It was the custom at The Red Gables for the entire school to meet together, and in the presence of their teachers to have tea together during the first evening of each term. Afterwards the Upper and the Lower School might still remain in the great central hall, talking with their mutual friends and discussing how and where the holidays were spent. This evening was looked forward to with deep interest by all the old pupils; they had so much to say, to inquire about, to whisper together. For the rules were very strict, and except in the case of a holiday, or the Saturday half-holiday, the pupils of the Upper and Lower Schools never met except on this one precious evening. But while the old pupils delighted in these few moments of reunion, the new pupils—when there were new pupils—did not find this time of mutual confab so agreeable. They, poor things, felt strange and out in the cold, and as a rule longed for the moment when they might cross the quadrangle and retire to their own rooms. The Red Gables was an old-fashioned house, built round three sides of a square. This gave it a slightly foreign appearance. On the fourth side a great archway was flung across where the square opened on to the long avenue, which was very broad and straight. The left wing of The Red Gables was devoted to the Lower School. Here also slept Miss Archdale, the clever and delightful second English teacher. Here was to be found Miss Smith, the beloved of all sick or sorrowful children, and here also, on the upper floor, slept the servants of the establishment. The children here—with the exception of little Elisabeth Douglas, who had her own small room on the second floor—slept in two long and very cheerful dormitories. One dormitory was on the first and the other on the second floor. At the end of each dormitory was a small room occupied by a teacher. There was also a large sitting-room downstairs for the use of the girls in wet or cold weather, but this room was unlike the luxurious sitting-room of the Upper School. It was plainly and almost severely furnished, and had a high The fact was this: Mrs. Fleming, having a reason in all she did or said, made it a great object that her pupils should realise that promotion to the Upper School was worth waiting for and worth striving for, so that those girls who were really worthy, quite irrespective of age, might go there. This being the case, there were now and then times in the history of The Red Gables when up to twelve girls would be members of the Upper School, while only eight remained in the Lower. Of late years, it is true, this was not the case; and the good lady wondered, without in the least knowing the cause—namely, the baneful influence of The Imp. The Imp was a great correspondent, and had learned from her friends and satellites, the Dodds, that a most peculiar Irish girl—a sort of raw material—was coming to the school. The Dodds lived in a huge, vulgar-looking place called Hillside, in the same parish as the Welsh family. Mr. Dodd had made his money in pigs, and had built Hillside some years before this story begins. His one object was to get in with the County, and the object of the said County was to avoid him and his vulgar, red-faced wife and singularly plain daughters. The link between the County and himself seemed to John Dodd to be the clergyman of the place, and in consequence he tried to make great friends with the Welsh family. It was entirely on account of them that he got his daughters admitted into Mrs. Fleming’s school. The Misses Dodd were quite as commonplace as their The first evening passed as usual. The girls assembled in the great hall and stared at each other. Peggy found herself standing close to Molly, who instinctively put out her hand and linked it in that of her little friend. Peggy felt a warm rush of something like gratitude filling her heart, then her bright eyes, blue as sapphires, shining like stars, fixed themselves on the equally bold black eyes of The Imp. There was an instant challenge between those two pairs of eyes. Peggy held herself very erect. The Imp also drew herself up as high as she could—she was a tiny creature, and really exquisitely made—and looked at Anne Dodd, and Anne Dodd laughed. This laugh was very bad manners, and would not have been permitted had any of the governesses been by. “But I must, Peggy, and you know you’re no coward; and you also know—you are quite sure, you are certain—that nothing will happen to you, darling.” “Oh I—I can’t go over there alone. Oh, she lives over there!” “Who do you mean by she, Peggy?” “That thing with black eyes, that stare and stare at me.” But just at that moment other eyes looked compassionately into Peggy’s; they were the wistful, thoughtful, pleading eyes of the little creature Elisabeth Douglas. She was wearing her peculiar dress of striped scarlet and yellow. On her little head was placed her dainty scarlet cap. Her pale face became suddenly illumined with a brilliant colour. Elisabeth went up to Peggy and held out her little hand. “I will take care of you,” she said. There was something wonderfully touching in the tone of the almost baby voice. Peggy looked beyond her, and encountered the affectionate gaze of Chloe, the large, very stout mulatto woman. “I’m all right,” said Peggy suddenly. “I’ll go wid her. She’s a little duck, she’s almost as good for all the worruld as a hin. Good-night, Molly; I’ll see ye some time to-morrow.” Molly did not like to say to Peggy that she could not by any possibility see her until the following Saturday “What a queer, nice child!” said Alison. “Yes,” said Molly very eagerly. “I’m so glad you like her; but do you know, Alison, I’m awfully frightened about her?” “Why?” asked Alison. “I can’t half tell you what she is or what she’s like.” “Well, shall we go up to our sitting-room and talk?” said Alison. “There’s so much we have to say, these summer holidays are so long; for my part I am very glad to be at school again. Heigho! it’s my last year, my very last; to think of it, girls—to think of it!” “Well, don’t think of it to-night, Ally darling,” said another girl belonging to the school, running up to Alison and kissing her. Suddenly Bridget O’Donnell came up and spoke to Jessie. “Is that new girl Irish?” she asked. “Need you ask?” was Jessie’s reply. “I thought she must be. I am ever so glad.” “Are you?” said Jessie. “That’s because you don’t know her.” “And you don’t know me,” retorted Bridget, “or you wouldn’t suppose, even for a single moment, that I could be anything but glad to see a fellow countrywoman in the same school.” “A fellow countrywoman!” echoed Jessie, “fellow country baby, if you like! Why, she’s a regular little brat, “Oh hush!” said Bridget, “it isn’t kind of you, Jessie.” “I know it isn’t, Bridget; but you can’t imagine what we have been suffering from that girl. Since her arrival, at the very beginning of the holidays, we haven’t had one minute’s peace or comfort. Since she came to live with us I can’t tell you what it’s been like!” “Well, I have a lot of things to talk over,” said Bridget. “I want to call a private council. Please may I, Alison?” “Of course you may, Biddy, my dear,” replied Alison, looking with some surprise at Bridget as she spoke. Bridget suddenly darted about the hall, collecting her several friends, and a few minutes later ten girls were assembled in a sort of circle in the lovely sitting-room. How cosy and bright it looked! How homelike, with its ten compartments each filled with the treasures of the girl to whom the said compartment belonged! How brilliantly the fire burnt in the grate! The easy-chairs were drawn up, the circle widened, the doors were shut. Lights, except the light of the fire, were extinguished. Then Bridget suddenly sprang to her feet. “Now I have got something to say,” was her remark. “Well, whenever you have anything to say, Biddy, I will acknowledge this—it’s worth listening to,” was Alison’s answer. “It’s about The Imp,” said Bridget. They all looked very grave when she said this; a dead silence fell over the room. The girls, including Marcia and Angela Welsh, pressed a little nearer, and some quick, hurried breaths were drawn from more than one pair of lips. “Oh but I don’t think we could,” said Alison, “you know what it would mean, don’t you, Bridget?” “Yes,” said Bridget. “I know quite well what it would mean. I have been thinking it over at night during the holidays, when I have lain awake. I have been thinking it over also in the daytime, when I ought to have been enjoying myself, and I tell you, girls, it downright hurts me. It isn’t right, that’s what it isn’t, and nothing will ever make me think it’s right! When I got home to-day—for you know I call this darling old place home—one of the first things I noticed was the wicked way that Imp looked at poor little——What’s the name of your friend, Molly?” “Peggy Desmond.” “At poor little Peggy Desmond. She will make that child’s life unbearable.” Jessie burst into a peal of laughter. “Little you know, Peggy, if you think any one will make her life unbearable! She’ll just have her own way, and be a match for The Imp if any one can.” “If I could think that!” said Bridget. “I wish I might “And now, suppose you did speak to her,” said Alison, “what would you say?” Bridget looked a little puzzled at this. “There it is!” continued Alison. “We all suspect her, we none of us like her; but there isn’t a single girl in the school who can lay any wrong, absolute wrong-doing, at her door; all we can say about her is that we don’t like her. And when it comes to that, have we a right to ruin a girl’s future by making mischief?” “But when every girl in the whole school dislikes her, except those Dodds, there must be a reason for it,” pursued Bridget. “Oh Biddy, you are Irish, you truly are!” said Molly, running up to her friend at this moment and kissing her. “I couldn’t bear the look on that other dear little Irish girl’s face, that seemed to finish me altogether,” said Bridget O’Donnell at that moment. “I wish you’d tell us about her, tell us something of her story; how is it she has come to you?” “Oh don’t let us wander now from the subject under discussion. I’ll tell you her story in half-a-dozen lines,” said Jessie. “She is the daughter of an old friend of father’s, and father has gone mad about her. Her father is dead, she was brought up in an Irish cabin, she doesn’t know how to behave as a lady, she has turned our house topsy-turvy, she has made us all miserable, and “You’re a very queer girl!” said Bridget. “Well, I must say that I don’t like The Imp. I’m certain she works for evil in the school. I don’t know what there is about her; but I never feel happy in her presence, and I think she is doing her utmost to effect a bad influence over that dear little child, Elisabeth Douglas.” “Well, Elisabeth took to Peggy; she went away holding Peggy’s hand.” “Yes, a nice quarrel there’ll be to-night between Peggy and The Imp,” said Jessie with a laugh. “Fancy anybody daring to come in the way of one of The Imp’s favourites!” The girls talked a little longer on the subject of The Imp, it was discussed more and more fully, and after a great deal of conversation it was finally decided that for the present nothing was to be told with regard to this peculiar girl, but that she was to be watched, and the girls would have a further consultation at the end of a fortnight, when, if necessary, they would speak to Mrs. Fleming on the subject. Bridget O’Donnell went to bed that night feeling really unhappy. Her little room was so cosy, everything was so nice and comfortable, but the dark-blue eyes of the other Irish child seemed to haunt her. She wanted to kiss that child, to put her arms round her, to say to her, “I too, come from the Emerald Isle; I too come from the land Peggy herself, still holding little Elisabeth’s hand, went across the quadrangle to the left wing, where the Lower School was situated. There she was met by Miss Archdale, who spoke very kindly and said: “Oh you are our dear, new little pupil,” and then, bending down, she kissed little Elisabeth. “What is your name, dear?” she said in a kind tone to Peggy. “Why thin, me name’s nothing at all,” replied Peggy. “I don’t quite understand you, dear. What did you say?” “I said nothing at all, wisha thin.” “Wisha thin!” There came a mocking laugh. Peggy raised her blue eyes. There was The Imp looking at her over the balusters—The Imp in a scarlet dress, in which she looked more bewitching and imp-like than usual. The Imp was bending forward. “Wisha thin!” she said, “Wisha thin! The top of the mornin’ to ye, or the top of the evenin’ belike!” In one moment, in a flash, Peggy had dropped the hand of her little companion, had rushed upstairs, and taking The Imp by the two shoulders, had shaken her violently, until the angry and enraged little girl had to cry for mercy. “Now thin, that’s for yer bad manners, bad cess to ye! Don’t ye be goin’ on like that, don’t ye be talking like that, for I won’t have it! Do ye hear—do ye hear—do ye hear?” “Come, Peggy, come, you must stop this,” said Miss Peggy let go The Imp’s shoulders, pushed her violently towards Anne Dodd, and then turned to Miss Archdale. “I’ve relieved meself a bit,” she said. “Where am I to slape, tell me, please?” Miss Archdale took the girl’s hand, little Elisabeth clinging once again to Peggy’s other hand. They walked up the stairs in the direction of the supper-room. “First of all I will take you to your dormitory,” said Miss Archdale. “What on earth’s a dormitory?” asked Peggy. “It is where you are to sleep.” “Is it sleep?” “Yes, sleep.” “Is there a bed there?” “Of course there is.” “Oh my! Well, I suppose I dished her; I shook her pretty rough.” “You must not do that sort of thing again, Peggy, it won’t do.” “Mustn’t I? But she mustn’t take me off, I tell ye, Miss—what’s yer name?” “Archdale.” “I can’t go round that word at all, and it’s plain that I can’t.” “Well, don’t mind it to-night, my dear.” Just then some one crept up behind, snatched little Elisabeth violently away from Peggy, and rushed off with her. The child began to kick and scream, and Peggy would have flown after the two had not Miss Archdale’s detaining hand kept her back. “Come, Peggy Desmond,” she said, “this won’t do. I “Ye mane by obedience that one girl is to do as she likes, and the other is to do nothing? Bedad, I don’t see the sinse of that, nohow.” “There is plenty of sense in what I say, Peggy. Now come, come, my dear. The little girl will be with her nurse, and you shall see plenty of her to-morrow. And I will speak to Kitty Merrydew. She must not attempt to take you off. I certainly won’t allow it.” “Faix ye needn’t bother. I’ll pay her out!” “But that is just what you mustn’t do, you must leave those sort of things to me.” Peggy laughed. “Is it likely?” she said. Miss Archdale pretended not to hear this last remark. They had now entered the lower dormitory, where five girls slept; the upper dormitory had only four inmates, as little Elisabeth and her nurse had a room to themselves. “You are rather lucky in one way, Peggy,” said Miss Archdale, “your bed is next to my room. I sleep here. If anybody worries you or does anything to annoy you, you have only to open your door and come to me at once. I hope you won’t be annoyed or frightened, my dear; I shall speak to the girls about you. I am glad to say that Kitty Merrydew sleeps in the dormitory upstairs, and has nothing to do with this room. You will, therefore, be quite comfortable here.” “Ah thin, thank ye, ma’am, for that same.” “I hope you will be happy with us, Peggy; we want you to be happy.” “Ye’re not at all likely to have yer wish thin, ma’am.” “And why not, my child?” “Because ’tis me heart is breakin’, ma’am; it’s breakin’ “I’m afraid I have; but of course all good and brave girls learn to conquer that, Peggy; if they cannot, they had far better be out of the world.” “Is that truth ye’re speakin’, ma’am?” “I am speaking the truth. ‘He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city.’ The blessed, beautiful Bible says that, and it is true.” “Say thim words again for me, ma’am.” Miss Archdale did so. “May I go to bed now?” said Peggy. “But wouldn’t you like to go downstairs and have supper first?” “No, I thank ye kindly, ma’am, I’d rather go to bed. I’m that moithered by the train and the addling ways of this new place, and the looks of them stupid girls, an’—an’ the whole thing, that I’d rather lay me head on me pillow an’ pray that I may go off into the land of dreams. If it wasn’t for Mary Welsh, ma’am, you wouldn’t be able to stand me at all, but she’s been teachin’ me an’ I’m trying to follow her. Good-night, ma’am, I know ye mane well, I’ll try to do me best for ye, but don’t let that black thing come near me, for I can’t abide her, that’s the solemn gospel truth.” Poor little Peggy was allowed to have her way. She tumbled into bed now, and her head was no sooner on her pillow than she fell into the land of dreams. Meanwhile The Imp, black with rage, called her satellites round her. Little Elisabeth had been taken off to bed by Chloe. Little Elisabeth had kissed The Imp, had “You’re a horrid little wretch if you love her as well as you love me.” “I am not a horrid little wretch, and you mustn’t call me so!” The little spoilt Elisabeth burst into tears. “Think of her taking Elisabeth from me already!” said The Imp, looking at the two Dodd girls. “Oh isn’t it shameful?” said Anne Dodd. “Well, good-night, child,” said Kitty, pushing little Elisabeth from her. “I’m sure I don’t want your caresses, I don’t want anything belonging to you. Get off to your new friend; go, go out of my sight!” Little Elisabeth put a finger into her mouth, stared solemnly and with great amazement at The Imp, and then backed into the affectionate arms of Chloe. “Is it my little darling precious that’s to be spoken to like that?” cried the mulatto woman. She took the child into her arms, crooned over her in a way that the child adored, and shut the door of the tiny room which they shared together. Soon the small child was fast asleep in her white bed, and the mulatto was rolled up on her rug by the door, watchful to guard her dear one from any attacks of the enemy. “Oh then, it’s me that hates that bit of a horrible black thing!” thought the mulatto, “and that little Irish girl who gave it to her so well—why, I like her, that I do!” Meanwhile The Imp sat with a hand of Anne Dodd locked in hers, while Grace stared full into Kitty’s face, and presently put out a hand and stroked her curly black hair. “Of course you’re not, darling; we’ll help you, of course we will.” “We must think out a plan,” said Kitty. “Yes, we must think out a plan,” exclaimed Anne. “Look here, girls, there’s no good doing anything except when we’re by ourselves. Then we’ll excite her, and we’ll be three to one. My arms are black and blue from the way she shook me—but three to one! We’ll get her down and whip her till she screams for mercy, as I screamed to-night. Are you willing and ready to help me, girls?” “Yes, that we are,” said both. “Well, then, let’s coax her into the back playground after morning lessons to-morrow. We must pretend to be very kind to her, and then she’ll come fast enough. You manage to sit next her at breakfast and don’t laugh at her whatever you do. We’ll manage fine.” “Yes, we will,” was the reply. |