Peggy Part 15

She rose from the floor, piled a plate with good things, and went over to the corner where Colney Hatch was bending over her mouse, conscious of nothing else.

"Here, Colney; here's your supper."

"Oh, thank you, Grace," said Colney, looking up for a moment. "But I can't, you know. Both my hands are full, you see."

"Then open your mouth," commanded the Scapegoat, in tones of authority.

Colney obeyed meekly, and Grace stood over her, feeding her like a baby with the choicest morsels, and now and then casting a glance over her shoulder at the others. Grace's gaiety was fitful to-night, certainly.

When she first came in she had been the life of the party; now, as she stood there in the corner, her brow was overcast, her eyes gloomy. What ailed the Lone Wolf?

What were they saying over there? They, at least, were at the very height of glee, breaking into gusts of giggling, into whisperings ending in squeaks and smothered screams.

"To-morrow night? Hurrah! Through Broadway, of course."

"Freshy? Oh, Freshy won't say anything. She wouldn't dare to, in the first place."

"She'd dare fast enough," said Viola. "She isn't afraid of anything, Freshy isn't. But she's safe, she won't say anything."

"What's all this?" demanded the Scapegoat, coming back with the empty plate. "Plans? Does one hear them?"

"The apples are all gone," said Kitty Green. "We're going for some to-morrow night, Goat. You'll go, too, of course?"

"Going out through Broadway," said Viola. "We haven't been out for more than a week, and the moon will be nearly full to-morrow. It'll be perf'ly fine, Goat, won't it?"

"Veto!" said Grace, calmly.

"Veto? Why, what do you mean?"

"What's wrong?"

"What has happened?"

"Nothing has happened. Boots are no longer free, that's all."

"Do speak English, Grace Wolfe! What do you mean?"

"There--are--to--be--no more--free-booting expeditions--through Broadway. Is that sufficiently plain, or shall I spell the words?"

Blanche Haight rose to her feet, several of the other girls following her. "What is the matter with you to-night, Goat?" she said. "We don't seem to succeed in satisfying you. Aren't we good enough company for you, perhaps?" And Blanche sneered in her own particular manner, of which she was proud.

"I make no remarks," said the Scapegoat, in her quietest tones. "I have not been personal. I merely say, while I lead this Gang, there will be no more expeditions through Broadway."

"And how long do you suppose you will lead this Gang, if you play the part of Pope and emperor?" demanded Blanche.

The other girls began to murmur and protest at this. "Listen to the Goat!" said one and another. "She must have some reason, or she wouldn't act so."

But Grace seized her opportunity.

"How long?" she repeated. "Not an hour! not a second! I resign. My last act is to break up this meeting. To your tents, O Israel!"

Then arose such a confusion of whispering, exclaiming, disclaiming, entreating, protesting, that no one voice could be heard. The owner of the room, fairly roused for a moment (but indeed she had finished the mouse), turned round to see what was wrong. For a moment she saw the two leaders, Grace and Blanche, facing each other, the one pale and quiet, the other red with anger, her eyes darting spiteful flames. Next moment, Grace made a single quick movement, and the room was in darkness. She had blown out the lamp.

"To your tents!" she repeated, sternly. And, hurrying, whispering, stumbling over the remains of their feast scattered on the floor, the frightened girls obeyed.

CHAPTER X.

TEACHER AND PUPIL.

The day after the escapade was the worst one that Peggy Montfort had ever known. She was too strong and healthy to lie awake all night, though it was much later than usual before she ceased to toss in uneasy wretchedness and lay peacefully sleeping. When morning came, she woke, and for a moment greeted the bright day joyfully. Then remembrance came like a hand at her throat, and she shivered, and all the blue seemed to fade away, and leave nothing but cold, miserable gray over all the world. What had she done? What would Uncle John and Margaret, what would Brother Hugh think, if they should know this? Slowly and heavily she dressed and went down to breakfast. There, it seemed as if everybody knew what she had done. Miss Russell's eyes rested thoughtfully on her as she bade her good morning; Peggy shrank away, and could not meet the gaze. If she did not know now, she would soon. "An honest, steady, sensible girl!" Well, Miss Russell would find she had been mistaken, that was all; and of course she would never trust again where she had once been deceived. And yet Peggy knew in her heart that there was no girl in the school who was so little likely to do this thing again as herself. She was by nature, as I have said, a law-abiding creature, with a natural reverence for authority. To have set the law at defiance was bad enough; to have done it secretly, and betrayed the trust that had been placed in her, that was worse! That was beyond possibility of pardon. Thus argued Peggy in her wretchedness; and all through the morning she went over it again and again, and yet again, seeing no help or comfort anywhere. Bertha Haughton, always quick in sympathy, saw the trouble in her friend's face, and came over in "gym" and begged to know what was the matter. Wasn't Peggy well? Had anything happened to trouble her? Peggy shook her head; she could not tell even this good friend--yet. There was some one else who must be told first. She promised to come to the Owls' Nest later in the day, and Bertha was forced to be content with this, and left her with a vague sense of uneasiness and a feeling that somehow little Peggy had grown suddenly older and more mature. Yes, there is nothing like trouble for that!

It was almost a relief when the summons came.

"Miss Montfort, Miss Russell would like to see you in the study."

Peggy steadied herself for the encounter, and went quietly. If only she could be met with a cold look, it would be easier, somehow--but no! the Princ.i.p.al's gray eyes were as kind as ever, her smile as gravely sweet, as she said, pleasantly, "Good morning, Miss Montfort. Good afternoon, I should say; I forgot how late it was. Sit down for a moment, will you? I want to ask you about something."

Peggy did not want to sit down. She wanted to stand still and go through with it, and then get away to her own room. But there was no disregarding the request, so she sat down on the edge of a chair and set her teeth.

"I hardly know where to begin!" said Miss Russell. "I am going to take you into my confidence--Peggy."

Peggy shivered a little, but said nothing, only set her teeth harder.

"There has been a good deal of trouble," Miss Russell went on, "a good deal of trouble in former years with the room which you now occupy. The girl who occupied it was--was wild and undisciplined, and took pleasure in breaking bounds, and in inducing others to do so. She--there were a number of girls who used to go out without leave, by way of the fire-escape outside the window."

She paused a moment, and looked at Peggy, but Peggy made no sign.

"That girl--left the school last year, not to return; but there are several still here who used to share in those wild pranks (undertaken in mere thoughtlessness, I am glad to think, and not with any evil intent), and I have been afraid--in fact, it has come to my ears, that the room was again being used for the same purpose."

She paused again; but still Peggy was silent. What could she say?

Besides, no question had been asked her--yet!

The question came. "You are silent, Peggy. Do you know anything about this matter?"

"Yes, Miss Russell!" said Peggy, faintly.

"I feel," said the Princ.i.p.al, in a tone of regret, "that I have been to blame in not warning you of this beforehand, and putting you on your guard. I had hoped that when Bil--when the young lady of whom I spoke was gone, the whole thing would die out; it is a distressing thing to warn a pupil against her schoolmates. Still, I feel that in this case I ought to have done so. I place entire confidence in you, Peggy. I am sure that you would not yourself break the rules of the school; but you may have been put to inconvenience and distress by the lawlessness of others. I am very sorry if this has been the case."

Peggy shut her eyes tight, and said "Margaret!" twice to herself. Then she looked at the Princ.i.p.al.

"Miss Russell," she said,--she tried to steady her voice, but it would come strange and shaky,--"you are mistaken about me. I am not the kind of girl you think I am. I--I went out last night without leave, by the fire-escape."

There was a silence.

"Who induced you--that is, with whom did you go?" asked Miss Russell, presently.