CHAPTER XIV.
A SOPHOMORE RACKET.
Monday evening, after study hours were over, again found Katherine in her teacher's room, for now that the woman had begun to get an understanding of the spiritual interpretation of the Scriptures her desire to know more was insatiable; while our young Scientist was only too glad to lend her what help she could along the way.
They went over the Sunday lesson together, and afterward fell to talking upon certain points that had especially attracted their attention, becoming so absorbed that they took no account of time until the clock struck the half hour after eleven.
"Why!" Katherine exclaimed, and starting to her feet, "if you were not a teacher I should be guilty of flagrant disobedience in being out of my room at this hour."
"Dear child, I have been very thoughtless to keep you so long," said Miss Reynolds, regretfully, "but I certainly had no idea of time. And what is time, anyway? I begin to realize that it is only a mortal invention, and that we are living in eternity now. But I must not begin on this infinite subject again to-night; go! go!" She laughingly waved the girl away, and she slipped noiselessly out into the hall to seek her own room.
Miss Reynolds was located on the second floor of the east wing, and Katherine roomed in the west wing, consequently she was obliged to go down a flight of stairs, cross the main or central hall, and up another flight to gain her own quarters.
The lights were all out, but the moon was full, coming in through the windows with a soft radiance, and thus she had no difficulty in finding her way.
She had crossed the main hall, and just entered a short passage leading to the west wing, when she came suddenly upon some one, who appeared to be trying to shrink out of sight into a corner.
"Why, who is it?" she cried, in a repressed but startled tone.
"Sh! sh! keep mum!" was the warning response as the figure drew near her.
"Jennie!" Katherine whispered, amazed, "what are you doing here at this unearthly hour of the night?"
"Hush! don't give me away for the world," said the girl, laying a nervous hand upon her arm. "There's something going on in yonder— it's the fun I told you about a while ago. I'm not in the plot, but I'm bound to be in at the finish, for it's going to be a hot time, I can tell you."
"Really, dear, you are better out of it altogether," Katherine gravely returned. "You know what we were talking of yesterday, about breaking rules and spoiling one's record."
"Aren't you breaking rules, too?" retorted Jennie, aggressively.
"No; I have just come from Miss Reynolds' room."
"Well, I'm going to see this through, now I've started in. I've had to pinch and pound myself for the last two hours, though, to keep awake, and I'm not going to miss the 'racket' after all that bother," declared the girl, clinging tenaciously to her purpose.
"Hark!" she added, a moment later, in a startled whisper, as a titter of irrepressible mirth was borne to their ears from somewhere beyond them.
It seemed to proceed from the landing at the head of the stairs which led to the second story, but was quickly suppressed and all was still again.
"Well," said Katharine, after listening a. moment, "I must go on to my room, and my advice to you, Jennie, is to return at once to yours. Good-night," and, leaving the willful "racket"-lover to her fate, she stole softly away.
She paused at the foot of the stairs to listen again, when the swish of garments fell on her ear, then a voice, which she immediately recognized, whispered:
"Be sure you tie your end tight, Carrie."
Katherine moved lightly up a step or two and heard the answer:
"I have; now, Rose, scud up to the next floor and give the signal, while I go for my cymbals," and a smothered laugh followed.
Again there was a rustle of garments and the soft slipping of unshod feet over the upper flight of stairs, while Katherine as noiselessly sped over the lower one.
On reaching the landing she looked about her to ascertain, if possible, what mischief was brewing.
The hall was very dimly lighted by a window at each end, and, as the moon had not yet got around to that quarter, it was almost impossible to discern anything; but, lower down the hall, she thought she could detect two lines, stretched across from opposite doors, about three feet from the floor.
Not wishing to get involved in the prospective mischief, and as her room was just at the head of the stairs, she softly turned the handle of the door and slipped inside.
Scarcely a minute elapsed after she had closed and locked it, when there came a deafening crash and bang, mingled with the blowing of whistles, horns and combs, that seemed sufficient to awaken the "Seven Sleepers" in their cavern of refuge.
"Oh, heavens! Whatever is the matter?" screamed Sadie, starting up in affright. "Are you there, Katharine?"
"Yes."
"What was that noise? Did you hear it?"
"Indeed I did."
They listened for a moment or two, but there was no sound.
Then it seemed as if some commotion had arisen somewhere, and a medley of muffled voices was borne to their ears.
Presently steps were heard on the stairs, whereupon Sadie sprang out of bed, slipped on a wrapper, and, opening her door a crack, saw the watchman with his lantern just mounting into view.
Then the voice of one of the teachers—Miss Clark—rang out excitedly, while she vainly tugged at her door which had been connected with the one opposite by a piece of clothesline:
"Young ladies, what is the meaning of this outrage? Release me immediately."
"Ye'll just hev to wait a minute, marm," said the watchman, with an audible chuckle of amusement as he comprehended the situation, while he put down his lantern and plunged his hand into various pockets in search of his knife.
Looking farther down the hall, Sadie saw that Miss Williams had been imprisoned in the same manner, while a promiscuous assortment of tin pans, covers and plates lay in a heap upon the floor, and telling their own story regarding the recent crash.
There was not a person, save the watchman, in sight.
But, presently, doors were cautiously opened and tousled heads appeared in the apertures, while timid voices made inquiries as to what had happened.
The watchman—who had been making his rounds, as was his custom at midnight, hence his timely appearance upon the scene—soon had the indignant teachers released, and then went on to the next floor, where similar conditions prevailed.
On being given their liberty, Miss Clark and Miss Williams immediately bestirred themselves to ferret out the culprits; but, of course, everybody was innocent and as eager as themselves to ascertain "who could have been guilty of so daring an escapade at that hour of the night."
Poor Jennie, however, was destined to pay the penalty of her temerity.
A moment or two after Katherine left her, she had also stolen cautiously up the stairs, but on moving farther down the hall had run against one of the ropes.
Like a flash she comprehended something of the nature of the joke, and, hearing steps and smothered laughter above, turned back and slipped into a closet at the end of the hall, where she shrank into a corner and waited with eager ears and bated breath for the denouement.
When it came, however, she heartily wished she was anywhere else in the world; but there was nothing for her to do except to wait quietly in her place of concealment until the breeze blew over, when she hoped she could steal away, unobserved, to her room. If the watchman had not appeared upon the scene so opportunely, she would have made a break immediately after the crash; but, hearing his steps, she knew that her escape was cut off in that direction. She could not even mingle with the other girls, when they began to gather in the halls to "help investigate," and so find protection in numbers; for she belonged in the other wing, and her presence in the west wing would at once warrant the worst possible construction being put upon her appearance there.
So she shrank closer into her corner and stood motionless, hoping no one would think of looking there.
Vain hope, however, for Miss Williams, having closely questioned various ones without gaining any satisfaction, walked straight to the closet and opened the door, when the light from her candle flared directly upon Jennie's white, frightened face and shrinking figure.
"Ah! Miss Wild! so you are implicated in this disgraceful escapade!" the teacher sternly exclaimed, as she laid a forcible hand upon her arm and drew her from her hiding place. "What was your object and who were your accomplices? for, of course, you could not have carried it out alone," she concluded, sharply.
Miss Clark now joined them, while many of the students gathered around and regarded Jennie with blank and wondering faces.
"I—-I don't know-there wasn't—er—anybody," stammered Jennie, too confused and overcome with fright to speak connectedly.
"Don't tell me that! It is impossible that you could conceive such a plot and execute it without help, and I am going to sift it to the bottom," was Miss Williams' sharp retort; for she by no means relished being aroused at midnight by such a frightful bedlam, to find herself a prisoner in her room.
"Truly, Miss Williams, I wasn't in it at all," Jennie affirmed, with more coherence, and lifting an appealing look to the incensed woman.
"Miss Wild, don't add falsehood to your other offenses. What were you hiding here for, if you had nothing to do with it? But"— suddenly cutting herself short—"I think we will defer further investigation until to-morrow. Go to your room at once, and remain there until I come to you in the morning. Young ladies, retire— all of you—and those who, in any way, have participated in this affair, prepare to make open confession, for I assure you it will not be dropped until you do."
She waved them imperatively away, and they immediately vanished with cheerful alacrity from her austere presence, while Jennie also sped away without one backward glance.
Miss Williams then turned to the watchman and observed more calmly:
"Mr. Johnson, it seems we were all more frightened than hurt. My first impression was that there had been a terrific explosion, and the sensation of being fastened in one's room at such a time isn't at all agreeable. I am glad you were at hand to help and reassure us."
"Ye were in rather a ticklish box, mum; fur, by the powers! 'twur like a pan-dom-i-num let loose," replied the man, stooping to recover his lantern and to conceal a broad grin of appreciation, for it was well known he enjoyed a joke as well as anyone, even to the point of sometimes abetting the perpetrators. "But what'll we do wid all the truck?" he added, glancing at the pile of tinware on the floor.
"Oh, leave it where it is until morning, and the maids will take care of it," Miss Clark suggested; and then the teachers also repaired to their rooms, the watchman went his way, his broad shoulders shaking with silent laughter, and quiet settled down once more upon Hilton's ruffled west wing.
Katherine had remained in the background throughout the entire disturbance, quietly disrobing and getting ready for bed.
Sadie had been so frightened by the startling noises outside, she did not observe—the room being dark—or dream that her roommate was still up and dressed. She supposed that she had come in while she was sleeping and retired without waking her; thus Katherine escaped being questioned or obliged to make any explanations.
But she lay awake some time after the house had settled into stillness, trying to decide what steps she ought to take, knowing what she did about the matter.
She knew it would not be right to allow Jennie to suffer for what she was in no way responsible, even though she had broken rules in being out of her room at so late an hour. But what her duty was regarding reporting the leaders in the "racket," if they obstinately refrained from confessing their offense, she could not readily determine. She finally resolved that she would do her utmost to exonerate Jennie without incriminating anyone else, if possible.
She arose with the first stroke of the rising bell, performed her usual duties with what dispatch she could, and then sought Miss Williams shortly before the breakfast hour.
The teacher greeted her cordially, and inquired with a significant smile:
"Were you frightened nearly out of your senses, with the rest of us last night, Miss Minturn?"
"Oh, no; but perhaps I might have been if I had been asleep. I know something about the affair, Miss Williams, and I have come to talk it over with you," Katherine explained.
"Ah!" and the woman looked both astonished and interested.
"Jennie Wild told you the truth last night," she went on. "She had nothing whatever to do with the 'racket,' even though appearances point strongly the other way."
She then proceeded to tell all that she knew about the matter, but without revealing the names of the ringleaders.
"Well, this certainly does put an entirely different aspect upon the affair," Miss Williams observed, when she concluded. "I am more than glad, too, because my sympathies are with Miss Wild, in spite of her tendency to bubble over now and then. Circumstantial evidence is not always true evidence, is it?" she added, with a smile. "I was highly indignant with her last night, for I felt sure she was prominent in it—and she certainly was guilty of disobedience."
"Yes; her curiosity surely got the better of her judgment,"
Katherine assented.
"Well, could you identify those girls, whom you overheard in the hall?" Miss Williams now inquired.
Katherine flushed. She had been dreading this question.
"I did not see anyone," she returned with a faint smile, after a moment of hesitation.
"I see, my dear; you do not wish to 'tell tales,' and I appreciate your position," said her companion, with a wise nod that had nothing of disapproval in it. "Well"—after considering a moment— "we will say no more about it until Prof. Seabrook has been consulted. Jennie, however, will have reason to be grateful to you for helping her out of what, otherwise, might have proved a very awkward situation."
Miss Williams went at once to the girl and released her from the confinement she had imposed upon her the previous night. She explained how Miss Minturn had come to her rescue, and Jennie, who had for once been thoroughly frightened, vowed she would "never be caught in a scrape of any kind" during the remainder of her course.
Considerable excitement prevailed during the day, and the "midnight escapade" was the one topic of conversation whenever a group of girls came together; but it was not until study hours were over in the afternoon that any active measures to "investigate" the matter were instituted. Then Katherine was summoned to the principal's study, where she found the four teachers who had the west wing in charge, and Jennie, assembled.
Jennie was rigorously catechised, but had very little to tell. She had overheard something of a plot that promised considerable excitement and fun; she had also heard some one whisper, "Monday, at midnight," and her curiosity had been raised to the highest pitch, therefore she had been unable to resist being "in at the finish." She could not tell who were the leaders, for she had neither seen nor heard anyone, having slipped into the closet before the crash came. Being hard pressed, however, she admitted that she thought the sophomores were chiefly concerned in the "racket."
Katherine was then requested to relate all that she knew about it, whereupon she repeated what she had already told Miss Williams.
"You have corroborated what Miss Wild has stated, and have also exonerated her from any complicity in the affair," Prof. Seabrook observed, when she concluded. "I judge that it must have been confined entirely to the sophomore class. Now we must get down to individuals, if possible. Miss Minturn, did you recognize the voices of those two girls whom you overheard in the hall last night?"
"Truth compels me to say that I did," Katherine replied, a hot flush mounting to her brow.
"Their names, if you please," commanded the principal, briefly.
"I beg that you will excuse me from naming them," she pleaded.
"It is plainly your duty to expose them, Miss Minturn. The affair is of too serious a nature to allow sentiment to thwart discipline and the preservation of law and order," returned the gentleman, in an inflexible tone.
"Pardon me," she said, "but I cannot feel it my duty—at least until—"
"That is equivalent to saying that you will not comply with my request," interposed the professor, his eyes beginning to blaze in view of what he regarded as a defiant attitude.
"No, sir; I could not be so disrespectful," Katherine gently replied. "Please allow me to say that I would have taken no action whatever in the matter but for the sake of saving Miss Wild from being unjustly accused."
Jennie flashed her an adoring look as she said this.
"I just wanted to hug you!" she told her afterwards.
"Miss Wild is no doubt properly grateful; all the same you have no right to shield the guilty ones, and I shall hold you to your duty," inflexibly responded Prof. Seabrook.
Katherine saw that he was determined to make her name the culprits, and, for a moment, she was deeply distressed. Then her face suddenly cleared.
"May I suggest that it is the duty of the offenders to confess their own wrongdoing?" she questioned, in a respectful tone; adding: "It certainly is their right to have the opportunity given them, and I would prefer not to rob them of it; while it would release me from a very awkward position if they would do so."
"I think Miss Minturn is right, Prof. Seabrook," Miss Williams here remarked. "I am sure we can all understand how she feels about it, and we know that it would place her under the ban of the whole school if she were to expose the ringleaders without giving them the opportunity, as she says, to volunteer a confession."
Katherine shot a look of gratitude at the speaker, who nodded her sympathy in return.
An uncomfortable silence followed, during which the much-tried girl felt that her principal regarded her as obstinate as well as sentimental, and was more than half inclined not to yield his point, in spite of Miss Williams' espousal of her cause.
"Very well; let it rest here for the present," he at length curtly observed. "You are temporarily excused, Miss Minturn. But if the offenders do not promptly come forward, I shall expect you to tell all you know, later."
Katherine bowed and slipped quietly from the room, but with a choking sensation in her throat, a feeling of injustice pressing heavily upon her heart.
She paused in the hall a moment, after closing the door, trying to calm her perturbed thoughts, when these words from her dear "little book" came to her:
"Let Truth uncover and destroy error in God's own way, and let human justice wait on the divine." [Footnote: "Science and Health," page 542.]
Then she went on her way, at peace with herself and all the world.
CHAPTER XV.
"HILTON VOLUNTEERS."
After Katherine was dismissed, Jennie was sternly reprimanded for her infraction of rules, cautioned against future disobedience, a penalty imposed upon her, and then told she might go back to her duties.
She moved slowly to the door, stood there a moment irresolute, a thoughtful look on her young face; then deliberately turned and walked straight back to her principal.
"Prof. Seabrook," she began, "I have another confession to make to you, and I'm willing to take any punishment you may think I deserve. I do this because I want you to know the kind of girl Miss Minturn is, for—I think you do not half appreciate her. I've loved her from the first minute I saw her in this room with you, the day she came; she makes everybody love her, and I've often wondered if it is her Christian Science that helps her to be so— so dear and true. I've tried to make her tell me something about it, but she wouldn't—she always says you told her not to talk about it to the students. I asked her last week to let me go with her to her service on Sunday. But she said no, unless I would get permission from you. But—I did go," Jennie continued, growing scarlet to her brows, yet looking the man unflinchingly in the eyes. "I started out early and was there when she came into the hall, and walked home with her afterwards. She didn't spare me; she told me I had done wrong and read me a lecture about spoiling my record by breaking rules. I want you to know this, because some one may have seen us come out of the Christian Science hall together and might think she took me there; but she never breaks a rule, and she isn't a bit priggish about it, either. She tried her best to make me go back to my room before the 'racket' last night, and I just want you to know that she's true blue, through and through."
Jennie looked very spirited and pretty with her flushed cheeks and glowing eyes as she faced her principal, and, without flinching a hair, told her simple, straightforward story in the presence of the other teachers.
Prof. Seabrook was fond of the girl, for she possessed many lovable qualities and was very faithful in the performance of her duties. If he had been inclined to be severe, because of her other offense, his heart was very tender towards her now; for he fully appreciated her honesty and the moral courage she had manifested in taking this stand for Katherine.
He was uncomfortably conscious, too, that his own attitude towards Miss Minturn had not been quite considerate. He recognized her loveliness of character, her excellence in scholarship, her conscientious deportment; in fact, he had no fault whatever to find with her, except that she was a Christian Scientist, and the remembrance of this always stirred him, in the most unaccountable manner, whenever he came in contact with her.
He regarded Jennie thoughtfully for a moment after she concluded, then a gleam of amusement crept into his eyes and his lips twitched with repressed mirth, as he dryly observed:
"Well, Jennie, it seems that you are making quite a record for yourself by breaking rules. I hope there will be no occasion for further self-condemnation after this. You may go now."
The girl was glad to go, and was "scared stiff," as she affirmed afterward, when she came to think over what she had said. But her desire to have justice done Katherine had made her forget herself, for the time, in defending her.
Still, as was characteristic, her spirits quickly rebounded, and she flew away to find some of the sophs and reel off a graphic report of what had just occurred in the principal's study.
Consternation at once took possession of some of their number, for it was evident that, even though Prof. Seabrook and the teachers were ignorant of the names of the guilty ones, Miss Minturn had recognized the ringleaders, and so their supposed secret was out.
A private meeting of all concerned was immediately called, and the matter thoroughly discussed.
"So Miss Minturn claims it would 'rob us of our moral responsibility' if she should give us away!" remarked Rose Tuttle, a buxom girl of eighteen, with a roguish face and an independent air. "That's a novel way of looking at it—isn't it, girls?—and escaping the fate of a 'telltale,'" and the ringing laugh which completed these remarks was echoed by several others.
"Puts us in a tight box, though," said Carrie Archer, another merry sprite, as she gnawed the rubber on her pencil with a thoughtful air.
"All the same, I think Katherine Minturn is O. K., and I'm ready to make my best courtesy to her," gravely observed a girl who was sitting beside her.
"Well, I begin to think she is rather fine myself, in spite of her absurd Christian Science. But what are we going to do about this affair?" inquired Miss Tuttle, with an impatient shrug of her plump shoulders.
"Oh, let's fight it out," cried a shrill voice from a corner.
"That means let Miss Minturn fight it out," retorted Carrie
Archer, spiritedly.
"Well, she's game—she won't tell, and it will all die out of itself, after a while."
"But that would leave a very uncomfortable sting behind—the sting of cowardice," said Rose Tuttle, with very red cheeks. "I tell you what, my dear fellow sophs," she went on, after an irresolute pause, "if Miss Minturn had given us away to-day every mother's daughter of us would have called her a 'spy' and a 'tattler.' But, although she knows exactly as well as you and I do"—a chuckle of mirth escaping her—"who tied those ropes to the doors, she has just faced the professor and those teachers and practically told them that she would not give us away."
"Why couldn't she have held her tongue altogether, then?" grumbled a discontented voice.
"Good gracious, Nell! knowing what she did she couldn't keep mum and let 'Wild Jen'—poor goosie! whose curiosity is always getting her into some scrape or other—bear the whole brunt of it," Miss Archer replied, with curling lips. "No, she has put us upon our honor, and if we don't do the square thing I think she'll have a right to call us—sneaks."
"Carrie, you're hitting out pretty straight from the shoulder," cried her friend Rose, with a short laugh.
"Well, maybe; but I didn't miss myself in the trial of my muscle," was the dry rejoinder.
There was much more talk after the same order, the ayes and nays on the question of "open confession" being about equally divided; while all began to feel that there wasn't quite as much fun as they had anticipated to be gotten out of midnight escapades.
"Well, sophies, I'll tell you what I'm going to do," finally said Miss Archer, breaking in upon the hubbub of voices, a look of determination settling over her face, "but first I'll say what I'm not going to do: I'm never going to hear it said that I forced somebody else to stand in a gap that I hadn't the courage to fill. I'm not going to sneak out of sight behind another to save myself. I started this ball rolling and planned the details of the affair, and, now, I am going straight to Prof. Seabrook and tell him so and swallow the bitter pill he gives me with what grace I can. It won't be sugar-coated, either. I won't give anyone else away, so don't be afraid," she interposed in response to terrified exclamations and frightened faces. "I'll just do the square thing myself, and you know it is always the commanding officer who is held responsible for leading his subordinates astray."
Miss Archer was the daughter of an ex-colonel, which will account for her simile.
There was dead silence for a full minute after she ceased speaking, and the faces in that quiet room would have been an interesting study for a physiognomist.
Then Rose Tuttle sprang to her feet and held out her hand to her friend.
"I wonder who is 'game' now?" she cried, in a ringing voice.
Miss Archer's eyes flashed with sudden inspiration.
"Here! give me a pencil, somebody; I've broken the point off mine," she said, as she moved her chair to a table and drew a blank sheet of paper towards her.
Half a dozen were handed her, and, selecting one, she continued:
"This is going to be a voluntary surrender. I'm not going to wait to be summoned before my superior officer and 'given an opportunity.'"
She wrote rapidly for a few minutes, while her companions regarded her in curious silence.
"Hear now," she finally commanded, as she threw down her pencil, and, lifting her paper with an impressive flourish, read:
"TO THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF AT HILTON: News of certain matters, pending at headquarters, just received by scout. Wherefore this is to certify that the undersigned planned and led the attack on West Wing on the night of May the twentieth. In view of the demands of honor, of admiration for, and the sentence menacing the valiant party at present held as hostage, I hereby make confession, and unconditional surrender, together with all munitions of war, and also herewith beg absolution for subordinates.
"Signed. CAROLINE WEBSTER ARCHER, "Capt. Co. S, Hilton Volunteers,
U. S. A."
"How will that do, my brave company of sophomores?" she cried, with laughing eyes, as she finished reading her effusion. "I'm afraid it isn't quite up to the mark in military technicalities, but, perhaps, it will answer our purpose."
"It isn't going to do at all, Carolina MIA," returned Rose Tuttle, with an emphatic nod of her head. "If you assume that you were the captain in the fracas, I certainly was first lieutenant, and I'm going to stand by the cap. until the last gun is fired. Give, me that paper."
It was passed to her, and in a clear, bold hand she wrote:
"The captain cannot be allowed to go to the front alone.
"Signed. ROSE ASHLEY TUTTLE, First Lieutenant Co. S, H. V., U. S.
A."
There were grave faces all about her as she read what she had written and then pushed the paper from her.
Presently a voice remarked:
"Girls, good soldiers always follow their leader." Then another figure glided to the table and a third signature was appended to the document.
It was the "bugle call" that fired them all, and in less time than it takes to record it, the name of every other girl in the room was signed underneath, then inclosed in a bracket and the name "Private Co. S, H. V., U. S. A." written outside of it, after which the paper was passed back to Miss Archer.
"Company S, I'm proud of you!" she exclaimed, with crimson cheeks and something very like tears in her eyes.
"I—I hope the professor won't think it is too—too flippant," some one suggested, in a doubtful tone.
"Do you suppose he will, Carrie?" queried Rose, turning to her friend in sudden consternation.
Miss Archer flushed hotly.
"I—don't—know," she said, with a thoughtful pause between each word. "I am sure I did not mean it to sound so. The idea came to me to put it that way when I spoke of the 'commanding officer being held responsible.' I'll tear it up, if you say so, and go and tell him the whole story instead." And she held it up between the thumb and forefinger of both hands as if to suit the act to her words.
"No! no!" "Send it as it is!" "It's all right!" "He'll understand!" cried several voices; though one weak sister murmured, with a plaintive sigh: "I'll be glad when it's all over."
"This having to face a 'court-martial' was overlooked in planning the campaign, hey?" observed another, with a grimace.
"I don't care! It was fun to hear those teachers tugging at their doors for dear life, and I have it from an eyewitness, when Johnson cut Miss Craigis loose she keeled over in the most undignified manner!" laughed a pert young miss, who was one of the giddiest in the class. "And, oh!" she went on, breathlessly, "did you see poor old Webb on the upper floor? It was perfectly killing! She had on that startling palm-leaf kimono—her false front had slipped down over one ear; she had her precious herbarium under one arm, her bird cage in one hand, and a huge hatbox in the other. She was frightened nearly out of her senses, and demanded, right and left, 'Young ladies, where is the fire? oh, where is the fire?'"
A merry shout greeted this graphic description, and it is to be feared that some of the delinquents were not as deeply impressed with the enormity of their recent insubordination as could have been desired.
"Sh! sh! do hush, girls!" cried Miss Archer, waving her paper to enjoin silence, "This will have to be nicely copied in ink, and you'll all have to sign it again. And let me warn you," she added, soberly, "you'd better keep pretty mum about last night, or we will get a bigger pill than will be comfortable to swallow."
She seated herself at the table again and made a neat copy of her document, after which the signatures were carefully appended, then the meeting was dismissed, and the "captain" of the disorderly sophomores went directly to Prof. Seabrook's study.
It was very nearly supper time, and she had reasoned that he would issue an order, at the table, for the class to meet him in one of the recitation rooms, in the near future, to give the guilty ones an opportunity for confession; and her plan was to forestall this summons with the paper she had prepared.
When, in response to her knock, he bade her "come in," it must be confessed that she opened the door with fear and trembling; while something in her bearing and the tense lines of her face at once aroused a suspicion of the nature of her errand in the principal's mind.
"Prof. Seabrook, I have been commissioned to hand you this communication," she gravely said, as she laid, it on the table before him.
"Ah! by whom were you 'commissioned,' Miss Archer?" he inquired, his keen eyes searching her flushed face.
"By—by the parties whose names you will find signed to it."
"And what is the nature of the communication?"
"I—er—it will explain itself," replied the trembling emissary, blushing furiously and averting her eyes.
"Very well; I will give it my earliest attention," the professor returned, but eying the missive curiously.
"Thank you, sir," and, with a nervous bow, entirely at variance with her habitual sang-froid, the girl hurried from the room, her bounding heart causing her to pant as if she had been running a race.
Prof. Seabrook waited until the door closed after her, then unfolded the paper and began to read. But his face grew stern and his brow heavily overcast as his glance hastily swept the page.
After reading it through and noting every signature, he began it again, perusing it more carefully, and, gradually, a gleam of amusement crept into his eyes; his stern features relaxed, and the corners of his mouth twitched suggestively.
"The little mischief is game," he at length observed, "and this document is a very clever stroke of business; though at first it sounded rather pert, as if she were bound to make a joke of the affair. But there is a straightforwardness and an appreciation of Miss Minturn's position in it that rings true. Really, I begin to think that girl is a power for good in the school, in spite of her fanaticism and heresy. Hum!"—reading aloud—"'news of matters pending at headquarters'—it traveled pretty fast; who was the 'scout,' I wonder? Ah! Jennie, of course; the little gossip! Well, Miss Archer, you didn't waste any time before dispatching your flag of truce, and you have rather a fine sense of honor underneath your lawlessness, after all. So you are 'captain' of your company of sophomores! I think we will rob you of your commission and see how you will stand the discipline. 'Co. S, Hilton Volunteers!' pretty good—pretty good!" and a light laugh rippled over the man's lips. "And Miss Tuttle is 'first lieutenant,'" he continued, "and gallantly came forward to share the self-imposed mission of her friend 'to go to the front.' There's pluck there, too; but you are a precocious pair—you two— and keep one busy guessing what you will do next. All the same, with the right check-rein, I believe you'll both make fine women, and—the school would surely lose some of its spice without you."
He carefully refolded the quaint document, locking it in a drawer of his desk, and the next moment the supper bell rang.
A meeting of the faculty was called for that evening, when the communication from the mischief-makers was read and discussed; and, in spite of their lawlessness, which demanded the imposition of a penalty severe enough to insure immunity from future ebullitions of the same nature, the originality and spirit pervading it were thoroughly appreciated by all.
The following day, at dinner, Prof. Seabrook gravely announced that he would meet the sophomore class at four-thirty, that afternoon, in the "north recitation room," and every member was ordered to be present.
There were some quaking hearts during the intervening hours, and there were not a few anxious faces among the thirty-six sophomores gathered in the appointed place, when the principal appeared upon the scene and at once proceeded to business.
"Young ladies," he began, "I have summoned the entire class here in order that those who are innocent of wrong may know that they are no longer under the ban of suspicion, in connection with the disgraceful escapade of Monday night; and, also, that those who were guilty of complicity in it may acknowledge their offense in their presence. Those of you who have made confession to that effect may rise."
Fourteen of the class arose and stood with downcast faces, awaiting what was to follow.
"Were there any other accomplices in the affair?" inquired the principal, glancing around upon those who had remained seated.
No one responded or moved, and he then proceeded to arraign the offenders in no light terms, and not one ever forgot the scathing words that fell from his lips or the shame which followed his vivid portrayal of their hoidenish behavior.
"And now," he said in conclusion, "for two weeks you will forfeit your afternoon recreation hour, and pass it in this room with your books, and with a monitor to preserve order. Miss Archer and Miss Tuttle, who acknowledge having been the ringleaders, will be on probation for the remainder of the year, and any further infringement of rules will be followed by summary expulsion. I will add"—and the professor's stern face relaxed visibly—"that you all have saved yourselves much by your voluntary confession; but the 'Hilton Volunteers' are here and now disbanded for all time. Young ladies, you are dismissed."
Well, it was over, and heavy hearts grew lighter, though there were some who were inclined to grumble over the severity of the penalty.
Carrie Archer and Rose Tuttle made no talk whatever about the matter. Both felt that they had had a narrow escape, and were thankful, even under the sentence of "probation."
Of course, the whole affair was aired and freely discussed by the entire school, and thus Katherine became somewhat conspicuous because of her forced participation in it; while it was interesting to observe how radically the attitude of almost everyone changed towards her, the sophomores, particularly, manifesting the greatest admiration for her.
Miss Archer and Miss Tuttle were the first to express their appreciation of the stand she had taken in their behalf, and her sweet reception of their overtures made them her stanch friends for all time.
"I'll never sneer at Christian Scientists again," Rose afterwards confided to her friend, "for if they are all as lovely and plucky as she has shown herself, we can't have too many of them in the world."
CHAPTER XVI.
A JUNIOR ENTERTAINMENT.
The school year was fast drawing to a close, and every student was busy preparing for examinations and annual exercises, and also looking forward to the pleasurable excitement attending class-day ceremonies, entertainments, receptions, etc.
The first week in June it was customary for the juniors to give a special exhibition, to be followed by a social, with dancing and a fine spread, in honor of the retiring seniors, and upon this grand occasion each student in both classes was privileged to invite some friend from outside.
So much had been said in praise of Katherine's little play and paper on "Transcendentalism," it was suggested they be repeated for the benefit of those who had not heard them, and allow visitors and strangers to guess the conundrum and charade.
The whole school had heard the story of that Junior League meeting, for it had been too good to keep, and it had aroused so much interest, both among teachers and students, the juniors finally persuaded Katherine to reproduce her clever effort.
Besides this, the programme consisted of another original play, written by some of the class, two or three choice selections from the Glee Club, and was to wind up with some fine tableaux.
The important day arrived and was attended by no end of worry, work and excitement. The final rehearsal of the play proved, as is often the case, anything but satisfactory; but when it came to the "last tug of war" in the evening, everything "went off without a hitch," only those behind the scenes being aware of the strenuous efforts put forth to achieve this result.
It was accordingly pronounced "a great success." Katherine's production contributed the element of comedy, while the vocabulary of adjectives was insufficient to express appreciation of the tableaux.
The last one, or "grand finale," is worthy of special mention, for various reasons. It was billed as "The Carnival of Flowers," and included all the members of the junior class. Each was in evening dress and was either profusely decorated with, or carried, an elaborate design of the flower which she had chosen to represent.
Dorothy, who had been unusually comfortable during the two weeks preceding, had been deeply interested in the preparations for this great event, and, one day, when Katherine was consulting Mrs. Seabrook upon some important point, she had exclaimed, with a longdrawn sigh:
"Oh! how I wish I could be in it, too."
"I wish you could, dear," said Katherine, bending to kiss the wistful face. "Well—why can't she?" she added, turning suddenly to Mrs. Seabrook; "she could have a place in the Carnival of Flowers. Will you allow her to?"
Mrs. Seabrook smiled, but there was a sad yearning in her soft eyes as they rested upon her helpless child.
"I hardly think it would do. I am afraid it could not be arranged," she doubtfully replied.
"Indeed it could, and very easily. I have a lovely idea!" said Katherine, eagerly. "Let her take the Calla Lily—no one has chosen that because the flowers are too stiff to trim a dress gracefully. But Dorothy's chair could be transformed into a chariot of lilies, and I am sure they could be so arranged about her that she would look like a fairy in the midst of them. If you are willing I will talk it over with the girls. We will manage everything, so that she will not be wearied with any of the preparations, and I will take charge of her while she is on the stage. I know that she would have a beautiful time."
"Oh, mamma, if I only might!" breathed Dorothy, rapturously, and carried away by the attractive prospect.
"Well, we will talk it over with papa; if he consents I will not say no, and certainly Miss Minturn's suggestion is very alluring," replied her mother, as she bestowed a grateful smile on Katherine.
Prof. Seabrook could see no objection to the plan, and as everybody was always glad to contribute to the enjoyment of the sick girl, the idea was eagerly adopted, and Miss Dorothy was at once chosen to be the central figure in the tableau.
It proved to be a most effective one, with the bevy of gorgeously garlanded maidens artistically grouped around their lily queen, who entered heartily into the spirit of the scene.
The child's chair had indeed been transformed! No one would have recognized it, covered as it was with a wealth of pure white blossoms and dark-green leaves, for it looked more like the throne of a fairy than like anything so ordinary and unpretentious. Mrs. Seabrook, who possessed exquisite taste, had so massed the blossoms around her and daintily perched an inverted one on her head that the effect was exceedingly beautiful and picturesque. Katherine, who had chosen to be "Lady Poppea," made a brilliant foil, on one side, with her garlands and basket of vivid scarlet poppies; while another junior, bedecked with fuchsias, stood on the opposite side and held an umbrella, made of and fringed with the same flowers, protectingly over her; and with a score or more others forming a variegated background, the scene was brilliant and gorgeous beyond description.
The applause was tumultuous; for, aside from the exceeding beauty of the picture, every heart in the audience was touched by the happy little face looking out at them from the midst of her devoted subjects, and the curtain was raised and lowered several times before they could be satisfied.
Then the proud and happy juniors hastily divested themselves of their gay trappings and hurried away to join their friends and trip to inspiring music in the main hall below; thus Katherine was left with Dorothy alone on the stage.
"Wasn't it perfectly lovely, Miss Minturn?" exclaimed the girl in a rapturous tone and with shining eyes. "I never saw you look so pretty, and I never had such a happy time in all my life. I only wish I could have seen the whole of it."
"I think you will, later; or at least something very like it; for, when that flash light was thrown on, as the curtain went up the last time, somebody took a snapshot at us," Katherine replied, smiling fondly into the eager face.
"Oh! who was it?"
"Some one whom you know. Guess!"
"Uncle Phil?"
"Yes; he asked permission of the president of the class. But now I must see about getting you out of this place. I wonder where Alice can be!" said Katherine, looking out towards the deserted dressing room for the nurse, who had promised to be on hand to receive her charge as soon as everything was over.
She had been disconnecting several ropes of flowers that had been attached to the chair while she was talking, and, as no one came to assist her, she now rolled the girl towards the side of the stage, thinking, perhaps, she might get her off herself, as it was not very high.
But she had missed one rope, and, as it trailed along the floor, it swept over a saucer containing some still smoking Greek fire, or red light, that had been carelessly left just where it had been used.
The soft paper ignited in an instant, and the next moment the lower part of the lily chariot was ablaze.
"Oh! Miss Minturn!" shrieked Dorothy, "save me! save me!"
For a second Katherine thought she would faint.
The next she snatched a portiere that had been used in one of the tableaux and left upon the floor, and wrapped it closely around the burning paper, beating it with her hands and doing her utmost to smother the cruel flames. "Don't be afraid, dear," she said to the girl, who, after that one half-crazed appeal, seemed to be paralyzed with fear, "you are God's child—you cannot be harmed. He is Life, and there are no fatalities in His realm, 'though thou walk through the fire thou shalt not be burned.'"
She did not know that she was talking aloud; she was not conscious of what she was saying; she only knew that she was reaching out, with her whole soul, to the ever-present Love wherein lay protection and safety, and all the time mechanically pulling the portiere closer about the chair.
Suddenly she heard a low, startled exclamation, saw Dorothy snatched from among the smoke-blackened lilies and passed along to Alice, who at last had appeared upon the scene; then, as in a dream, she felt herself enveloped in a shawl which was drawn so tightly about her skirts that she could not move, and saw Dr. Stanley's pale, anxious face looking down into hers, while he told her, in calm, reassuring tones, that there was nothing to fear.
"Can you stand so for a minute while I look after that still smoking chair?" he presently asked, and putting a corner of the shawl into her hand to hold.
Fortunately it was her left hand, and she grasped it mechanically, while she tried to mentally deny the well-nigh unbearable pain that was making itself felt in her right hand and wrist.
It was the work of but two or three minutes to crush out the last smoldering spark among the ruined lilies, for the flames had been effectually smothered by Katherine's presence of mind in wrapping the portiere about them and by her vigorous beating.
Then the physician turned again to her and gently removed the shawl from her burned and disfigured skirts.
"It is all out, thank God!" he said, after carefully looking her over. "It was a narrow escape for you and Dorrie, as well as from a serious conflagration. Now tell me, Miss Minturn, are you burned?" he concluded, searching her white face with troubled eyes.
She tried to smile as she glanced down at her ruined dress.
"A few dollars will make it all right, and that doesn't matter," she returned evasively, but with lips that quivered in spite of her effort at self-control.
"You were badly frightened, poor child! but it is over," he gently observed, the tense lines of his face softening in a reassuring smile.
Then, seeing that she was keeping her right hand out of sight, he reached down and drew it forward into the light.
"Miss Minturn!" he exclaimed, as he saw the reddened flesh and three great blisters, "you did it beating out the fire to save Dorothy. Come with me and I will dress it immediately."
"No," she said, setting her teeth resolutely; "go to her; I shall do very well. Go!" she repeated, almost sharply, "for I saw that she had fainted when Alice took her."
His brow contracted, and for an instant he seemed on the point of insisting upon taking care of her first.
Then he drew forth his handkerchief and folded it gently about her hand, saying:
"Well, if I must; but go you directly to your room and I will come to you as soon as I can."
Katherine could bear no more, and, turning abruptly from him, sped from the place.
As she passed out of the lecture hall, she almost ran into Miss
Reynolds, who was on her way downstairs.
"Katherine!" she cried, aghast, as she caught sight of her pain- contracted face, the handkerchief on her hand and her smoke- blackened clothes, "what has happened?"
"Oh! may I go to your room?" gasped the girl.
"Of course; come," and without another word the woman turned and led the way.
"Lock the door and don't let anyone in," said Katherine, as she sank into the nearest chair and covered her face with her well hand.
Miss Reynolds quietly obeyed, then went to her desk and began to read aloud, in a calm, clear voice, from the open "Science and Health" that lay upon it.
For half an hour she kept on without stopping; but she then began to be conscious that effectual work was being done, for, at first, the sufferer sitting behind her had been unable to keep still a moment; but gradually she became less restless, and at the end of forty-five minutes had grown perfectly quiet and lay back in her chair, her face pale but peaceful.
"Dear Miss Reynolds, you must go now. I must not keep you any longer," she said, at length.
"My child, I shall not leave you while you need me," her teacher returned, and, going to her side, she tenderly smoothed back the dark hair from her forehead.
"I am much easier, so do not mind leaving me. You will be missed, and some one will be coming for you; just let me stay here for a while and be sure not to tell anyone where I am, or why I am among the missing," Katherine pleaded, for she did not wish Dr. Stanley to learn her whereabouts, knowing he would seek her and insist upon dressing her burns.
"I will be very discreet; but I am going to keep you with me all night," her teacher replied. "Now, if you can bear it, I will help you off with your clothes. You shall have one of my night-robes and go straight to bed."
With fine tact she had refrained from asking a single question; but the suffering face, the pretty dress all burned and discolored, the handkerchief wrapped about her hand, told her something of what had occurred, and she could wait until later for details.
She dexterously assisted her to undress; but while doing so the handkerchief was displaced and dropped to the floor and she had to shut her lips resolutely to repress the cry of pity that almost escaped her as she saw what it had covered. The next instant she was mentally repeating the "scientific statement of being," [Footnote: "Science and Health," page 468.] while she quietly replaced the square of linen and pinned it to keep it in place. Then, with a grateful smile and a sigh of content, Katherine slipped into bed and sank upon her pillow.
"Now go, please," she begged again, "and find out, if you can, how
Dorothy is."
"No, Kathie, I am not going just yet," was the decided reply, though there was a startled heart-bound at the girl's reference to Dorothy. She asked no questions, however, but, going back to her desk, continued her reading as before.
In about fifteen minutes she glanced towards the bed and saw by her regular breathing that Katherine had fallen asleep. She bowed her head upon her book for a moment, and when she lifted it again there were tears on her cheeks, and in her eyes "a light that was ne'er on sea or land."
Turning the gas low, she slipped softly out of the room and went downstairs to join the gay company who were all unconscious of what had been going on above.
Five minutes later Dr. Stanley came to her, his fine face overcast and anxious.
"Miss Reynolds, can you give me any information regarding Miss Minturn?" he inquired, adding: "I have been looking for her for nearly an hour, and no one seems to know where she is. I suppose you have heard about the accident?"
"An accident?" repeated the lady, inquiringly. "Yes," and he proceeded to give a brief account of the narrow escape in the lecture hall. "I told Miss Minturn to go to her room," he continued, "and I would come to her as soon as I had ascertained if all was well with Dorothy. The child is all right; she was simply frightened and lost consciousness for a few moments. But Miss Minturn was badly burned, on her hand and arm, and her beautiful dress is a wreck. Mrs. Seabrook and I have been to her room; no one was there, nor can anyone give us a clew to her whereabouts," and the gentleman looked really distressed as he concluded.
Miss Reynolds had been doing some practical thinking while he was talking, and now observed:
"Well, Dr. Stanley, to relieve your anxiety, I will tell you that she is in my room, where she will remain all night. But I have disobeyed her injunction to tell no one where she is. Fortunately, I met her just as she was leaving the lecture hall, and she begged shelter with me. I have but just left her."
"But she must have attention—her burns must be dressed," said the physician, in a tone of professional authority.
"That will not be necessary, for she is asleep and resting quietly."
"Asleep! impossible!" interposed the man, emphatically; "that is, unless she has taken a powerful opiate."
"She has had nothing of the kind," was the quiet answer.
"Then I repeat—it would be impossible for her to sleep," Dr. Stanley asserted, with a note of impatience in his tone. "Why, only an hour has elapsed since the accident, and, with those burns, it would be many hours before she could get any rest or relief without an opiate. I know," he added, flushing, "she is a Christian Scientist, but I can't quite swallow such a miracle as that."
"Nevertheless, my friend, the dear girl, is sleeping peacefully— or was, ten minutes ago," the lady smilingly returned.
"Did she put anything on those burns?"
"Nothing."
"Do you believe she 'demonstrated,' as they express it, over the pain?"
"I know," she softly replied.
"Ah!"—with a start—"are you—"
Again she smiled as she interposed:
"I must not say too much about that just now. I will say this, however: I have seen and learned enough to make me wish to know more, for Katherine Minturn is an earnest, honest exponent of her religion. I am very fond of her—she is one of the loveliest girls I have ever known."
"I can heartily agree with you on that point," replied Phillip Stanley, gravely. "But I was hoping that I could be of service to her, for we owe her much for her wonderful presence of mind and practical common sense. But for that Dorothy would have been badly burned and a great sufferer at this moment, instead of having gone to bed the happiest girl in the building and full of gratitude to Miss Minturn for giving her so much pleasure. Will you say to her, if there is any way I can serve her, I shall be only too glad of the opportunity?"
"Indeed I will, and I shall slip away very soon and go back to her, although I am sure she does not really need me. I am glad for her sake, however, that tomorrow will be Saturday."
"May I tell my sister what you have told me?" Dr. Stanley inquired. "I know it would greatly relieve her mind, for she is much disturbed because Miss Minturn cannot be found."
"Yes; I am sure Kathie would be willing, under the circumstances. I know her only fear was that she might be found before her work was done," Miss Reynolds said, after considering a moment. "I think," she added, "she would prefer not to have Dorothy told anything, except, perhaps, that her dress was injured."
"Yes; it would mar her pleasure," her companion observed; "in fact, we have said nothing about the contretemps to anyone but the faculty as yet, fearing it might spoil the evening for many. We cannot be too thankful that it was no worse; if it had occurred before that last tableau was over, there is no telling how serious it might have been, with so many thin dresses and all those paper flowers," he concluded, gravely, then bowed himself away.
After making the round of the room, Miss Reynolds sought Sadie and told her that as Katherine was not feeling quite herself, she would spend the night with her; then she stole away and went back to her charge.
Katherine aroused when she entered the room, but showed no signs of present suffering.
"How is Dorothy?" she questioned, eagerly.
"She was not harmed in the least, and 'went to bed the happiest girl in the building,' so I was told."
Katherine heaved a sigh of relief.
She asked for a glass of water and drank thirstily when it was brought to her.
"Can I do anything more for you, Kathie?" her friend inquired.
The girl's eyes wandered to the books on her desk.
"Shall I read?—what?"
"The twenty-third psalm, please."
Miss Reynolds found and read it as given and interpreted in "Science and Health": "Divine Love is my Shepherd; I shall not want. Love maketh me to lie down in green pastures; Love leadeth me beside still waters;" [Footnote: "Science and Health," page 16.] and so on to the end.
Then she turned to her own marker and read for herself a while.
The room was very quiet, for the revelers below were so far away they could not be heard. Only a strain of music from the orchestra was now and then wafted on a gentle breeze to them through an open window.
Suddenly a deep sigh from the bed fell upon the reader's ear. She started and turned toward her charge.
"'Love'—'still waters,'" murmured Katherine, then turned like a tired child on her pillow and was again locked in slumber.
Softly, Miss Reynolds laid aside her festal attire, made a nest for herself on her roomy couch and, to the faintly flowing rhythm of "The Beautiful Blue Danube," soon lost herself in dreamland, never waking until the brilliant sun of a glorious June morning flooded her room and warned her that a new day had begun.