A Terrible Tomboy Part 6

'Well,' said Emily, twisting her slim hands nervously, 'if I must tell, I went back to the schoolroom before dinner for my pencil-box, and,'

with a sidelong look at Peggy, 'I noticed Margaret Vaughan putting a book inside Mary Hill's desk.'

The bolt had fallen. Miss Martin turned to Peggy, who, with white and quivering lips, sat as still as if she had been frozen on to the form.

'Is this false or true, Margaret Vaughan?' she asked, in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper.

There were nearly four hundred girls in the room, but you could have heard a pin drop in the silence. Lilian had risen half up in her place, and was looking at Peggy with eager, expectant face. As for Peggy, she felt as if the end of the world had come. She could not in truth deny the fact, though of the intention she was absolutely guiltless. She had never in her life told a lie, and she summoned all the Vaughan spirit to her aid.

'It's true,' she faltered, trying to speak bravely, but wishing all the time that she could sink through the floor.

Miss Martin gazed at her for a moment as if dumbfounded.

'That will do,' she said at last. 'I will inquire into this privately.

Miss Pope, will you kindly take Margaret Vaughan into the kindergarten cla.s.sroom, where she will wait until I come to her? Each form may now leave the room in turn. We have wasted too much time already.'

Peggy's head was in a whirl. She had a confused idea that Lilian was trying to come to her across a row of benches, and was being held back by a teacher; but otherwise she scarcely knew what was happening, except that she seemed to be the centre for all the eight hundred eyes in the room, till Miss Pope took her by the shoulder and marched her away like a warder escorting a very small convict to gaol. The kindergarten babies did not return to school in the afternoon, so their little cla.s.sroom was empty. Left alone, the poor child flung herself on to one of the low seats and burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

That it should come to this--that she, Peggy Vaughan, who, whatever might be her faults, had always held such an unstained reputation for honour and truthfulness, should be deemed capable of such a mean and discreditable action seemed too hard to be borne. She felt as if she could never explain the matter properly, and that the brand of this horrible affair would remain on her for the rest of her life, bringing disgrace upon the whole family for her sake. She worked herself up nearly to the point of heartbreak when she thought of what Father and Aunt Helen would think about it, and it seemed to her as though the very Crusaders and the lady and gentleman in the Elizabethan ruffs would look at her from their tombs in the church next Sunday with grave disapproval in their eyes.

'It's all my own fault, too,' she thought, 'for Nora wanted to take that wretched book back at once, and she would have done so if it hadn't been for me. I don't think Miss Martin will ever believe me now, when I tell her how it was, and all the girls will think me a mean sneak for evermore.' And her tears flowed down faster and faster as she pictured herself a sort of social outcast in the school, shunned and avoided by everyone. 'I wonder how long they're going to leave me here?' she thought dismally, as the afternoon wore away and the clock chimed half-past three. 'Miss Martin said she was coming after me at once. Oh, if _only_ I could get home, I'd ask Father not to send me to school again. Perhaps Aunt Helen would teach me lessons at home if I begged hard. I can never bear to face anybody here after all this.'

It really seemed too bad to leave the poor little culprit so long in suspense, for to a child's mind the agony of waiting is often far worse than the dreaded punishment, and childhood's sorrows are so overwhelming and hopeless that they almost eclipse those of later years.

Peggy's head was aching, her eyes were red and swollen with crying, and dark despair was settling down upon her, when the door suddenly opened, and Lilian burst in and caught her in a regular bear's hug, while Nora followed like a perfect whirlwind only a yard behind.

'There, darling! don't cry any more. I _knew_ you couldn't do such a mean thing,' said Lilian between her kisses. 'I've been just longing to come and comfort you, but they wouldn't let me. I rushed off at once to tell Miss Martin I was sure it was all a horrible mistake, but she was engaged with a tiresome caller who had just been shown into the library, and I've been dodging about the corridor all this time waiting to see her.'

'And so have I,' cried Nora. 'I have been simply dancing with impatience on the doormat. I know I ought to have told at once, but I was so dreadfully taken aback at it all turning out like that, and you being accused, that I could only stand and stare like an idiot while Miss Pope marched you out of the room. Miss Martin's been ever so nice about it, though. She talked a lot about my being careless and our wanting to play tricks on Mary, but she said she was "glad to be able to think as highly of Margaret Vaughan as she had always done," and we were to go at once and set you free. She actually kissed us both before we went, didn't she, Lilian? Do say you forgive me, Peggy, for I feel as if I had got you into all this trouble.'

'Of course I do,' said Peggy warmly, feeling ready to forgive even Emily Thompson in her relief.

'The girls all know about it,' said Nora. 'They're waiting outside in the playground. They think Emily Thompson was a sneak to go telling tales like that, without asking you first if you had really done it, and they're so sorry for you that they say they'll give you a "hooray" when you come out.'

But, though all is well that ends well, Peggy was still so tear-stained and upset that she did not feel equal to facing her school-fellows, however sympathetic they might be, so she escaped with Lilian through the side-door into the street, feeling she would never be really happy or at ease again till she was back in that haven of home where she was always appreciated and understood, and pouring out her troubles to Aunt Helen in the sanctuary of the Rose Parlour.

CHAPTER V

CONCERNING LILIAN

'Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough, and little cares.'

This story is so much about Peggy and her satellite Bobby that we have rather neglected Lilian, and she deserves a chapter all to herself; for she was one of the sweetest, gentlest, most unselfish of girls, who filled a quiet niche in the little world of her home which would have been sadly empty without her.

If anyone had asked Lilian what was her favourite study she would promptly have replied: 'Music.' She practised away patiently at the old piano, much to the delight of her German teacher, who was wont to hold her up as his pattern pupil.

'Mees Vaughan, she take pains, ver' great,' he would say to Miss Martin.

'As for ze ozer yong ladies, zey have no more musique in zem zan an old hurdy-gurdy. All zat vill please zem is a tune to make dance, but for ze vorks of ze best composers zey have no heart at all.'

Lilian's secret ambition was to go to Germany to study at the Leipzig Conservatoire, which Herr Frankenburg always described as the very home and abode of the spirit of music, and made her sadly envious with accounts of the wonderful concerts and operas which might be enjoyed in that favoured city, where the very street vendors would not be tolerated if they cried their wares out of tune.

Lilian's experience of concerts was confined to an occasional afternoon performance in the Warford a.s.sembly Rooms, or the military band in the Spa gardens; but she bravely hid her longings for better things, for she knew that a musical education would be an utter impossibility in the family circ.u.mstances, and that Father had strained a point already to allow her to learn from Herr Frankenburg, who was the most expensive teacher in the school.

She had a sweet, true voice, though not of any great volume, and would sing away with much delight when she got the Rose Parlour all to herself, often composing little things of her own, which were really quite pretty, though she was generally too modest to own to them.

One Sat.u.r.day towards the end of May six of Lilian's most particular school-friends had been invited to spend the afternoon, and there were great preparations at the Abbey. Rollo had been newly washed and combed, the rabbits' hutch had been scrubbed, the arbour swept out, the museum tidied, and Nancy had baked a supply of cakes and tarts calculated to provide for the healthiest appet.i.tes.

'Here they are!' cried Bobby, who, perched on the archway that surmounted the gate, could command a view of the distant prospect, and report progress, like Sister Anne in the story of Bluebeard.

'All of them?' asked Lilian, hurriedly tying a pink ribbon round the neck of the pet lamb, whose toilet had been forgotten among the many arrangements.

'Yes; I can see six bicycles coming along the road. One girl's got red hair, so I'm sure it's Evelyn Proctor, and the two in the blue hats will be Susie and Mary. Oh, it is really, for they're turning up from the village over the bridge, and waving their hands.'

And Bobby climbed down quickly from his point of vantage, so as not to miss the interesting arrival.

They were a very jolly set of schoolgirls whom Aunt Helen came out on to the front steps to welcome. Kathleen O'Riley was a bright Irish girl, with the prettiest suspicion of a brogue imaginable, and that winning manner which seems specially to belong to the children of the Emerald Isle. Susie and Mary Hirst were the daughters of a rising Warford physician, and were pleasant and amusing, though they had not the racy humour of Dorothy Gower. Evelyn Proctor was full of high spirits, while shy Lucy Thorburn was perhaps Lilian's favourite among them all.

'It must be stunning to have a bicycle,' said Bobby, regarding with envious eye the row of bright machines neatly stacked against the wall, and spinning the pedals with a not too gentle hand.

'Yes, it is pretty good fun,' said Susie Hirst, good-naturedly giving him a ride round the carriage sweep. 'But, you see, you have Pixie instead, and I think a pony's really nicer.'

'She can't go so fast,' complained Bobby, determined not to be consoled.

'Perhaps not, but you couldn't bike to school in the pouring rain or snow. It's no joke to get a side-slip, I can tell you.'

'Come along, girls,' cried Lilian; 'I have such heaps to show you.'

It was the first visit that some of the guests had paid to Gorswen, so they were delighted to make a tour of inspection round the garden, farmyard, and ruins. They duly admired the pet lamb, laughed at Jack, stroked the rabbits, declared Rollo to be a black-and-tan angel, and screamed with horror at Toby, a harmless gra.s.s snake, which was the very latest addition to the menagerie.

Tea was a lively meal, for Father was full of jokes and funny stories, and Aunt Helen enjoyed schoolgirls' society almost as much as the children themselves, while Nancy's delicacies melted away like snow in summer.

'Let us come to the Rose Parlour,' said Lilian, when cups were emptied for the last time, and 'No, thank you's' began to be responded to invitations to more cake and pastry.

Peggy followed, feeling very grand and grown-up among so many elder girls, and shut the door sternly in Bobby's face.

'We don't want little boys in here,' she said crushingly.

'I don't care,' shouted the indignant youth through the keyhole. 'I don't want to play with a lot of stupid girls--so there! I shall go and talk to Joe.'

The museum proved a great fund of interest, for nearly every article had a history, and the guests wandered round the room examining the maps and various specimens of art which adorned the walls. Dorothy was trying the piano, for she played well, though her touch had not half the firmness of Lilian's.

'What's this?' asked Mary, hunting through a pile of old music inside the ottoman, and fishing out a ma.n.u.script page in Lilian's neat hand.

'Oh, don't!' cried Lilian, blushing hotly. 'Let me have that, Mary, please. I didn't know I had left it there.'

'What is it?' exclaimed all the girls, whose curiosity was naturally aroused. 'Peggy, you tell!'