Now that the break-up day was so near, nothing was talked of in the school but the coming examinations, the prizes, and the delightful fair which was to bring such honor and renown to Mulberry Court. The school resembled a little busy hive of eager, animated workers. Even play during these last days was forgotten, and everyone, from the eldest to the youngest, was pressed into the service of the fair.

When the matter was first proposed, Mrs. Freeman had said to the girls: "You are abundantly welcome to try the experiment. My share will consist in giving you a large marquee or tent; everything else you must do yourselves. I shall invite people to see your efforts and to buy your wares. Each girl who contributes to the bazaar will be allowed to ask two or three guests to be present; the only stipulation I have to make is that you don't produce a failure; you are bound, for the honor of the school, to make the fair a success."

The programme for the great day was something as follows: The examinations were to be held in the morning. Immediately afterward the prize-winners would receive their awards; there would be an interval for dinner; and at three o'clock the great fair would be opened, and sales would continue until dusk.

The girls who were to sell at the stalls were all to be dressed in white with green ribbons. Mrs. Freeman had herself selected this quiet and suitable dress; she had done this with a special motive, for she was particularly anxious that Biddy should have no opportunity of displaying her finery.

The evening before the great and important day arrived. Evelyn had purchased a great many useful and beautiful articles for her stall. She and Dolly were to be the saleswomen; and Mrs. Freeman had arranged that the principal stall should be at the top end of the large marquee. Janet felt a sarcastic smile curling her lips when this arrangement was made.

"It does not really matter," she said to herself; "Bridget's and my stall will be exactly in the center. The light from the entrance to the tent will fall full upon it. After all, we shall have a better position, even than that occupied by the head stall." She kept her thoughts to herself. Her spirits had never been better, her manners never more amiable, than since the day of her visit to Lady Kathleen. The girls who were working under her were very busy, and much delighted with the basket of beautiful things which had been brought from Eastcliff, but about any further contributions Janet was absolutely silent.

On the afternoon of the day before the bazaar, Bridget came into the bedroom which was shared by Janet and one other girl. "Mrs. Freeman tells me that you are going into Eastcliff," she said.

"Yes," replied Janet, "I'm to drive in with Marshall. There has been a mistake about some of the confectionery, and Mrs. Freeman wants me to go to Dovedale's, in the High Street, without delay, to order some more cheese cakes, creams, and jellies. Frances Murray ought really to attend to this, for she is to manage the refreshment stall, but she happens to be in bed with a stupid headache. What's the matter, Bridget? How excited you look! and, good gracious, my dear! you have been crying; your eyes have red rims round them."

"I have had a letter from home," said Bridget, "and Pat Donovan is ill: he fell off the ladder and hurt his back. Norah Mahoney wrote about him—she's awfully troubled. Poor Norah, she is engaged to Pat, you know; she's says he's very bad, poor boy!"

"Who in the world is Pat Donovan? and who is Norah Mahoney?" asked Janet, as she hastily drew on her gauntlet gloves. "Friends of yours, of course. But I never heard of them before."

"They are very dear friends of mine," replied Bridget; "they are two of the servants; I love them very much. Poor, poor Pat! Norah has been engaged to him for years and years, and now only to think of his being hurt so dreadfully! Norah wrote me such a sad letter. I'll read it to you, if you like."

"No thanks, my dear; I really have no time to listen to the sorrows of your servants. It is too absurd, Bridget, to go on like that! Why, you're crying again, you great baby! I thought, when you spoke of them, that you meant people in your own rank."

"I won't tell you any more!" said Biddy, coloring crimson. "You have no heart, or you wouldn't speak in that horrid tone! Dear, dear Pat! I'm ten thousand times fonder of him than I am of anyone else in the world, except father and the dogs, and, perhaps, Aunt Kathleen. I used to ride on his shoulder all over the farm when I was quite a little tot!"

"Well, my dear, I must run now. I am sorry that I can't sympathize with you."

"Yes; but, Janet, one moment. I want to send a little present to Pat; I can, for Aunt Kathleen gave me five pounds. I want to send him a post-office order for two pounds, and I want to know if you will get it for me. Here's the letter, all written, and here are the two sovereigns. Will you get a postal order and put it into the letter for me, Janet, and then post it at Eastcliff?"

"But you are going home yourself in a couple of days."

"Oh! that doesn't matter; I wouldn't leave Pat a hour longer than I could help without his letter. You may fancy how fond I am of him, when I tell you that he has the care of Minerva and the pups."

"I think you're a great goose," said Janet. "But there's no time to argue. Give me the money, child, and let me go."

"Be sure you post the letter in good time," said Bridget. "Here it is; I haven't closed it."

She laid the directed envelope on Janet's dressing table, put the two sovereigns on the top of it, and ran off.

The whole place was in bustle and confusion. Many of the girls were packing their trunks preparatory to the great exodus which would take place the day after to-morrow. Evelyn and her favorite friends were sitting in the large summerhouse which faced the front of the house. They were chatting and laughing merrily, and seeing Biddy they called to her to come and join them. Her impulse was to rush to them, and pour out some of her troubles in Dolly's kind ears; but then she remembered certain sarcastic sayings of Janet's. Janet's many insinuations were taking effect on her.

"They all look good enough up in that summerhouse," she said to herself; "but according to Janet they are each of them shams. Oh, dear, dear, what a horrid place the world is! I don't think there's anyone at all nice in it, except father and the dogs, and Pat and Norah. Aunt Kathie is pretty well, but even she is taken in by Janet. I don't think school is doing me any good; I hate it more and more every day. I shan't join the girls in the summerhouse; I'll go away and sit by myself."

She turned down a shady walk, and presently seating herself under a large tree, and, clasping her hands round her knees, she began to think with pleasure of the fast approaching holidays.

While Bridget was so occupied, two ladies passed at a little distance arm in arm. They were Miss Delicia and the English mistress, Miss Dent. These two were always good friends; they were both kind-hearted, and inclined to indulge the girls. They were great favorites, and were supposed to be very easily influenced.

When she saw them approach, Bridget glanced lazily round. They did not notice her, but made straight for the little rustic bower close to the tree under which she was sitting.

"I can't account for it," said Miss Dent. "Of course, I have always found plenty of faults in Bridget O'Hara, but I never did think that she would stoop to dishonor."

Bridget locked her hands tightly together; a great wave of angry color mounted to her temples. Her first impulse was to spring to her feet, to disclose herself to the two ladies, and angrily demand the meaning of their words. Then a memory of something Violet had said came over her; she sat very still; she was determined to listen.

"I think you must be mistaken, Sarah," said Miss Delicia to her friend. "I know my sister, Mrs. Freeman, thinks that Bridget, with all her faults, has a fine character. I heard her saying so to Patience one day. Patience, poor dear, just lacks the very thing she was called after, and Henrietta said to her: 'The material is raw, but it is capable of being fashioned into something noble.' I must say I agreed with Henrietta."

"My dear Delicia," responded the other lady, "am I unjust, suspicious, or wanting in charity?"

"No, Sarah; Patience—poor Patience—does fail in those respects occasionally; but no one can lay these sins to your door."

"I am glad to hear you say so. Now you must listen to the following facts. You know what a queer medley that poor girl's mind is in; she has a good deal of knowledge of a certain kind: she has poetic fancy, and brilliant imagination, she has a lovely singing voice, and the expression she throws into her music almost amounts to genius; nevertheless, where ordinary school work is concerned, the girl is an absolute ignoramus. Her knowledge of geography is a blank. Kamschatka may be within a mile of London, for all she knows to the contrary, Africa may be found at the opposite side of the Straits of Dover; her spelling is too atrocious for words. As to arithmetic, she is a perfect goose whenever she tries to conquer the smallest and simplest sum."

"Well, my dear," interrupted Miss Delicia, "granted all this, the poor child has been sent to school to be taught, I suppose. I can't see why she should be accused of dishonor because she is ignorant."

"My dear friend, you must allow me to continue. I am coming to my point immediately. When Bridget first came to school, she was placed in the lowest class in the middle school. She was with girls a couple of years her juniors. Mrs. Freeman was much distressed at this arrangement, for Bridget is not only fifteen—she arrived at that age since she came to school—but she is a remarkably developed, grown-up-looking girl for her years; to have to do lessons, therefore, with little girls of twelve and thirteen was in every way bad for her.

"There was no help for it, however, and we had really to strain a point to keep her out of the lower school.

"For two or three weeks Biddy did as badly as any girl with a reasonable amount of brains could. Each day we felt that we must take her out of the middle school. Then occurred that unfortunate accident, when Evelyn Percival was so nearly hurt. That seemed to bring things to a crisis. Bridget was punished, you remember?"

"Yes," said Miss Delicia, nodding her wise head, "I remember perfectly."

"Bridget was punished," continued Miss Dent, "but on that day also she submitted to authority. The next morning she took her usual place in class, but—lo and behold! there was a marked and sudden improvement. Her spelling was correct, the different places in the world began to assume their relative positions. Her sums were more than good. In two or three days she had risen to the head of her class; she was moved into a higher one, and took a high place in that also. This state of things continued for a fortnight; we were all in delight, for the girl had plenty about her to win our interest. All she wanted to make her one of the most popular girls in the school was attention to the rules, and a certain power of getting on at her lessons.

"This golden fortnight in Biddy's life, however, came to an end. Her aunt, Lady Kathleen Peterham, called a week ago, and took her and Janet May to Eastcliff. On that very morning Bridget had absolutely no lessons to say; she had not written out her theme, she had not learned her geography; her sum book was a blank. From that day she has returned to her normal state of ignorance; her lessons are as hopelessly badly learnt as ever."

"Well, well," said Miss Delicia, "I am sorry for the poor child. That rather silly aunt of hers probably turned her brain, but I cannot even now see how you make her conduct dishonorable. She's a naughty child, of course, and we must spur her on to greater efforts next time; but as to her being wanting in honor, that's a strong word, Sarah."

"Wait a minute," said Miss Dent. "You know the girls have to give up all their exercise books a couple of days before the examinations? Bridget handed me hers a couple of days ago. Her books were disgraceful—blotty, untidy, almost illegible. I examined them in hopeless despair. Suddenly my eyes were arrested; I was looking through the English themes.

"'Ah!' I said, 'here is the little oasis in the desert; these are the exercises Biddy wrote during the fortnight she was so good.'

"I suppose it was the force of the contrast, but I looked at these neatly written, absolutely correct, well spelled pages in astonishment. Busy as I was, I felt obliged to read one of the little essays over again; the subject was 'Julius CÆsar.' Bridget went up to the top of her class for the masterly way in which she had worked out her little essay. I read it over again, in perplexity and admiration. The English was correct, the style vigorous; there were both conciseness and thought in the well turned sentences. One phrase, however, struck on my ear with a curious sense of familiarity. At first I said to myself, 'I remarked this sentence when Bridget read her theme aloud, that is the reason why it is so familiar,' but my mind was not satisfied with this explanation. Like a flash I remembered where I had seen it before. I said to myself the child has got this out of Pearson's book of English extracts. Her essay is admirable, even without this concluding thought. I must tell her to put marks of quotation another time when she uses phrases not her own. I rose and went to the bookcase, and taking down Pearson, looked out his remarks on Julius CÆsar. My dear Delicia, judge of my feelings; the little essay was copied word for word from Pearson's book! It was a daring act, and, putting the wickedness out of sight, almost a silly one, for to quote from such a well-known author as Pearson was naturally almost to invite discovery. All the good, carefully written essays were copied from the same volume. I can at last understand why Bridget has fallen back into her old state of hopeless ignorance. I can also, alas! understand that golden fortnight of promise."

"But this is dreadful!" said Miss Delicia. "What have you done; have you told my sister yet?"

"No, I wanted to consult you before I spoke to anyone else on the matter."

Bridget got up slowly and softly, and moved away down the shady path; the two ladies did not see her as she went. She soon found herself standing on the open lawn in front of the house. The great marquee was being put up there; several workmen were busy, and little girls were fluttering about like gay, happy butterflies. Alice, Violet, and two or three more ran up to her when they saw her. "We are making wreaths of evergreens; won't you help us, Bridget?" they exclaimed.

"No," she said; "I have a headache—don't worry me." She turned abruptly away and walked down the avenue.

She had no longer any wish to break the rules, but she thought she would wait about near the entrance gates, in order to catch Janet on her way back from Eastcliff.

The girls were all busy round the marquee, and Bridget had this part of the avenue to herself; she went and stood near an ivy-covered wall; leaned her elbows against the trunk of a tree, and waited; a motionless, but pretty figure, her gay ribbons streaming about her, her hat pushed back from her forehead, her puzzled, troubled eyes looking on the ground.

Bridget knew that Janet would be back within an hour. It mattered very little to her how long she had to wait; she felt too stunned and sore to be troubled by any keen sense of impatience.