Peggy Part 13

It was only a few steps back from the turn into the High Street. Peggy's pulse began to beat more naturally; in a moment, now, they would be back, safe back, and she would never do it again, no matter what Grace thought of her. Fun was fun, but it was not worth this; and what would Margaret say?

Coming up from the High Street, they skirted a field that lay like waving silver in the moonlight. Nothing would do but that Grace must have a run through this field; she declared that it was her favourite spot in the world.

"After all, soda and marshmallows are carnal!" she insisted. "Our bodies are fed, Innocent, our souls starve for want of poetry. There is poetry in all that silver waving. I must! I must prance, or I shall not rest in my bed. Come along!"

And she went flitting about through the long gra.s.s, hither and thither like a will-o'-the-wisp, her long hair floating around her, her arms waving in gestures sometimes fantastic, but always graceful. Peggy could think of nothing but her cousin Rita, as she used to dance in the old days at Fernley. What a pair she and Grace would make! What a mercy they had never come together. Moreover, her heart, the heart of a farmer's daughter, smote her at the treading down of the gra.s.s. She stood at the edge of the field, now and then calling to her companion and urging her to come home, but for the most part simply watching her in mingled terror and admiration.

At length the wild spirit was satisfied, and Grace came flying back, radiant and breathless.

"That was glorious!" she said. "Poor little Innocent, you haven't much soul, have you? Still, I love you. Come, we will go back to the shades."

They neared the gate; as they did so, they heard voices and the sound of approaching footsteps. Grace paused for a moment; then held up her hand with a warning gesture. Peggy felt her heart turn cold; it was coming!

one of the voices was that of Miss Russell. It was impossible for them to escape being seen. The broad stretch of the lawn lay between them and safety, and the relentless moonlight lay full upon the hedge which had lain in shadow when they came out. Peggy braced herself to meet the shock; but Grace laid a hand on her arm, and then made a gesture. A great tree stood just by the gate of Pentland School; a chestnut-tree, with low-jutting, wide-spreading branches. With the swift movement of some woodland creature, Grace Wolfe swung herself up to the lowest branch, and motioned Peggy to follow; Peggy was a good climber, too; more slowly, but with equal agility, she gained the branch; then softly, slowly, both girls crept along, inward and upward, till a thick screen of leaves hid them completely from sight.

Two ladies came around the turn, and paused a moment at the gate,--Miss Russell and Miss Cortlandt. They stood directly under the chestnut-tree; Peggy could have dropped a nut down exactly on the crown of Miss Russell's bonnet; she never knew how near Grace came to doing so, nor how hard it was to refrain for her, Peggy's, sake.

"I hope not!" said Miss Russell. "I do most earnestly hope not."

"I am afraid there is little doubt of it!" replied Miss Cortlandt. "Miss Pugsley seemed quite positive; I know she means to bring it up at Faculty Meeting to-morrow night."

Miss Russell sighed. "Then it will not be done in the wisest manner!"

she said. "I can say this to you, Emily, for you understand her as well as I do. I had hoped," she continued, "that the whole business would be over when Wilhelmina Lightwood--well, I suppose she will always be 'Billy,' even to me--when Billy went away. I put Peggy Montfort there, because she seemed such an honest, steady, sensible kind of girl. I thought I could trust Peggy Montfort."

"I think you can!" said Miss Cortlandt. "I don't believe Peggy has had any share in the flittings. But I do think it might perhaps have been better to tell her all about it, and put her on her guard. Being a new girl, she might not feel at liberty to stop the older ones when they came; and she could not tell of it. You see, Miss Russell, it is such a little time since I was a 'girl' myself, that I haven't got away from their point of view yet."

"I hope you never will, my dear!" said Miss Russell, warmly. "It is when I get too far away from that point of view myself that I make mistakes.

Yes, I ought to have put the child on her guard; I'll do so to-morrow."

She looked over toward the school, and sighed again.

"Broad is the way that leadeth to destruction!" she said. "It was Grace who gave it the name, of course. Poor Grace!"

"Poor Grace!" echoed Miss Cortlandt; and then the two pa.s.sed on.

They were two very silent girls who crossed the lawn five minutes later.

Grace Wolfe held her head high, and walked with her usual airy grace; her face was grave, but perhaps no graver than usual. Still, she did not speak; as for Peggy, she was too bowed down with shame and wretchedness to think even of her companion. She had been trusted; and she had betrayed the trust. There seemed nothing in the whole world but that.

They parted outside Peggy's window. Grace was going up a story higher on the fire-escape, Peggy did not think nor ask where.

No word was spoken; only, Grace laid her hand on Peggy's shoulder and looked in her face for a moment. Peggy could not speak, could only shake her head. A single sob broke from her lips; then she hurried in, and closed the window behind her.

Then Grace Wolfe did a singular thing. Standing on the iron step, she took from her pocket the packet of marshmallows, and deliberately scattered them over the lawn, throwing each one as far as her arm could reach.

"For the frogs!" she explained, aloud. "With the compliments of the Goat, the Wolf, and the Serpent,--to which is now added the Beast which Perishes!"

CHAPTER IX.

FACULTY MEETING AND BEDLAM.

"Have you proof of this, Miss Pugsley?"

"I am perfectly sure of it, Miss Russell!"

"Yes; I am sure you would be, before you spoke of it; but have you the proof? Of course, before taking any such serious step as you propose, I should, in justice to all, be obliged to ask for positive proof."

"Proof!" cried Miss Pugsley, in some excitement. "Proof enough! Look at my bonnet, Miss Russell. Oblige me by smelling of it. I can never wear it again, never! I tell you, brandy has been poured over it. Here are the slippers!" She produced a pair of slippers which were certainly in a sad condition. "They were nailed--nailed with tenpenny nails, to the floor of my closet; they are totally ruined. Look--I ask you all, ladies, to look at my hand-gla.s.s!" She held up the gla.s.s; and at the sight Emily Cortlandt had one of those violent fits of coughing that often troubled her; this one was so bad that she was obliged to leave the room for a moment. The worst of it was that one or two of the other teachers seemed to have caught the infection, for there was a regular outbreak of coughing and choking, which only a severe glance from Miss Russell checked.

Somebody had painted a face on the little mirror. It covered the whole surface; the face of a monkey, with grinning mouth, and twinkling, malicious eyes; it had an undoubted resemblance to Miss Pugsley. As she held it up with a tragic gesture, the effect was so absurd that even Miss Russell might have wished that she could--cough!

"It lay on my dressing-table, face downward," Miss Pugsley went on. "I had just done my hair for tea,--I am scrupulous in such matters,--and took up the gla.s.s to see that my pug was straight behind. I looked--and saw this. Ladies, I could have fainted on the floor. My nerves being what they are, it is a marvel that I did not."

"I am very, very sorry, Miss Pugsley," said Miss Russell, gravely. "If I knew who had done this--"

"But I tell you I do know, Miss Russell!" cried Miss Pugsley, vindictively. "I tell you that there is only one girl in the school who is capable of all this, and that girl is Grace Wolfe!"

There was a moment's silence.

"Have you found Grace in your room at any time, Miss Pugsley?" demanded Miss Russell.

No, Miss Pugsley had not, but that made no difference. Grace had done the things, there was no shadow of a doubt of it.

"Have you been careful to lock your door when you left the room?"

"Miss Russell, you know that locks and bolts make no possible difference to Grace Wolfe. The girl is cut out for a malefactor. I prophesy that she will be in State's prison before she has been out of school a year."

"I must request you not to speak in this way of any of my young ladies,"

said the Princ.i.p.al, sternly. "You have been the victim of some very malicious practical jokes, Miss Pugsley. I shall look into the matter thoroughly, and shall do my best to discover the offender, and shall punish her--or them--as I think best." She laid a slight emphasis on the last words.

"Then you refuse to expel Grace Wolfe?" said Miss Pugsley, quivering with anger.

"On such evidence as you have brought forward to-night? certainly," said Miss Russell, with some severity. "I have no proof whatever that Miss Wolfe played any of these pranks, though I admit it is probable that she may have done so. You found the bandbox outside your door, where Bridget admits she left it several days before. You left your door unlocked on a rainy half-holiday, when sixty or more girls were constantly pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing; there are half a dozen girls, I am sorry to say, who might have been tempted by the open door to play some prank of the kind which seems so clever to children, and so silly to older people."

Why did Miss Russell look toward the window as she spoke? But now she was looking at Miss Pugsley again.

"You and Grace are not friends, I know, Miss Pugsley," she went on. "I am sorry for it, for I think all the rest of us feel how much that is fine and n.o.ble might--may still be brought out of that untamed spirit.

She has never known a mother, remember. The name of the Scapegoat, which she has given herself, may, I sometimes think, reflect blame on the rest of us as well as on her. It is true that, whatever mischief is afoot, it is sure to be laid at Grace's door. This is mainly her own fault, of course--"

"I should think so!" snorted Miss Pugsley.

"But not entirely," the Princ.i.p.al went on. "There are other mischievous girls in the school. I should like to know how Grace has been doing this month in her various cla.s.ses," she added, turning to the other teachers.

On this point the testimony was unanimous. Grace Wolfe led many of the cla.s.ses; she was well up in all, and had pa.s.sed her examinations in a way that did credit both to her intelligence and her industry. Thus testified every teacher, except the small brown mouse who taught drawing in Pentland School. This mouse, Miss Mink by name, had crept away silently, and left the room, after one glance at the hand-gla.s.s; she knew that but one hand in the school could have drawn that monkey, and though her heart swelled with pride, she feared for her darling pupil.

There was a pause after the teachers had given their testimony; then Miss Pugsley returned to the attack.