? Surely it would bebetter for her to lie down under a cool hedgerow--there could be no realcold on this lovely summer's night, and the hours would quickly pass, andthe time soon arrive when she must go boldly in search of Nan. Sheresolved to sleep in a hayfield which took her fancy just outside thetown, and she only went into Oakley for the purpose of buying some breadand milk. Annie was so far fortunate as to get a refreshing draught of really goodmilk from a woman who stood by a cottage door, and who gave her a pieceof girdle-cake to eat with it. "You're one of the gypsies, my dear?" said the woman. "I saw them passingin their caravans an hour back. No doubt you are for taking up your oldquarters in the copse, just alongside of Squire Thompson's long acrefield. How is it you are not with the rest of them, child?" "I was late in starting, " said Annie. "Can you tell me the best way toget from here to the long acre field?" "Oh, you take that turnstile, child, and keep in the narrow path by thecornfields; it's two miles and a half from here as the crow flies. No, no, my dear, I don't want your pennies; but you might humor my littlegirl here by telling her fortune--she's wonderful taken by the gypsyfolk. " Annie colored painfully. The child came forward, and she crossed her handwith a piece of silver. She looked at the little palm and mutteredsomething about being rich and fortunate, and marrying a prince indisguise, and having no trouble whatever. "Eh! but that's a fine lot, is yours, Peggy, " said the gratified mother. Peggy, however, aged nine, had a wiser head on her young shoulders. "She didn't tell no proper fortune, " she said disparagingly, when Annieleft the cottage. "She didn't speak about no crosses, and no bitingdisappointments, and no bleeding wounds. I don't believe in her, I don't. I like fortunes mixed, not all one way; them fortunes ain't natural, andI don't believe she's no proper gypsy girl. " CHAPTER XLII. HESTER. At Lavender House the confusion, the terror, and the dismay were great. For several hours the girls seemed quite to lose their heads, and justwhen, under Mrs. Willis' and the other teachers' calmness anddetermination, they were being restored to discipline and order, theexcitement and alarm broke out afresh when some one brought Annie'slittle note to Mrs. Willis, and the school discovered that she also wasmissing. On this occasion no one did doubt her motive; disobedient as her act wasno one wasted words of blame on her. All, from the head-mistress to thesmallest child in the school, knew that it was love for little Nan thathad taken Annie off; and the tears started to Mrs. Willis' eyes when shefirst read the tiny note, and then placed it tenderly in her desk. Hester's face became almost ashen in its hue when she heard what Anniehad done. "Annie has gone herself to bring back Nan to you, Hester, " said Phyllis. "It was I told her, and I know now by her face that she must have made upher mind at once. " "Very disobedient of her to go, " said Dora Russell; but no one took upDora's tone, and Mary Price said, after a pause: "Disobedient or not, it was brave--it was really very plucky. " "It is my opinion, " said Nora, "that if any one in the world can findlittle Nan it will be Annie. You remember, Phyllis, how often she hastalked to us about gypsies, and what a lot she knows about them?" "Oh, yes; she'll be better than fifty policemen, " echoed several girls;and then two or three young faces were turned toward Hester, and somevoice said almost scornfully: "You'll have to love Annie now; you'll have to admit that there issomething good in our Annie when she brings your little Nan home again. " Hester's lip quivered; she tried to speak, but a sudden burst of tearscame from her instead. She walked slowly out of the astonished littlegroup, who none of them believed that proud Hester Thornton could weep. The wretched girl rushed up to her room, where she threw herself on herbed and gave way to some of the bitterest tears she had ever shed. All herindifference to Annie, all her real unkindness, all her ever-increasingdislike came back now to torture and harass her. She began to believe withthe girls that Annie would be successful; she began dimly to acknowledgein her heart the strange power which this child possessed; she guessedthat Annie would heap coals of fire on her head by bringing back herlittle sister. She hoped, she longed, she could almost have found it inher heart to pray that some one else, not Annie, might save little Nan. For not yet had Hester made up her mind to confess the truth about AnnieForest. To confess the truth now meant humiliation in the eyes of thewhole school. Even for Nan's sake she could not, she would not be greatenough for this. Sobbing on her bed, trembling from head to foot, in an agony of almostuncontrollable grief, she could not bring her proud and stubborn littleheart to accept God's only way of peace. No, she hoped she might be ableto influence Susan Drummond and induce her to confess, and if Annie wasnot cleared in that way, if she really saved little Nan, she woulddoubtless be restored to much of her lost favor in the school. Hester had never been a favorite at Lavender House; but now her greattrouble caused all the girls to speak to her kindly and considerately, and as she lay on her bed she presently heard a gentle step on the floorof her room--a cool little hand was laid tenderly on her forehead, andopening her swollen eyes, she met Cecil's loving gaze. "There is no news yet, Hester, " said Cecil; "but Mrs. Willis has justgone herself into Sefton, and will not lose an hour in getting furtherhelp. Mrs. Willis looks quite haggard. Of course she is very anxious bothabout Annie and Nan. " "Oh, Annie is safe enough, " murmured Hester, burying her head in thebed-clothes. "I don't know; Annie is very impulsive and very pretty; the gypsies maylike to steal her too--of course she has gone straight to one of theirencampments. Naturally Mrs. Willis is most anxious. " Hester pressed her hand to her throbbing head. "We are all so sorry for you, dear, " said Cecil gently. "Thank you--being sorry for one does not do a great deal of good, doesit?" "I thought sympathy always did good, " replied Cecil, looking puzzled. "Thank you, " said Hester again. She lay quite still for several minuteswith her eyes closed. Her face looked intensely unhappy. Cecil was noteasily repelled and she guessed only too surely that Hester's proud heartwas suffering much. She was puzzled, however, how to approach her, andhad almost made up her mind to go away and beg of kind-hearted MissDanesbury to see if she could come and do something, when through theopen window there came the shrill sweet laughter and the eager, high-pitched tones of some of the youngest children in the school. Astrange quiver passed over Hester's face at the sound; she sat up in bed, and gasped out in a half-strangled voice: "Oh! I can't bear it--little Nan, little Nan! Cecil, I am very, veryunhappy. " "I know it, darling, " said Cecil, and she put her arms round the excitedgirl. "Oh, Hester! don't turn away from me; do let us be unhappytogether. " "But you did not care for Nan. " "I did--we all loved the pretty darling. " "Suppose I never see her again?" said Hester half wildly. "Oh, Cecil! andmother left her to me! mother gave her to me to take care of, and tobring to her some day in heaven. Oh, little Nan, my pretty, my love, mysweet! I think I could better bear her being dead than this. " "You could, Hester, " said Cecil, "if she was never to be found; but Idon't think God will give you such a terrible punishment. I think littleNan will be restored to you. Let us ask God to do it, Hetty--let us kneeldown now, we two little girls, and pray to Him with all our might. " "I can't pray; don't ask me, " said Hester, turning her face away. "Then I will. " "But not here, Cecil. Cecil, I am not good--I am not good enough topray. " "We don't want to be good to pray, " said Cecil. "We want perhaps to beunhappy--perhaps sorry; but if God waited just for goodness, I don'tthink He would get many prayers. " "Well, I am unhappy, but not sorry. No, no; don't ask me, I cannot pray. " CHAPTER XLIII. SUSAN. Mrs. Willis came back at a very late hour from Sefton. The police wereconfident that they must soon discover both children, but no tidings hadyet been heard of either of them. Mrs. Willis ordered her girls to bed, and went herself to kiss Hester and give her a special "good-night. " Shewas struck by the peculiarly unhappy, and even hardened, expression onthe poor child's face, and felt that she did not half understand her. In the middle of the night Hester awoke from a troubled dream. She awokewith a sharp cry, so sharp and intense in its sound that had any girlbeen awake in the next room she must have heard it. She felt that shecould no longer remain close to that little empty cot. She suddenlyremembered that Susan Drummond would be alone to-night: what time so goodas the present for having a long talk with Susan and getting her to clearAnnie? She slipped out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and softlyopening the door, ran down the passage to Susan's room. Susan was in bed, and fast asleep. Hester could see her face quiteplainly in the moonlight, for Susan slept facing the window, and theblind was not drawn down. Hester had some difficulty in awakening Miss Drummond, who, however, atlast sat up in bed yawning prodigiously. "What is the matter? Is that you, Hester Thornton? Have you got any newsof little Nan? Has Annie come back?" "No, they are both still away. Susy, I want to speak to you. " "Dear me! what for? must you speak in the middle of the night?" "Yes, for I don't want any one else to know. Oh, Susan, please don't goto sleep. " "My dear, I won't, if I can help it. Do you mind throwing a little coldwater over my face and head? There is a can by the bedside. I always keepone handy. Ah, thanks--now I am wide awake. I shall probably remain sofor about two minutes. Can you get your say over in that time?" "I wonder, Susan, " said Hester, "if you have got any heart--but heart ornot, I have just come here to-night to tell you that I have found youout. You are at the bottom of all this mischief about Annie Forest. " Susan had a most phlegmatic face, an utterly unemotional voice, and shenow stared calmly at Hester and demanded to know what in the world shemeant. Hester felt her temper going, her self-control deserting her. Susan'sapparent innocence and indifference drove her half frantic. "Oh, you are mean, " she said. "You pretend to be innocent, but you arethe deepest and wickedest girl in the school. I tell you, Susan, I havefound you out--you put that caricature of Mrs. Willis into Cecil's book;you changed Dora's theme. I don't know why you did it, nor how you didit, but you are the guilty person, and you have allowed the sin of it toremain on Annie's shoulders all this time. Oh, you are the very meanestgirl I ever heard of!" "Dear, dear!" said Susan, "I wish I had not asked you to throw cold waterover my head and face, and allow myself to be made very wet anduncomfortable, just to be told I am the meanest girl you ever met. Andpray what affair is this of yours? You certainly don't love AnnieForest. " "I don't, but I want justice to be done to her. Annie is very, veryunhappy. Oh, Susy, won't you go and tell Mrs. Willis the truth?" "Really, my dear Hester, I think you are a little mad. How long have youknown all this about me, pray?" "Oh, for some time; since--since the night the essay was changed. " "Ah, then, if what you state is true, you told Mrs. Willis a lie, for shedistinctly asked you if you knew anything about the 'Muddy Stream, ' andyou said you didn't. I saw you--I remarked how very red you got when youplumped out that great lie! My dear, if I am the meanest and wickedestgirl in the school, prove it--go, tell Mrs. Willis what you know. Now, ifyou will allow me, I will get back into the land of dreams. " Susan curled herself up once more in her bed, wrapped the bed-clothestightly round her and was, to all appearance, oblivious of Hester'spresence. CHAPTER XLIV. UNDER THE HEDGE. It is one thing to talk of the delights of sleeping under a hedgerow, andanother to realize them. A hayfield is a very charming place, but in themiddle of the night, with the dew clinging to everything, it is apt toprove but a chilly bed; the most familiar objects put on strange andunreal forms, the most familiar sounds become loud and alarming. Annieslept for about an hour soundly; then she awoke, trembling with cold inevery limb, startled, and almost terrified by the oppressive lonelinessof the night, sure that the insect life which surrounded her, and whichwould keep up successions of chirps, and croaks, and buzzes, wassomething mysterious and terrifying. Annie was a brave child, but evenbrave little girls may be allowed to possess nerves under her presentconditions, and when a spider ran across her face she started up with ascream of terror. At this moment she almost regretted the close and dirtylodgings which she might have obtained for a few pence at Oakley. The hayin the field which she had selected was partly cut and partly standing. The cut portion had been piled up into little cocks and hillocks, andthese, with the night shadows round them, appeared to the frightenedchild to assume large and half-human proportions. She found she could notsleep any longer. She wrapped her shawl tightly round her, and, crouchinginto the hedgerow, waited for the dawn. That watched-for dawn seemed to the tired child as if it would nevercome; but at last her solitary vigil came to an end, the cold grewgreater, a little gentle breeze stirred the uncut grass, and up in thesky overhead the stars became fainter and the atmosphere clearer. Thencame a little faint flush of pink, then a brighter light, and then all ina moment the birds burst into a perfect jubilee of song, the insectstalked and chirped and buzzed in new tones, the hay-cocks became simplyhay-cocks, the dew sparkled on the wet grass, the sun had risen, and thenew day had begun. Annie sat up and rubbed her tired eyes. With the sunshine and brightnessher versatile spirits revived; she buckled on her courage like an armor, and almost laughed at the miseries of the past few hours. Once more shebelieved that success and victory would be hers, once more in her smallway she was ready to do or die. She believed absolutely in the holinessof her mission. Love--love alone, simple and pure, was guiding her. Shegave no thought to after-consequences, she gave no memory to past events:her object now was to rescue Nan, and she herself was nothing. Annie had a fellow-feeling, a rare sympathy with every little child; butno child had ever come to take Nan's place with her. The child she hadfirst begun to notice simply out of a naughty spirit of revenge, hadtwined herself round her heart, and Annie loved Nan all the more dearlybecause she had long ago repented of stealing her affections from Hester, and would gladly have restored her to her old place next to Hetty'sheart. Her love for Nan, therefore, had the purity and greatness whichall love that calls forth self-sacrifice must possess. Annie had deniedherself, and kept away from Nan of late. Now, indeed, she was going torescue her; but if she thought of herself at all, it was with thecertainty that for this present act of disobedience Mrs. Willis woulddismiss her from the school, and she would not see little Nan again. Never mind that, if Nan herself was saved. Annie was disobedient, but onthis occasion she was not unhappy; she had none of that remorse whichtroubled her so much after her wild picnic in the fairies' field. On thecontrary, she had a strange sense of peace and even guidance; she hadconfessed this sin to Mrs. Willis, and, though she was suspected of farworse, her own innocence kept her heart untroubled. The verse which hadoccurred to her two mornings before still rang in her ears: "A soul which has sinned and is pardoned again. " The impulsive, eager child was possessed just now of something which mencall True Courage; it was founded on the knowledge that God would helpher, and was accordingly calm and strengthening. Annie rose from her damp bed, and looked around her for a little streamwhere she might wash her face and hands; suddenly she remembered thatface and hands were dyed, and that she would do best to leave them alone. She smoothed out as best she could the ragged elf-locks which the gypsymaid had left on her curly head, and then covering her face with herhands, said simply and earnestly: "Please, my Father in heaven, help me to find little Nan;" then she setoff through the cornfields in the direction of the gypsies' encampment. CHAPTER XLV. TIGER. It was still very, very early in the morning, and the gypsy folk, tiredfrom their march on the preceding day, slept. There stood the conical, queer-shaped tents, four in number; at a little distance off grazed thedonkeys and a couple of rough mules; at the door of the tents laystretched out in profound repose two or three dogs. Annie dreaded the barking of the dogs, although she guessed that if theyset up a noise, and a gypsy wife or man put out their heads inconsequence, they would only desire the gypsy child to lie down and keepquiet. She stood still for a moment--she was very anxious to prowl around theplace and examine the ground while the gypsies still slept, but thewatchful dogs deterred her. She stood perfectly quiet behind thehedgerow, thinking hard. Should she trust to a charm she knew shepossessed, and venture into the encampment? Annie had almost as great afascination over dogs and cats as she had over children. As a littlechild going to visit with her mother at strange houses, the watch-dogsnever barked at her; on the contrary, they yielded to the charm whichseemed to come from her little fingers as she patted their great heads. Slowly their tails would move backward and forward as she patted them, and even the most ferocious would look at her with affection. Annie wondered if the gypsy dogs would now allow her to approach withoutbarking. She felt that the chances were in her favor; she was dressed ingypsy garments, there would be nothing strange in her appearance, and ifshe could get near one of the dogs she knew that she could exercise themagic of her touch. Her object, then, was to approach one of the tents very, very quietly--sosoftly that even the dog's ears should not detect the light footfall. Ifshe could approach close enough to put her hand on the dog's neck allwould be well. She pulled off the gypsy maid's rough shoes, hid them inthe grass where she could find them again, and came gingerly step bystep, nearer and nearer the principal tent. At its entrance lay aferocious-looking half-bred bull-dog. Annie possessed that necessaryaccompaniment to courage--great outward calm; the greater the danger, themore cool and self-possessed did she become. She was within a step or twoof the tent when she trod accidentally on a small twig; it cracked, giving her foot a sharp pain, and very slight as the sound was, causingthe bull-dog to awake. He raised his wicked face, saw the figure like hisown people, and yet unlike, but a step or two away, and, uttering a lowgrowl, sprang forward. In the ordinary course of things this growl would have risen in volumeand would have terminated in a volley of barking; but Annie was prepared:she went down on her knees, held out her arms, said, "Poor fellow!" inher own seductive voice, and the bull-dog fawned at her feet. He lickedone of her hands while she patted him gently with the other. "Come, poor fellow, " she said then in a gentle tone, and Annie and thedog began to perambulate round the tents. The other dogs raised sleepy eyes, but seeing Tiger and the girltogether, took no notice whatever, except by a thwack or two of theirstumpy tails. Annie was now looking not only at the tents, but forsomething else which Zillah, her nurse, had told her might be found nearto many gypsy encampments. This was a small subterranean passage, whichgenerally led into a long-disused underground Danish fort. Zillah hadtold her what uses the gypsies liked to make of these undergroundpassages, and how they often chose those which had two entrances. Shetold her that in this way they eluded the police, and were enabledsuccessfully to hide the goods which they stole. She had also describedto her their great ingenuity in hiding the entrances to these undergroundretreats. Annie's idea now was that little Nan was hidden in one of these vaults, and she determined first to make sure of its existence, and then toventure herself into this underground region in search of the lost child. She had made a decided conquest in the person of Tiger, who followed herround and round the tents, and when the gypsies at last began to stir, and Annie crept into the hedgerow, the dog crouched by her side. Tigerwas the favorite dog of the camp, and presently one of the men called tohim; he rose unwillingly, looked back with longing eyes at Annie, andtrotted off, to return in the space of about five minutes with a greathunch of broken bread in his mouth. This was his breakfast, and he meantto share it with his new friend. Annie was too hungry to be fastidious, and she also knew the necessity of keeping up her strength. She creptstill farther under the hedge, and the dog and girl shared the brokenbread between them. Presently the tents were all astir; the gypsy children began to swarmabout, the women lit fires in the open air, and the smell of veryappetizing breakfasts filled the atmosphere. The men also lounged intoview, standing lazily at the doors of their tents, and smoking greatpipes of tobacco. Annie lay quiet. She could see from her hiding-placewithout being seen. Suddenly--and her eyes began to dilate, and she foundher heart beating strangely--she laid her hand on Tiger, who wasquivering all over. "Stay with me, dear dog, " she said. There was a great commotion and excitement in the gypsy camp; thechildren screamed and ran into the tents, the women paused in theirpreparation for breakfast, the men took their short pipes out of theirmouths; every dog, with the exception of Tiger, barked ferociously. Tigerand Annie alone were motionless. The cause of all this uproar was a body of police, about six in number, who came boldly into the field, and demanded instantly to search thetents. "We want a woman who calls herself Mother Rachel, " they said. "Shebelongs to this encampment. We know her; let her come forward at once; wewish to question her. " The men stood about; the women came near; the children crept out of theirtents, placing their fingers to their frightened lips, and staring at themen who represented those horrors to their unsophisticated minds calledLaw and Order. "We must search the tents. We won't stir from the spot until we have hadan interview with Mother Rachel, " said the principal member of the policeforce. The men answered respectfully that the gypsy mother was not yet up; butif the gentlemen would wait a moment she would soon come and speak tothem. The officers expressed their willingness to wait, and collected round thetents. Just at this instant, under the hedgerow, Tiger raised his head. Annie'swatchful eyes accompanied the dog's. He was gazing after a tiny gypsymaid who was skulking along the hedge, and who presently disappearedthrough a very small opening into the neighboring field. Quick as thought Annie, holding Tiger's collar, darted after her. Thelittle maid heard the footsteps; but seeing another gypsy girl, and theirown dog, Tiger, she took no further notice, but ran openly and veryswiftly across the field until she came to a broken wall. Here she tuggedand tugged at some loose stones, managed to push one away, and thencalled down into the ground: "Mother Rachel!" "Come, Tiger, " said Annie. She flew to a hedge not far off, and once morethe dog and she hid themselves. The small girl was too excited to noticeeither their coming or going; she went on calling anxiously into theground: "Mother Rachel! Mother Rachel!" Presently a black head and a pair of brawny shoulders appeared, and thetall woman whose face and figure Annie knew so well stepped up out of theground, pushed back the stones into their place, and, taking the gypsychild into her arms, ran swiftly across the field in the direction of thetents. CHAPTER XLVI. FOR LOVE OF NAN. Now was Annie's time. "Tiger, " she said, for she had heard the mencalling the dog's name, "I want to go right down into that hole in theground, and you are to come with me. Don't let us lose a moment, gooddog. " The dog wagged his tail, capered about in front of Annie, and then with awonderful shrewdness ran before her to the broken wall, where he stoodwith his head bent downward and his eyes fixed on the ground. Annie pulled and tugged at the loose stones; they were so heavy andcunningly arranged that she wondered how the little maid, who was smallerthan herself, had managed to remove them. She saw quickly, however, thatthey were arranged with a certain leverage, and that the largest stone, that which formed the real entrance to the underground passage, wasbalanced in its place in such a fashion that when she leaned on a certainportion of it, it moved aside, and allowed plenty of room for her to godown into the earth. Very dark and dismal and uninviting did the rude steps, which led nobodyknew where, appear. For one moment Annie hesitated; but the thought ofNan hidden somewhere in this awful wretchedness nerved her courage. "Go first, Tiger, please, " she said, and the dog scampered down, sniffingthe earth as he went. Annie followed him, but she had scarcely got herhead below the level of the ground before she found herself in total andabsolute darkness; she had unwittingly touched the heavy stone, which hadswung back into its place. She heard Tiger sniffing below, and, callinghim to keep by her side, she went very carefully down and down and down, until at last she knew by the increase of air that she must have come tothe end of the narrow entrance passage. She was now able to stand upright, and raising her hand, she tried invain to find a roof. The room where she stood, then, must be lofty. Shewent forward in the utter darkness very, very slowly; suddenly her headagain came in contact with the roof; she made a few steps farther on, andthen found that to proceed at all she must go on her hands and knees. Shebent down and peered through the darkness. "We'll go on, Tiger, " she said, and, holding the dog's collar andclinging to him for protection, she crept along the narrow passage. Suddenly she gave an exclamation of joy--at the other end of this gloomypassage was light--faint twilight surely, but still undoubted light, which came down from some chink in the outer world. Annie came to the endof the passage, and, standing upright, found herself suddenly in a room;a very small and miserable room certainly, but with the twilight shiningthrough it, which revealed not only that it was a room, but a room whichcontained a heap of straw, a three-legged stool, and two or three crackedcups and saucers. Here, then, was Mother Rachel's lair, and here she mustlook for Nan. The darkness had been so intense that even the faint twilight of thislittle chamber had dazzled Annie's eyes for a moment; the next, however, her vision became clear. She saw that the straw bed contained a bundle;she went near--out of the wrapped-up bundle of shawls appeared the headof a child. The child slept, and moaned in its slumbers. Annie bent over it and said, "Thank God!" in a tone of rapture, and then, stooping down, she passionately kissed the lips of little Nan. Nan's skin had been dyed with the walnut-juice, her pretty, soft hair hadbeen cut short, her dainty clothes had been changed for the most raggedgipsy garments, but still she was undoubtedly Nan, the child whom Anniehad come to save. From her uneasy slumbers the poor little one awoke with a cry of terror. She could not recognize Annie's changed face, and clasped her handsbefore her eyes, and said piteously: "Me want to go home--go 'way, naughty woman, me want my Annie. " "Little darling!" said Annie, in her sweetest tones. The changed face hadnot appealed to Nan, but the old voice went straight to her baby heart;she stopped crying and looked anxiously toward the entrance of the room. "Tum in, Annie--me here, Annie--little Nan want 'oo. " Annie glanced around her in despair. Suddenly her quick eyes lighted on ajug of water; she flew to it, and washed and laved her face. "Coming, darling, " she said, as she tried to remove the hateful dye. Shesucceeded partly, and when she came back, to her great joy, the childrecognized her. "Now, little precious, we will get out of this as fast as we can, " saidAnnie, and, clasping Nan tightly in her arms, she prepared to return bythe way she had come. Then and there, for the first time, there flashedacross her memory the horrible fact that the stone door had swung backinto its place, and that by no possible means could she open it. She andNan and Tiger were buried in a living tomb, and must either stay thereand perish, or await the tender mercies of the cruel Mother Rachel. Nan, with her arms tightly clasped round Annie's neck, began to cryfretfully. She was impatient to get out of this dismal place; she was nolonger oppressed by fears, for with the Annie whom she loved she feltabsolutely safe; but she was hungry and cold and uncomfortable, and itseemed but a step, to little inexperienced Nan, from Annie's arms to hersnug, cheerful nursery at Lavender House. "Tum, Annie--tum home, Annie, " she begged and, when Annie did not stir, she began to weep. In truth, the poor, brave little girl was sadly puzzled, and her firstgleam of returning hope lay in the remembrance of Zillah's words, thatthere were generally two entrances to these old underground forts. Tiger, who seemed thoroughly at home in this little room, and had curled himselfup comfortably on the heap of straw, had probably often been here before. Perhaps Tiger knew the way to the second entrance. Annie called him toher side. "Tiger, " she said, going down on her knees, and looking full into hisugly but intelligent face, "Nan and I want to go out of this. " Tiger wagged his stumpy tail. "We are hungry, Tiger, and we want something to eat, and you'd like abone, wouldn't you?" Tiger's tail went with ferocious speed, and he licked Annie's hand. "There's no use going back that way, dear dog, " continued the girl, pointing with her arm in the direction they had come. "The door isfastened, Tiger, and we can't get out. We can't get out because the dooris shut. " The dog's tail had ceased to wag; he took in the situation, for his wholeexpression showed dejection, and he drooped his head. It was now quite evident to Annie that Tiger had been here before, andthat on some other occasion in his life he had wanted to get out andcould not because the door was shut. "Now, Tiger, " said Annie, speaking cheerfully, and rising to her feet, "we must get out. Nan and I are hungry, and you want your bone. Take usout the other way, good Tiger--the other way, dear dog. " She moved instantly toward the little passage; the dog followed her. "The other way, " she said, and she turned her back on the long narrowpassage, and took a step or two into complete darkness. The dog began towhine, caught hold of her dress, and tried to pull her back. "Quite right, Tiger, we won't go that way, " said Annie, instantly. Shereturned into the dimly-lighted room. "Find a way--find a way out, Tiger, " she said. The dog evidently understood her; he moved restlessly about the room. Finally he got up on the bed, pulled and scratched and tore away thestraw at the upper end, then, wagging his tail, flew to Annie's side. Shecame back with him. Beneath the straw was a tiny, tiny trap-door. "Oh, Tiger!" said the girl; she went down on her knees, and, finding shecould not stir it, wondered if this also was kept in its place by asystem of balancing. She was right; after a very little pressing the doormoved aside, and Annie saw four or five rudely carved steps. "Come, Nan, " she said joyfully, "Tiger has saved us; these steps mustlead us out. " The dog, with a joyful whine, went down first, and Annie, clasping Nantightly in her arms, followed him. Four, five, six steps they went down;then, to Annie's great joy, she found that the next step began to ascend. Up and up she went, cheered by a welcome shaft of light. Finally she, Nan, and the dog found themselves emerging into the open air, through ahole which might have been taken for a large rabbit burrow. CHAPTER XLVII. RESCUED. The girl, the child, and the dog found themselves in a comparativelystrange country--Annie had completely lost her bearings. She lookedaround her for some sign of the gypsies' encampment; but whether she hadreally gone a greater distance than she imagined in those undergroundvaults, or whether the tents were hidden in some hollow of the ground, she did not know; she was only conscious that she was in a strangecountry, that Nan was clinging to her and crying for her breakfast, andthat Tiger was sniffing the air anxiously. Annie guessed that Tiger couldtake them back to the camp, but this was by no means her wish. When sheemerged out of the underground passage she was conscious for the firsttime of a strange and unknown experience. Absolute terror seized thebrave child; she trembled from head to foot, her head ached violently, and the ground on which she stood seemed to reel, and the sky to turnround. She sat down for a moment on the green grass. What ailed her?where was she? how could she get home? Nan's little piteous wail, "Mewant my bekfas', me want my nursie, me want Hetty, " almost irritated her. "Oh, Nan, " she said at last piteously, "have you not got your own Annie?Oh, Nan, dear little Nan, Annie feels so ill!" Nan had the biggest and softest of baby hearts--breakfast, nurse, Hetty, were all forgotten in the crowning desire to comfort Annie. She climbedon her knee and stroked her face and kissed her lips. "'Oo better now?" she said in a tone of baby inquiry. Annie roused herself with a great effort. "Yes, darling, " she said; "we will try and get home. Come, Tiger. Tiger, dear, I don't want to go back to the gypsies; take me the other way--takeme to Oakley. " Tiger again sniffed the air, looked anxiously at Annie, and trotted on infront. Little Nan in her ragged gypsy clothes walked sedately by Annie'sside. "Where 'oo s'oes?" she said, pointing to the girl's bare feet. "Gone, Nan--gone. Never mind, I've got you. My little treasure, my littlelove, you're safe at last. " As Annie tottered, rather than walked, down a narrow path which leddirectly through a field of standing corn, she was startled by the suddenapparition of a bright-eyed girl, who appeared so suddenly in her paththat she might have been supposed to have risen out of the very ground. The girl stared hard at Annie, fixed her eyes inquiringly on Nan andTiger, and then turning on her heel, dashed up the path, went through aturnstile, across the road, and into a cottage. "Mother, " she exclaimed, "I said she warn't a real gypsy; she's a-comingback, and her face is all streaked like, and she has a little'un alongwith her, and a dawg, and the only one as is gypsy is the dawg. Come andlook at her, mother; oh, she is a fine take-in!" The round-faced, good-humored looking mother, whose name was Mrs. Williams, had been washing and putting away the breakfast things when herdaughter entered. She now wiped her hands hastily and came to the cottagedoor. "Cross the road, and come to the stile, mother, " said the energeticPeggy--"oh, there she be a-creeping along--oh, ain't she a take-in?" "'Sakes alive!" ejaculated Mrs. Williams, "the girl is ill! why, shecan't keep herself steady! There! I knew she'd fall; ah! poor littlething--poor little thing. " It did not take Mrs. Williams an instant to reach Annie's side; and inanother moment she had lifted her in her strong arms and carried her intothe cottage, Peggy lifting Nan and following in the rear, while Tigerwalked by their sides. CHAPTER XLVIII. DARK DAYS. A whole week had passed, and there were no tidings whatever of little Nanor of Annie Forest. No one at Lavender House had heard a word about them;the police came and went, detectives even arrived from London, but therewere no traces whatever of the missing children. The midsummer holiday was now close at hand, but no one spoke of it orthought of it. Mrs. Willis told the teachers that the prizes should bedistributed, but she said she could invite no guests and could allow ofno special festivities. Miss Danesbury and Miss Good repeated her wordsto the schoolgirls, who answered without hesitation that they did notwish for feasting and merriment; they would rather the day passedunnoticed. In truth, the fact that their baby was gone, that theirfavorite and prettiest and brightest schoolmate had also disappeared, caused such gloom, such distress, such apprehension that even the mostthoughtless of those girls could scarcely have laughed or been merry. School-hours were still kept after a fashion, but there was no life inthe lessons. In truth, it seemed as if the sun would never shine again atLavender House. Hester was ill; not very ill--she had no fever, she had no cold; she had, as the good doctor explained it, nothing at all wrong, except that hernervous system had got a shock. "When the little one is found, Miss Hetty will be quite well again, " saidthe good doctor; but the little one had not been found yet, and Hesterhad completely broken down. She lay on her bed, saying little or nothing, eating scarcely anything, sleeping not at all. All the girls were kind toher and each one in the school took turns in trying to comfort her; butno one could win a smile from Hester, and even Mrs. Willis failed utterlyto reach or touch her heart. Mr. Everard came once to see her, but he had scarcely spoken many wordswhen Hester broke into an agony of weeping and begged him to go away. Heshook his head when he left her and said sadly to himself: "That girl has got something on her mind; she is grieving for more thanthe loss of her little sister. " The twentieth of June came at last, and the girls sat about in groups inthe pleasant shady garden, and talked of the very sad breaking-up daythey were to have on the morrow, and wondered if, when they returned toschool again, Annie and little Nan would have been found. Cecil Temple, Dora Russell, and one or two others were sitting together and whisperingin low voices. Mary Price joined them, and said anxiously: "I don't think the doctor is satisfied about Hester, Perhaps I ought notto have listened, but I heard him talking to Miss Danesbury just now; hesaid she must be got to sleep somehow, and she is to have a composingdraught to-night. " "I wish poor Hetty would not turn away from us all, " said Cecil; "I wishshe would not quite give up hope; I do feel sure that Nan and Annie willbe found yet. " "Have you been praying about it, Cecil?" asked Mary, kneeling on thegrass, laying her elbows on Cecil's knees and looking into her face. "Doyou say this because you have faith?" "I have prayed and I have faith, " replied Cecil in her simple, earnestway. "Why, Dora, what is the matter?" "Only that it's horrid to leave like this, " said Dora; "I--I thought mylast day at school would have been so different and somehow I am sorry Ispoke so much against that poor little Annie. " Here Cecil suddenly rose from her seat, and going up to Dora, clasped herarms round her neck. "Thank you, Dora, " she said with fervor; "I love you for those words. " "Here comes Susy, " remarked Mary Price. "I really don't think _anything_would move Susy; she's just as stolid and indifferent as ever. Ah, Susy, here's a place for you--oh, what _is_ the matter with Phyllis? see howshe's rushing toward us! Phyllis, my dear, don't break your neck. " Susan, with her usual nonchalance, seated herself by Dora Russell's side. Phyllis burst excitedly into the group. "I think, " she exclaimed, "I really, really do think that news has comeof Annie's father. Nora said that Janet told her that a foreign lettercame this morning to Mrs. Willis, and somebody saw Mrs. Willis talking toMiss Danesbury--oh, I forgot, only I know that the girls of the schoolare whispering the news that Mrs. Willis cried, and Miss Danesbury said, 'After waiting for him four years, and now, when he comes back, he won'tfind her!' Oh dear, oh dear! there is Danesbury. Cecil, darling love, goto her, and find out the truth. " Cecil rose at once, went across the lawn, said a few words to MissDanesbury, and came back to the other girls. "It is true, " she said sadly, "there came a letter this morning fromCaptain Forest; he will be at Lavender House in a week. Miss Danesburysays it is a wonderful letter, and he has been shipwrecked, and on anisland by himself for ever so long; but he is safe now, and will soon bein England. Miss Danesbury says Mrs. Willis can scarcely speak about thatletter; she is in great, great trouble, and Miss Danesbury confesses thatthey are all more anxious than they dare to admit about Annie and littleNan. " At this moment the sound of carriage wheels was heard on the drive, andSusan, peering forward to see who was arriving, remarked in her usualnonchalant manner: "Only the little Misses Bruce in their basket-carriage--what dull-lookingwomen they are?" Nobody commented, however, on her observation, and gradually the littlegroup of girls sank into absolute silence. From where they sat they could see the basket-carriage waiting at thefront entrance--the little ladies had gone inside, all was perfectsilence and stillness. Suddenly on the stillness a sound broke--the sound of a girl runningquickly; nearer and nearer came the steps, and the four or five who sattogether under the oak-tree noticed the quick panting breath, and felteven before a word was uttered that evil tidings were coming to them. They all started to their feet, however; they all uttered a cry of horrorand distress when Hester herself broke into their midst. She was supposedto be lying down in a darkened room, she was supposed to be veryill--what was she doing here? "Hetty!" exclaimed Cecil. Hester pushed past her; she rushed up to Susan Drummond, and seized herarm. "News has come!" she panted; "news--news at last! Nan is found!--andAnnie--they are both found--but Annie is dying. Come, Susan, come thismoment; we must both tell what we know now. " By her impetuosity, by the intense fire of her passion and agony, evenSusan was electrified into leaving her seat and going with her. CHAPTER XLIX. TWO CONFESSIONS. Hester dragged her startled and rather unwilling companion in through thefront entrance, past some agitated-looking servants who stood about inthe hall, and through the velvet curtains into Mrs. Willis' boudoir. The Misses Bruce were there, and Mrs. Willis in her bonnet and cloak washastily packing some things into a basket. "I--I must speak to you, " said Hester, going up to her governess. "Susanand I have got something to say, and we must say it here, now at once. " "No, not now, Hester, " replied Mrs. Willis, looking for a moment into herpupil's agitated face. "Whatever you and Susan Drummond have to tellcannot be listened to by me at this moment. I have not an instant tolose. " "You are going to Annie?" asked Hester. "Yes; don't keep me. Good-bye, my dears; good-bye. " Mrs. Willis moved toward the door. Hester, who felt almost besideherself, rushed after her, and caught her arm. "Take us with you, take Susy and me with you--we must, we must see Anniebefore she dies. " "Hush, my child, " said Mrs. Willis very quietly; "try to calm yourself. Whatever you have got to say shall be listened to later on--now momentsare precious, and I cannot attend to you. Calm yourself, Hester, andthank God for your dear little sister's safety. Prepare yourself toreceive her, for the carriage which takes me to Annie will bring littleNan home. " Mrs. Willis left the room, and Hester threw herself on her knees andcovered her face with her trembling hands. Presently she was aroused by alight touch on her arm; it was Susan Drummond. "I may go now I suppose, Hester? You are not quite determined to make afool of me, are you?" "I have determined to expose you, you coward; you mean, mean girl!"answered Hester, springing to her feet. "Come, I have no idea of lettingyou go. Mrs. Willis won't listen--we will find Mr. Everard. " Whether Susan would really have gone with Heater remains to be proved, but just at that moment all possibility of retreat was cut away from herby Miss Agnes Bruce, who quietly entered Mrs. Willis' privatesitting-room, followed by the very man Hester was about to seek. "I thought it best, my dear, " she said, turning apologetically to Hester, "to go at once for our good clergyman; you can tell him all that is inyour heart, and I will leave you. Before I go, however, I should like totell you how I found Annie and little Nan. " Hester made no answer; just for a brief moment she raised her eyes toMiss Agnes' kind face, then they sought the floor. "The story can be told in a few words, dear, " said the little lady. "Aworkwoman of the name of Williams, whom my sister and I have employed foryears, and who lives near Oakley, called on us this morning to apologizefor not being able to finish some needlework. She told us that she had asick child, and also a little girl of three, in her house. She said shehad found the child, in ragged gypsy garments, fainting in a field. Shetook her into her house, and on undressing her, found that she was notrue gypsy, but that her face and hands and arms had been dyed; she saidthe little one had been treated in a similar manner. Jane's suspicionsand mine were instantly roused, and we went back with the woman toOakley, and found, as we had anticipated, that the children were littleNan and Annie. The sad thing is that Annie is in high fever, and knows noone. We waited there until the doctor arrived, who spoke very, veryseriously of her case. Little Nan is well, and asked for you. " With these last words Miss Agnes Bruce softly left the room closing thedoor after her. "Now, Susan, " said Hester, without an instant's pause; "come, let us tellMr. Everard of our wickedness. Oh, sir, " she added, raising her eyes tothe clergyman's face, "if Annie dies I shall go mad. Oh, I cannot, cannotbear life if Annie dies!" "Tell me what is wrong, my poor child, " said Mr. Everard. He laid hishand on her shoulder, and gradually and skillfully drew from the agitatedand miserable girl the story of her sin, of her cowardice, and of herdeep, though until now unavailing repentance. How from the first she hadhated and disliked Annie; how unjustly she had felt toward her; how shehad longed and hoped Annie was guilty; and how, when at last the clue wasput into her hands to prove Annie's absolute innocence, she haddetermined not to use it. "From the day Nan was lost, " continued Hester, "it has been all agony andall repentance; but, oh, I was too proud to tell! I was too proud tohumble myself to the very dust!" "But not now, " said the clergyman, very gently. "No, no; not now. I care for nothing now in all the world except thatAnnie may live. " "You don't mind the fact that Mrs. Willis and all your schoolfellows mustknow of this, and must--must judge you accordingly?" "They can't think worse of me than I think of myself. I only want Annieto live. " "No, Hester, " answered Mr. Everard, "you want more than that--you wantfar more than that. It may be that God will take Annie Forest away. Wecannot tell. With Him alone are the issues of life or death. What youreally want, my child, is the forgiveness of the little girl you havewronged, and the forgiveness of your Father in heaven. " Hester began to sob wildly. "If--if she dies--may I see her first?" she gasped. "Yes; I will try and promise you that. Now, will you go to your room? Imust speak to Miss Drummond alone; she is a far worse culprit than you. " Mr. Everard opened the door for Hester, who went silently out. "Meet me in the chapel to-night, " he whispered low in her ear, "I willtalk with you and pray with you there. " He closed the door, and came back to Susan. All throughout this interview his manner had been very gentle to Hester:but the clergyman could be stern, and there was a gleam of very righteousanger in his eyes as he turned to the sullen girl who leaned heavilyagainst the table. "This narrative of Hester Thornton's is, of course, quite true, MissDrummond?" "Oh, yes; there seems to be no use in denying that, " said Susan. "I must insist on your telling me the exact story of your sin. There isno use in your attempting to deny anything; only the utmost candor onyour part can now save you from being publicly expelled. " "I am willing to tell, " answered Susan. "I meant no harm; it was done asa bit of fun. I had a cousin at home who was very clever at drawingcaricatures, and I happened to have nothing to do one day, and I wasalone in Annie's bedroom, and I thought I'd like to see what she kept inher desk. I always had a fancy for collecting odd keys, and I found oneon my bunch which fitted her desk exactly. I opened it, and I found sucha smart little caricature of Mrs. Willis. I sent the caricature to mycousin, and begged of her to make an exact copy of it. She did so, and Iput Annie's back in her desk, and pasted the other into Cecil's book. Ididn't like Dora Russell, and I wrapped up the sweeties in her theme; butI did the other for pure fun, for I knew Cecil would be so shocked; but Inever guessed the blame would fall on Annie. When I found it did, I feltinclined to tell once or twice, but it seemed too much trouble and, besides, I knew Mrs. Willis would punish me, and, of course, I didn'twish that. "Dora Russell was always very nasty to me, and when I found she wasputting on such airs, and pretending she could write such a grand essayfor the prize, I thought I'd take down her pride a bit. I went to herdesk, and I got some of the rough copy of the thing she was calling 'TheRiver, ' and I sent it off to my cousin, and my cousin made up such aridiculous paper, and she hit off Dora's writing to the life, and, ofcourse, I had to put it into Dora's desk and tear up her real copy. Itwas very unlucky Hester being in the room. Of course I never guessedthat, or I wouldn't have gone. That was the night we all went with Annieto the fairies' field. I never meant to get Hester into a scrape, norAnnie either, for that matter; but, of course, I couldn't be expected totell on myself. " Susan related her story in her usual monotonous and sing-song voice. There was no trace of apparent emotion on her face, or of regret in hertones. When she had finished speaking Mr. Everard was absolutely silent. "I took a great deal of trouble, " continued Susan, after a pause, in aslightly fretful key. "It was really nothing but a joke, and I don't seewhy such a fuss should have been made. I know I lost a great deal ofsleep trying to manage that twine business round my foot. I don't think Ishall trouble myself playing any more tricks upon schoolgirls--they arenot worth it. " "You'll never play any more tricks on these girls, " said Mr. Everard, rising to his feet, and suddenly filling the room and reducing Susan toan abject silence by the ring of his stern, deep voice. "I take it uponme, in the absence of your mistress, to pronounce your punishment. Youleave Lavender House in disgrace this evening. Miss Good will take youhome, and explain to your parents the cause of your dismissal. You arenot to see _any_ of your schoolfellows again. Your meanness, yourcowardice, your sin require no words on my part to deepen their vileness. Through pure wantonness you have cast a cruel shadow on an innocent younglife. If that girl dies, you indeed are not blameless in the cause of herearly removal, for through you her heart and spirit were broken. MissDrummond, I pray God you may at least repent and be sorry. There are somepeople mentioned in the Bible who are spoken of as past feeling. Wretchedgirl, while there is yet time, pray that you may not belong to them. NowI must leave you, but I shall lock you in. Miss Good will come for you inabout an hour to take you away. " Susan Drummond sank down on the nearest seat, and began to cry softly;one or two pin-pricks from Mr. Everard's stern words may possibly havereached her shallow heart--no one can tell. She left Lavender House thatevening, and none of the girls who had lived with her as their schoolmateheard of her again. CHAPTER L. THE HEART OF LITTLE NAN. For several days now Annie had lain unconscious in Mrs. Williams' littlebedroom; the kind-hearted woman could not find it in her heart to sendthe sick child away. Her husband and the neighbors expostulated with her, and said that Annie was only a poor little waif. "She has no call on you, " said Jane Allen, a hard-featured woman wholived next door. "Why should you put yourself out just for a sick lass?and she'll be much better off in the workhouse infirmary. " But Mrs. Williams shook her head at her hard-featured and hard-heartedneighbor, and resisted her husband's entreaties. "Eh!" she said, "but the poor lamb needs a good bit of mothering, and Imisdoubt me she wouldn't get much of that in the infirmary. " So Annie stayed, and tossed from side to side of her little bed, andmurmured unintelligible words, and grew daily a little weaker and alittle more delirious. The parish doctor called, and shook his head overher; he was not a particularly clever man, but he was the best theWilliamses could afford. While Annie suffered and went deeper into thatvalley of humiliation and weakness which leads to the gate of the Valleyof the Shadow of Death, little Nan played with Peggy Williams, andaccustomed herself after the fashion of little children to all the waysof her new and humble home. It was on the eighth day of Annie's fever that the Misses Brucediscovered her, and on the evening of that day Mrs. Willis knelt by herlittle favorite's bed. A better doctor had been called in, and all thatmoney could procure had been got now for poor Annie; but the seconddoctor considered her case even more critical, and said that the closeair of the cottage was much against her recovery. "I didn't make that caricature; I took the girls into the fairies' field, but I never pasted that caricature into Cecil's book. I know you don'tbelieve me, Cecil; but do you think I would really do anything so meanabout one whom love? No, No! I am innocent! God knows it. Yes, I am gladof that--God knows it. " Over and over in Mrs. Willis' presence these piteous words would comefrom the fever-stricken child, but always when she came to the littlesentence "God knows I am innocent, " her voice would grow tranquil, and afaint and sweet smile would play round her lips. Late that night a carriage drew up at a little distance from the cottage, and a moment or two afterward Mrs. Willis was called out of the room tospeak to Cecil Temple. "I have found out the truth about Annie; I have come at once to tellyou, " she said; and then she repeated the substance of Hester's andSusan's story. "God help me for having misjudged her, " murmured the head-mistress; thenshe bade Cecil "good-night" and returned to the sick-room. The next time Annie broke out with her piteous wail, "They believe meguilty--Mrs. Willis does--they all do, " the mistress laid her hand with afirm and gentle pressure on the child's arm. "Not now, my dear, " she said, in a slow, clear, and emphatic voice. "Godhas shown your governess the truth, and she believes in you. " The very carefully-uttered words pierced through the clouded brain; for amoment Annie lay quite still, with her bright and lovely eyes fixed onher teacher. "Is that really you?" she asked. "I am here, my darling. " "And you believe in me?" "I do, most absolutely. " "God does, too, you know, " answered Annie--bringing out the wordsquickly, and turning her head to the other side. The fever had once moregained supremacy, and she rambled on unceasingly through the drearynight. Now, however, when the passionate words broke out, "They believe meguilty, " Mrs. Willis always managed to quiet her by saying, "I know youare innocent. " The next day at noon those girls who had not gone home--for many hadstarted by the morning train--were wandering aimlessly about the grounds. Mr. Everard had gone to see Annie, and had promised to bring back thelatest tidings about her. Hester, holding little Nan's hand--for she could scarcely bear to haveher recovered treasure out of sight--had wandered away from the rest ofher companions, and had seated herself with Nan under a large oak-treewhich grew close to the entrance of the avenue. She had come here inorder to be the very first to see Mr. Everard on his return. Nan hadclimbed into Hester's lap, and Hester had buried her aching head inlittle Nan's bright curls, when she started suddenly to her feet and ranforward. Her quick ears had detected the sound of wheels. How soon Mr. Everard had returned; surely the news was bad! She flew tothe gate, and held it open in order to avoid the short delay which thelodge-keeper might cause in coming to unfasten it. She flushed, however, vividly, and felt half inclined to retreat into the shade, when she sawthat the gentleman who was approaching was not Mr. Everard, but a tall, handsome, and foreign-looking man, who drove a light dog-cart himself. The moment he saw Hester with little Nan clinging to her skirts hestopped short. "Is this Lavender House, little girl?" "Yes, sir, " replied Hester. "And can you tell me--but of course you know--you are one of the youngladies who live here, eh?" Hester nodded. "Then you can tell me if Mrs. Willis is at home--but of course she is. " "No, sir, " answered Hester; "I am sorry to tell you that Mrs. Willis isaway. She has been called away on very, very sad business; she won't comeback to-night. " Something in Hester's tone caused the stranger to look at herattentively; he jumped off the dog-cart and came to her side. "See here, Miss----" "Thornton, " put in Hester. "Yes, Miss--Miss Thornton, perhaps you can manage for me as well as Mrs. Willis; after all I don't particularly want to see her. If you belong toLavender House, you, of course, know my--I mean you have a schoolmatehere, a little, pretty gypsy rogue called Forest--little Annie Forest. Iwant to see her--can you take me to her?" "You are her father?" gasped Hester. "Yes, my dear child, I am her father. Now you can take me to her atonce. " Hester covered her face. "Oh, I cannot, " she said--"I cannot take you to Annie. Oh, sir, if youknew all, you would feel inclined to kill me. Don't ask me aboutAnnie--don't, don't. " The stranger looked fairly non-plussed and not a little alarmed. Just atthis moment Nan's tiny fingers touched his hand. "Me'll take 'oo to my Annie, " she said--"mine poor Annie. Annie's vedysick, but me'll take 'oo. " The tall, foreign-looking man lifted Nan into his arms. "Sick, is she?" he answered. "Look here young lady, " he added, turning toHester, "whatever you have got to say, I am sure you will try and say it;you will pity a father's anxiety and master your own feelings. Where _is_my little girl?" Hester hastily dried her tears. "She is in a cottage near Oakley, sir. " "Indeed! Oakley is some miles from here?" "And she is very ill. " "What of?" "Fever; they--they fear she may die. " "Take me to her, " said the stranger. "If she is ill and dying she wantsme. Take me to her at once. Here, jump on the dog-cart; and, little one, you shall come too. " So furiously did Captain Forest drive that in a very little over anhour's time his panting horse stopped at a few steps from the cottage. Hecalled to a boy to hold him, and, accompanied by Hester, and carrying Nanin his arms, he stood on the threshold of Mrs. Williams' humble littleabode. Mr. Everard was coming out. "Hester, " he said, "you here? I was coming for you. " "Oh, then she is worse?" "She is conscious, and has asked for you. Yes, she is very, very ill. " "Mr. Everard, this gentleman is Annie's father. " Mr. Everard looked pityingly at Captain Forest. "You have come back at a sad hour, sir, " he said. "But no, it cannot harmher to see you. Come with me. " Captain Forest went first into the sick-room; Hester waited outside. Shehad the little kitchen to herself, for all the Williamses, with theexception of the good mother, had moved for the time being to otherquarters. Surely Mr. Everard would come for her in a moment? SurelyCaptain Forest, who had gone into the sick-room with Nan in his arms, would quickly return? There was no sound. All was absolute quiet. Howsoon would Hester be summoned? Could she--could she bear to look atAnnie's dying face? Her agony drove her down on her knees. "Oh, if you would only spare Annie!" she prayed to God. Then she wipedher eyes. This terrible suspense seemed more than she could bear. Suddenly the bedroom door was softly and silently opened, and Mr. Everardcame out. "She sleeps, " he said; "there is a shadow of hope. Little Nan has doneit. Nan asked to lie down beside her, and she said, 'Poor Annie! poorAnnie!' and stroked her cheek; and in some way, I don't know how, the twohave gone to sleep together. Annie did not even glance at her father; shewas quite taken up with Nan. You can come to the door and look at her, Hester. " Hester did so. A time had been when she could scarcely have borne thatsight without a pang of jealousy; now she turned to Mr. Everard: "I--I could even give her the heart of little Nan to keep her here, " shemurmured. CHAPTER LI. THE PRIZE ESSAY. Annie did not die. The fever passed away in that long and refreshingsleep, while Nan's cool hand lay against her cheek. She came slowly, slowly back to life--to a fresh, a new, and a glad life. Hester, frombeing her enemy, was now her dearest and warmest friend. Her father wasat home again, and she could no longer think or speak of herself aslonely or sad. She recovered, and in future days reigned as a greaterfavorite than ever at Lavender House. It is only fair to say that Tigernever went back to the gypsies, but devoted himself first and foremost toAnnie, and then to the captain, who pronounced him a capital dog, andwhen he heard his story vowed he never would part with him. Owing to Annie's illness, and to all the trouble and confusion whichimmediately ensued, Mrs. Willis did not give away her prizes at the usualtime; but when her scholars once more assembled at Lavender House sheastonished several of them by a few words. "My dears, " she said, standing in her accustomed place at the head of thelong school-room, "I intend now before our first day of lessons begins, to distribute those prizes which would have been yours, under ordinarycircumstances, on the twenty-first of June. The prizes will bedistributed during the afternoon recess; but here, and now, I wish to saysomething about--and also to give away--the prize for Englishcomposition. Six essays, all written with more or less care, have beengiven to me to inspect. There are reasons which we need not now go intowhich made it impossible to me to say anything in favor of a theme called'The River, ' written by my late pupil, Miss Russell; but I can cordiallypraise a very nice historical sketch of Marie Antoinette, the work ofHester Thornton. Mary Price has also written a study which pleases memuch, as it shows thought and even a little originality. The remainder ofthe six essays simply reach an ordinary average. You will be surprisedtherefore, my dears, to learn that I do not award the prize to any ofthese themes, but rather to a seventh composition, which was put into myhands yesterday by Miss Danesbury. It is crude and unfinished, anddoubtless but for her recent illness would have received manycorrections; but these few pages, which are called 'A Lonely Child, ' drewtears from my eyes; crude as they are, they have the merit of realoriginality. They are too morbid to read to you, girls, and I sincerelytrust and pray the young writer may never pen anything so sad again. Suchas they are, however, they rank first in the order of merit and the prizeis hers. Annie, my dear, come forward. " Annie left her seat, and, amid the cheers of her companions, went up toMrs. Willis, who placed a locket, attached to a slender gold chain, roundher neck; the locket contained a miniature of the head-mistress'much-loved face. "After all, think of our Annie Forest turning out clever as well as beingthe prettiest and dearest girl in the school!" exclaimed several of hercompanions. "Only I do wish, " added one, "that Mrs. Willis had let us see the essay. Annie, treasure, come here; tell us what the 'Lonely Child' was about. " "I don't remember, " answered Annie. "I don't know what loneliness meansnow, so how can I describe it?" THE END ------------------------------------------------------------------------- A. L. BURT'S PUBLICATIONSFor Young PeopleBY POPULAR WRITERS, 97-99-101 Reade Street, New York. Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price$1. 00. The adventures of the son of a Scotch officer in French service. The boy, brought up by a Glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a Jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the French coast, reaches Paris, and serves withthe French army at Dettingen. He kills his father's foe in a duel, andescaping to the coast, shares the adventures of Prince Charlie, butfinally settles happily in Scotland. "Ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of 'Quentin Durward. ' The lad'sjourney across France, and his hairbreadth escapes, make up as good anarrative of the kind as we have ever read. For freshness of treatmentand variety of incident Mr. Henty has surpassed himself. "--_Spectator. _ With Clive in India; or, the Beginnings of an Empire. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price$1. 00. The period between the landing of Clive as a young writer in India andthe close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme. At itscommencement the English were traders existing on sufferance of thenative princes. At its close they were masters of Bengal and of thegreater part of Southern India. The author has given a full and accurateaccount of the events of that stirring time, and battles and siegesfollow each other in rapid succession, while he combines with hisnarrative a tale of daring and adventure, which gives a lifelike interestto the volume. "He has taken a period of Indian history of the most vital importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of itself isdeeply interesting. Young people assuredly will be delighted with thevolume. "--_Scotsman. _ The Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars ofReligion. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by JOHNSCHöNBERG. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. In this story Mr. Henty gives the history of the first part of the ThirtyYears' War. The issue had its importance, which has extended to thepresent day, as it established religious freedom in Germany. The army ofthe chivalrous king of Sweden was largely composed of Scotchmen, andamong these was the hero of the story. "The tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys maybe trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to beprofited. "--_Times. _ The Dragon and the Raven; or, The Days of King Alfred. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R. I. 12mo, cloth, price$1. 00. In this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle betweenSaxon and Dane for supremacy in England, and presents a vivid picture ofthe misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages ofthe sea-wolves. The hero, a young Saxon thane, takes part in all thebattles fought by King Alfred. He is driven from his home, takes to thesea and resists the Danes on their own element, and being pursued by themup the Seine, is present at the long and desperate siege of Paris. "Treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish reader. "--_Athenæum. _ The Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R. I. 12mo, cloth, price$1. 00. Boys reading the history of the Punic Wars have seldom a keenappreciation of the merits of the contest. That it was at first astruggle for empire, and afterward for existence on the part of Carthage, that Hannibal was a great and skillful general, that he defeated theRomans at Trebia, Lake Trasimenus, and Cannæ, and all but took Rome, represents pretty nearly the sum total of their knowledge. To let themknow more about this momentous struggle for the empire of the world Mr. Henty has written this story, which not only gives in graphic style abrilliant description of a most interesting period of history, but is atale of exciting adventure sure to secure the interest of the reader. "Well constructed and vividly told. From first to last nothing stays theinterest of the narrative. It bears us along as on a stream whose currentvaries in direction, but never loses its force. "--_Saturday Review. _ In Freedom's Cause: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By G. A. HENTY. Withfull-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. In this story the author relates the stirring tale of the Scottish War ofIndependence. The extraordinary valor and personal prowess of Wallace andBruce rival the deeds of the mythical heroes of chivalry, and indeed atone time Wallace was ranked with these legendary personages. Theresearches of modern historians have shown, however, that he was aliving, breathing man--and a valiant champion. The hero of the talefought under both Wallace and Bruce, and while the strictest historicalaccuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work isfull of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure. "It is written in the author's best style. Full of the wildest and mostremarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put on one side. "--_TheSchoolmaster. _ With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. The story of a young Virginian planter, who, after bravely proving hissympathy with the slaves of brutal masters, serves with no less courageand enthusiasm under Lee and Jackson through the most exciting events ofthe struggle. He has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times woundedand twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness and, in twocases, the devotion of a black servant and of a runaway slave whom he hadassisted, bring him safely through all difficulties. "One of the best stories for lads which Mr. Henty has yet written. Thepicture is full of life and color, and the stirring and romanticincidents are skillfully blended with the personal interest and charm ofthe story. "--_Standard. _ By England's Aid; or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by ALFRED PEARSE, and Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. The story of two English lads who go to Holland as pages in the serviceof one of "the fighting Veres. " After many adventures by sea and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a Spanish ship at the time of thedefeat of the Armada, and escapes only to fall into the hands of theCorsairs. He is successful in getting back to Spain under the protectionof a wealthy merchant, and regains his native country after the captureof Cadiz. "It is an admirable book for youngsters. It overflows with stirringincident and exciting adventure, and the color of the era and of thescene are finely reproduced. The illustrations add to itsattractiveness. "--_Boston Gazette. _ By Right of Conquest; or, With Cortez in Mexico. By G. A. HENTY. Withfull-page Illustrations by W. S. STACEY, and Two Maps. 12mo, cloth, price$1. 50. The conquest of Mexico by a small band of resolute men under themagnificent leadership of Cortez is always rightly ranked among the mostromantic and daring exploits in history. With this as the groundwork ofhis story Mr. Henty has interwoven the adventures of an English youth, Roger Hawkshaw, the sole survivor of the good ship Swan, which had sailedfrom a Devon port to challenge the mercantile supremacy of the Spaniardsin the New World. He is beset by many perils among the natives, but issaved by his own judgment and strength, and by the devotion of an Aztecprincess. At last by a ruse he obtains the protection of the Spaniards, and after the fall of Mexico he succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming Aztec bride. "'By Right of Conquest' is the nearest approach to a perfectly successfulHistorical tale that Mr. Henty has yet published. "--_Academy. _ In the Reign of Terror: The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by J. SCHöNBERG. 12mo, cloth, price$1. 00. Harry Sandwith, a Westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau of aFrench marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the family toParis at the crisis of the Revolution. Imprisonment and death reducetheir number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils with the threeyoung daughters of the house in his charge. After hairbreadth escapesthey reach Nantes. There the girls are condemned to death in thecoffin-ships, but are saved by the unfailing courage of their boyprotector. "Harry Sandwith, the Westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat Mr. Henty's record. His adventures will delight boys by the audacity andperil they depict.... The story is one of Mr. Henty's best. "--_SaturdayReview. _ With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Continent. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. In the present volume Mr. Henty gives an account of the struggle betweenBritain and France for supremacy in the North American continent. On theissue of this war depended not only the destinies of North America, butto a large extent those of the mother countries themselves. The fall ofQuebec decided that the Anglo-Saxon race should predominate in the NewWorld; that Britain, and not France, should take the lead among thenations of Europe; and that English and American commerce, the Englishlanguage, and English literature, should spread right round the globe. "It is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is graphicallytold, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling tale of adventureand peril by flood and field. "--_Illustrated London News. _ True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. In this story the author has gone to the accounts of officers who tookpart in the conflict, and lads will find that in no war in which Americanand British soldiers have been engaged did they behave with greatercourage and good conduct. The historical portion of the book beingaccompanied with numerous thrilling adventures with the redskins on theshores of Lake Huron, a story of exciting interest is interwoven with thegeneral narrative and carried through the book. "Does justice to the pluck and determination of the British soldiersduring the unfortunate struggle against American emancipation. The son ofan American loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among thehostile redskins in that very Huron country which has been endeared to usby the exploits of Hawkeye and Chingachgook. "--_The Times. _ The Lion of St. Mark: A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth Century. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. A story of Venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put tothe severest tests. The hero displays a fine sense and manliness whichcarry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and bloodshed. He contributes largely to the victories of the Venetians at Porto d'Anzoand Chioggia, and finally wins the hand of the daughter of one of thechief men of Venice. "Every boy should read 'The Lion of St. Mark. ' Mr. Henty has never produceda story more delightful, more wholesome, or more vivacious. "--_SaturdayReview. _ A Final Reckoning: A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By G. A. HENTY. Withfull-page Illustrations by W. B. WOLLEN. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. The hero, a young English lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigratesto Australia, and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. Afew years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush withboth natives and bushrangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and heeventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. "Mr. Henty has never published a more readable, a more carefullyconstructed, or a better written story than this. "--_Spectator. _ Under Drake's Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G. A. HENTY. Withfull-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. A story of the days when England and Spain struggled for the supremacy ofthe sea. The heroes sail as lads with Drake in the Pacific expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. The historical portion ofthe story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will perhaps be lessattractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which theyoung heroes pass in the course of their voyages. "A book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough, onewould think, to turn his hair gray. "--_Harper's Monthly Magazine. _ By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G. A. HENTY. With full-pageIllustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. The author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details ofthe Ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. His hero, aftermany exciting adventures in the interior, is detained a prisoner by theking just before the outbreak of the war, but escapes, and accompaniesthe English expedition on their march to Coomassie. "Mr. Henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. 'BySheer Pluck' will be eagerly read. "--_Athenæum. _ By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by MAYNARD BROWN, and 4 Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. In this story Mr. Henty traces the adventures and brave deeds of anEnglish boy in the household of the ablest man of his age--William theSilent. Edward Martin, the son of an English sea captain, enters theservice of the Prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in manydangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he passesthrough the great sieges of the time. He ultimately settles down as SirEdward Martin. "Boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with thebook, while the rest who only care for adventure will be students inspite of themselves. "--_St. James' Gazette. _ St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. No portion of English history is more crowded with great events than thatof the reign of Edward III. Cressy and Poitiers; the destruction of theSpanish fleet; the plague of the Black Death; the Jacquerie rising; theseare treated by the author in "St. George for England. " The hero of thestory, although of good family, begins life as a London apprentice, butafter countless adventures and perils becomes by valor and good conductthe squire, and at last the trusted friend of the Black Prince. "Mr. Henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel for boyswhich bids fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical labors ofSir Walter Scott in the land of fiction. "--_The Standard. _ Captain's Kidd's Gold: The True Story of an Adventurous Sailor Boy. ByJAMES FRANKLIN FITTS. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. There is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea ofburied treasure. A vision arises before his eyes of swarthy Portuguese andSpanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes--sinister-lookingfellows who once on a time haunted the Spanish Main, sneaking out fromsome hidden creek in their long, low schooner, of picaroonish rake andsheer, to attack an unsuspecting trading craft. There were many famous searovers in their day, but none more celebrated than Capt. Kidd. Perhaps themost fascinating tale of all is Mr. Fitts' true story of an adventurousAmerican boy, who receives from his dying father an ancient bit of vellum, which the latter obtained in a curious way. The document bears obscuredirections purporting to locate a certain island in the Bahama group, anda considerable treasure buried there by two of Kidd's crew. The hero ofthis book, Paul Jones Garry, is an ambitious, persevering lad, ofsalt-water New England ancestry, and his efforts to reach the island andsecure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for our youth thathas come from the press. Captain Bayley's Heir: A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo, cloth, price$1. 00. A frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of aconsiderable property. The former falls into a trap laid by the latter, and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves England forAmerica. He works his passage before the mast, joins a small band ofhunters, crosses a tract of country infested with Indians to theCalifornian gold diggings, and is successful both as digger and trader. "Mr. Henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment; and thehumorous touches, especially in the sketch of John Holl, the Westminsterdustman, Dickens himself could hardly have excelled. "--_ChristianLeader. _ For Name and Fame; or, Through Afghan Passes. By G. A. HENTY. Withfull-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. An interesting story of the last war in Afghanistan. The hero, afterbeing wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among theMalays, finds his way to Calcutta and enlists in a regiment proceeding tojoin the army at the Afghan passes. He accompanies the force underGeneral Roberts to the Peiwar Kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner, carriedto Cabul, whence he is transferred to Candahar, and takes part in thefinal defeat of the army of Ayoub Khan. "The best feature of the book--apart from the interest of its scenes ofadventure--is its honest effort to do justice to the patriotism of theAfghan people. "--_Daily News. _ Captured by Apes: The Wonderful Adventures of a Young Animal Trainer. ByHARRY PRENTICE. 12mo, cloth, $1. 00. The scene of this tale is laid on an island in the Malay Archipelago. Philip Garland, a young animal collector and trainer, of New York, setssail for Eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living curiosities. Thevessel is wrecked off the coast of Borneo and young Garland, the solesurvivor of the disaster, is cast ashore on a small island, and capturedby the apes that overrun the place. The lad discovers that the rulingspirit of the monkey tribe is a gigantic and vicious baboon, whom heidentifies as Goliah, an animal at one time in his possession and withwhose instruction he had been especially diligent. The brute recognizeshim, and with a kind of malignant satisfaction puts his former masterthrough the same course of training he had himself experienced with afaithfulness of detail which shows how astonishing is monkeyrecollection. Very novel indeed is the way by which the young man escapesdeath. Mr. Prentice has certainly worked a new vein on juvenile fiction, and the ability with which he handles a difficult subject stamps him as awriter of undoubted skill. The Bravest of the Brave; or, With Peterborough in Spain. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. There are few great leaders whose lives and actions have so completelyfallen into oblivion as those of the Earl of Peterborough. This islargely due to the fact that they were overshadowed by the glory andsuccesses of Marlborough. His career as general extended over little morethan a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a genius for warfare whichhas never been surpassed. "Mr. Henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to enforcethe doctrine of courage and truth. Lads will read 'The Bravest of theBrave' with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure. "--_DailyTelegraph. _ The Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt. By G. A. HENTY. Withfull-page Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. A story which will give young readers an unsurpassed insight into thecustoms of the Egyptian people. Amuba, a prince of the Rebu nation, iscarried with his charioteer Jethro into slavery. They become inmates ofthe house of Ameres, the Egyptian high-priest, and are happy in hisservice until the priest's son accidentally kills the sacred cat ofBubastes. In an outburst of popular fury Ameres is killed, and it restswith Jethro and Amuba to secure the escape of the high-priest's son anddaughter. "The story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat tothe perilous exodus into Asia with which it closes, is very skillfullyconstructed and full of exciting adventures. It is admirablyillustrated. "--_Saturday Review. _ With Washington at Monmouth: A Story of Three Philadelphia Boys. By JAMESOTIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1. 00. Three Philadelphia boys, Seth Graydon "whose mother conducted aboarding-house which was patronized by the British officers;" Enoch Ball, "son of that Mrs. Ball whose dancing school was situated on LetitiaStreet, " and little Jacob, son of "Chris, the Baker, " serve as theprincipal characters. The story is laid during the winter when Lord Howeheld possession of the city, and the lads aid the cause by assisting theAmerican spies who make regular and frequent visits from Valley Forge. One reads here of home-life in the captive city when bread was scarceamong the people of the lower classes, and a reckless prodigality shownby the British officers, who passed the winter in feasting andmerry-making while the members of the patriot army but a few miles awaywere suffering from both cold and hunger. The story abounds with picturesof Colonial life skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of Washington'ssoldiers which are given show that the work has not been hastily done, orwithout considerable study.