Although Miss Archdale spoke very soothingly to wild Peggy she did not feel so comfortable as her words seemed to imply. She was a very clever and very conscientious woman, and saw immediately that a very strong new element had come into the Lower School with the advent of Peggy. Whether it was for good or evil remained to be proved. Miss Archdale was wise enough to know that the best teachers in the world can only guide girls; they can only, so to speak, give them a little push here and a little nudge there in the direction in which they are to go. The girl is really, when all is said and done, her own teacher, her own guide; if she chooses to follow the paths of evil, not all the accomplishments in the world, not all the knowledge, not all the loving-kindness, can keep her back. God, inside the girl, must be the propelling force for good; and, alas! Satan inside the girl must be equally the propelling force for evil. Because Miss Archdale recognised this fact she was an admirable and efficient and dearly loved teacher; and because Mrs. Fleming recognised the same fact even in greater fullness she had made The Red Gables the school that it was. Miss Archdale, to all appearance, had taken little or no notice of The Imp and her ways. She called her Kitty Merrydew, and was consistently kind to her.

Kitty’s conduct was always excellent before her teachers. She learnt her numerous tasks with the ease of very pronounced talent; she was a favourite with the occasional masters and mistresses who came to the school, for her music was decidedly above the average, and so also was her drawing and painting. She had a perfect genius for caricature, and could make thumbnail sketches of the different girls and mistresses in a way which convulsed the school with mirth. These caricatures she kept, however, carefully hidden from the eyes of the mistresses. Kitty could tell a story better than anybody else, she could sing a song to “bring down the house,” she could act to perfection, and here her powers of mimicry did her immense service. Up to the present Miss Archdale had left The Imp more or less alone; she knew that the girl was peculiar, difficult, and that she had a power in her which seemed to be more directed to evil than to good; but, nevertheless, up to the present she knew that she had no right to interfere. The Imp was The Imp, and as she seemed not to cause any unhappiness, and was on the whole more a favourite than the reverse, she judiciously let her alone. But now things were different. The new girl was a power to be reckoned with, and already between the new girl and Kitty Merrydew open war had been declared. Miss Archdale was truly thankful that Peggy’s bed had been made up for her in the lower dormitory, where some quiet, well-behaved little girls slept. She would have altered matters at once had things been different, and had the child been put into the dormitory where Kitty Merrydew and the Dodds, her satellites, were placed.

It was one of the strictest rules of the school that the girls were never to visit the dormitories during the daytime, and that no girl was ever to be seen at night in any dormitory but her own. The rules of The Red Gables School were not many, but they were very strict; to break them was to get into dire disgrace and to be subjected to instant punishment. Miss Archdale had, therefore, no fear of Peggy being molested during the time devoted to slumber; and, in consequence, having seen all the girls safely into their respective dormitories, she crossed the quadrangle in order to have a conversation with Mrs. Fleming.

As a rule nothing would have induced her to trouble her dear head-mistress on the first night of school; but this special occasion needed special counsel, and Miss Archdale did not hesitate. Mrs. Fleming’s beautiful suite of rooms was in a small wing on the ground floor of that portion of the house which was reserved for the Upper School. The suite consisted of a spacious and lovely sitting-room, which looked out into the celebrated rose-garden, and had French windows which in summer were always open; beyond the sitting-room was a bedroom, a dressing-room (where Mrs. Fleming’s own special maid slept), and a bathroom. Besides the sitting-room, at the opposite side of the passage was a small room which went by the name of the library. Its walls were completely lined with books from ceiling to floor, and Mrs. Fleming was fond of saying that not one of these books had been purchased, they had all been gifts from the different schoolgirls to the different head-mistresses. The books were bound in calf and were all uniform in appearance, and therefore looked extremely neat and tempting to lovers of literature. There was a side devoted to fiction (almost all classical), another side to belles-lettres, another side to foreign languages, and another to religious works and philosophical treatises. Behind the outer row of books was an inner row where obsolete volumes were placed to make room for the newest and best books as they came along. The sole furniture of the library, besides the books, was a large roll-top desk, where the head-mistress kept her important letters, a table on which a typewriter stood, a chair facing the desk where the head-mistress could sit, and two or three other chairs, plain and stiff and covered with green leather. It was in this room that Mrs. Fleming received her pupils when they were in disgrace, or when, as sometimes happened, they were in trouble; it was here, in short, that she conducted all her business affairs, and it was here on this special night that Miss Archdale sought for her. She was not to be found there, however, and the governess was wondering whether she might knock at the sitting-room door when the door was flung open and the head-mistress came out, accompanied by Miss Greene.

“I think, Henrietta,” said the mistress, in her pleasant voice, “that those ideas are quite excellent. I won’t keep you now, my dear, as I am sure you have quite enough to do to get things into order. Yes, I agree with you, the prize must be thrown open to the whole school, or it would not meet with the wishes of our dear old friend.—Ah, Julia,” here she turned and held out her hand to Miss Archdale, “I am glad to see you, my dear girl. Were you coming to consult me about anything special?”

“I was, although I admit it’s a shame,” said Miss Archdale.

“Not a bit of it, nothing is a shame that is for the good of the school. Well, Henrietta, as Julia has come I’ll tell her myself about the prize. Good-night, dear.—Come in, Julia—come in.”

Julia Archdale felt her heart beating fast; she hated to worry her beloved friend at this moment. Mrs. Fleming had a sort of dual personality; she was one person in the library and another in this lovely and gracious sitting-room, which was replete with every modern comfort, the electric lights rendered soft by rose-coloured shades. Mrs. Fleming drew a chair near the fire, which was by no means unwelcome, and motioned to Miss Archdale to be seated.

“Now, Julia,” she said, “whatever your business may be, I have something both pleasant and exciting to relate to you. I have already told Henrietta Greene, and of course will mention the matter to Mary Smith and to Mademoiselle and FrÄulein. I will own, my dear, that the thing has taken me rather all of a heap, and I sincerely trust that it will do good, not harm. You know, Julia, that I have always hitherto rather set my face against prizes, wishing to avoid in the school the spirit of emulation which seems to me in a small place of this sort to be unworthy and beneath the dignity of The Red Gables School. Nevertheless, the thing is thrust upon me, and I could not neglect it without doing dishonour to the dead, and”—here her voice trembled—“the dead whom I loved—whom I love. You have heard me speak, dear, of my very old friend Mrs. Howard. Her children and grandchildren were educated at The Red Gables, and if there were any great-grandchildren they would certainly be here to-day; but, alas! dear Mrs. Howard, in her ninetieth year, has passed away, the last of her race, every child and grandchild having gone before her into the world of spirits. She always took a deep interest in the school, and there was never a summer holiday that I did not find time to spend at least a day and night with her, talking over old times and unforgotten memories. Well, my dear, she is dead, and amongst the letters which awaited me here to-day was one from her lawyers, in which they inform me that the school has been endowed by Mrs. Howard with the munificent sum of twenty thousand pounds. This money is to be spent in the education of five young girls who are otherwise too poor to receive a first-class education. Mrs. Howard begs that only the income of the money shall be used on the education of the girls, so that it may go on into futurity and add to the honour of the school. Each Howard scholar on her departure from the school is to be presented with one hundred pounds to help to start her in life, and for this purpose an additional sum of money is provided. The whole thing is to be called the Howard Bequest, and the Howard scholars are only to be admitted to the school after passing a strict examination in morals, in knowledge of English literature, and the usual curriculum that a young girl of fourteen ought to attain to. The Howard Bequest girls are to remain at the school from the age of fourteen to eighteen, a special new wing is to be built for their convenience, and they are to be treated, not as paupers, receiving their education for nothing, but as scholars of high distinction on whom many special honours are to be conferred. I have, therefore, Julia, to break that rule which I kept so firmly to, and which my ancestors kept so firmly to before me, of admitting only twenty girls to the school. In future—that is, as soon as the wing is built—there will be twenty-five girls in The Red Gables; these girls will be admitted, after strict examination by a governing body of myself, you, Julia Archdale, Henrietta Greene, and my dear and special friend Mr. Wyndham, of Preston Manor. I expect him to call in two or three days to talk this matter over with me, for it involves much. With regard to the prize, however, that is an immediate thing, and must be dealt with without delay. Mrs. Howard, dear soul, said to me that she had a strong desire to be remembered in the future by the children whom she loved. In consequence, once every year, a prize will be competed for in the school, which is to be called the Howard Prize. It is to consist of an exquisite little miniature of the old lady herself when she was young and beautiful. The original picture (one of Conway’s) is to be copied on ivory by a well-known miniature painter; it is to be set in a diamond frame, with a golden back, and is to have a narrow gold chain attached, so that the young possessor can wear it round her neck. In addition to the miniature, the prize-winner will obtain a beautifully illuminated scroll, which sets forth in old-fashioned language the reason why she obtains the prize. The reason is threefold—for morals, for intellect, and for beauty of person. This last clause may amaze you, my dear friend, but Mrs. Howard had peculiar ideas on that score, and said that a really lovely character invariably produced a lovely expression of face. She particularly makes a clause in her will relating to this prize, that she does not desire mere beauty of feature, it is beauty of expression which she demands. So valuable does she consider these miniatures of herself thus won, that wherever the girl who obtains the said miniature should happen to be in the future, she has, in case of need, simply to put an advertisement in an English paper, and, as a recipient of the Howard miniature, she will be entitled, not only to pecuniary relief, in case such is needed, but also to unlooked-for friendship because she is the possessor of the miniature. Thus it will be a very valuable asset in the life of any girl who honourably wins it, and none other can, for the rules are most severe. Now, my dear, I shall announce this amazing prize to the entire school in a few days, and after consulting Mr. Wyndham shall probably give the first of the Howard prizes at the end of the spring term, so that the girls will have this term and the next to work for it. It is rather surprising, is it not, Julia?”

“It is. I am altogether amazed. I can hardly take it in,” said Miss Archdale.

“You, my dear, and Henrietta, are the only people at present in the school who know about it,” said Mrs. Fleming. “Yes, it means a great deal of extra work on all our parts, but I believe it may do good.”

“It must do good,” said Julia with fervour. “It is a noble thought. That dear old lady has left her money worthily.”

“She has indeed. I cannot tell you where the bulk of it has gone, but I am given to understand that a considerable amount will be put out to interest, in order to create a fund for the hundred pounds which each Howard scholar receives on leaving the school; but also a fund is to be collected to expend if necessary on those girls who receive the Howard portrait, in case of need at any future time of their lives. This part of the strange legacy is most carefully guarded in order to prevent fraud occurring, or the portraits being sold or stolen. Only the original proprietor of the portrait can receive any benefit from its possession. And now, my dear, it is getting late; what is your trouble, Julia?”

“How could you guess that it was a trouble, dear Mrs. Fleming?”

“My good Julia, I happen to have a strong pair of eyes, and can tell at a glance when anything upsets the equilibrium of my dear teachers. Now, what is wrong?”

“I hope nothing, but I am a little anxious.”

“Ah! well, tell me, my dear—tell me.”

“You know the Irish child, Peggy Desmond?”

“Unquestionably. What a charming little face she has too! I have not had time yet to talk to her; but I took to her, my dear, amazingly.”

“You have not heard her speak, Mrs. Fleming?”

“No, but I am quite prepared for any eccentricity of language. Paul Wyndham gave me her history, and it is a very sad one. The dear little creature hasn’t got a penny in the world; she would be the very case for the Howard Bequest, but I do not intend to take his privileges from Paul. Peggy’s father was his dearest friend, and he left him the child as a keepsake; he means to bring her up as though she were his own, to put her in all respects on a level with his girls and to endow her with an equal fortune. He does right. I respect a man who takes up a responsibility as Paul does. He wrote to me at once on the matter, and luckily little Violet Darrell’s illness gave me the opportunity to help him. I intended to speak to you about the child before now, Julia. She will have a difficult time, but she will succeed, and of course we must help her. Fortunately, she does not look like a coward.”

“Coward!” replied Miss Archdale, with a laugh; “it might have been better for her if she were more cowardly. Already we have had a scene, and she has made an enemy in the school.”

“Ah! who is that?”

“Kitty Merrydew. It was Kitty’s fault, of course.”

“What did Kitty do?”

“Took her off, bent over the balusters and laughed at her, and imitated her Irish. She was chattering to me, poor little soul, and holding the hand of Elisabeth Douglas, who had taken one of her violent fancies to the new girl. Suddenly Peggy looked up, and there was Kitty grimacing overhead, laughing at her, and imitating her Irish. In one moment, like a flash, Peggy was on her, had taken her by both shoulders and shaken her as a dog shakes a rat, and screaming to her, Peggy’s face purple with rage, ‘Take that for your bad manners,’ she said; ‘don’t ye be talking like that, for I won’t have it!’ You never knew such a scene. The Imp, as the girls call Kitty, was absolutely frightened.”

Mrs. Fleming could not help laughing. “Do you know,” she said, “it is very wicked of me, but I’m rather glad to have some one in the school with sufficient courage to stand up to Kitty Merrydew?”

“Oh, then you know?” began Miss Archdale, and stopped.

“My dear, of course I know.”

“But you have done nothing!”

“Nothing yet. I am biding my time. Perhaps my work will be done for me by Peggy Desmond; in which case, God bless her!”

“But, my dear friend, forgive me, do you think it well to have a girl like Peggy under the thraldom of such a very knowing girl as Kitty Merrydew?”

“It won’t do Peggy any harm. Keep an eye on them both for the present, dear, and say nothing. You did right to come to me. I shall learn a great deal more about Peggy after Paul Wyndham comes here. And now, good-night, Julia. Don’t take things too seriously.”