Miss Ashton's New Pupil — 10 - Chapters XIX and XX

DETECTIVES AT WORK.

Miss Ashton's forgetfulness was not of a kind to be depended upon.

Mr. Stanton, the janitor, had come to her a few days after the sleigh-ride to tell her that he had found a back window unlocked; that he was sure he had locked it carefully before going to bed, and that under the window was the print of footsteps.

He "kind o' hated," he said, "to be a-telling on the gals, but then, agin, he hadn't been there nigh eighteen years without learning that gals were gals, as well as boys were boys, and weren't allers--not zactly allers--doin' jist right; perhaps it was best to let Miss Ashton know, and then--there now--he hated to do it awfully.

If the gals found it out it might set 'em agin him."

"Mr. Stanton," said Miss Ashton gravely, "if you had made this discovery and kept it to yourself, you would have lost your place in twenty-four hours.

Please show me the window."

The snow, for a wonder, remained as it was on the night of the ride, and looking from the window Miss Ashton saw the distinct marks of a number of feet around the bank into which Myra Peters had fallen.

She also saw, and took off, the piece torn from her dress.

This would surely give her a clew to one of the girls; but, before using it, she would make herself acquainted as far as possible with the time and circumstances when it had occurred.

Mr. Stanton could fix the morning when he found the window unlocked, and Miss Ashton remembered that on the previous evening Susan Downer's brother had been there to call.

This put a really serious aspect upon the matter.

She immediately connected it with the boys from the Atherton Academy.

She called a Faculty meeting, hoping some of the teachers had heard the girls go and come, or the sleigh, if indeed it had been a sleigh-ride that tempted them.

But none of them had heard the least noise after bedtime, nor even unusual sleigh-bells.

If it had not been for the open window, the footprints, and the torn bit of dress, Miss Palmer, who prided herself upon, and made herself unpopular by, her vigilance, would have said it could not have happened; as it was, there was no denying it, and no question that something must be done.

Susan Downer's examination had proved so far satisfactory to Miss Ashton, that it had shown her there had been a sleigh-ride given by the Atherton boys; and she said reluctantly to herself, "I am afraid the reliable-looking young man, Jerry Downer, had a hand in it.

How strange it is that we can trust young people so little!"

Then Miss Ashton felt ashamed of this feeling; for in her long experience she had known a great many true as gold, who had gone out from her training to be burning and shining lights in the world.

The quickest way to get at the bottom of the whole, she thought after much deliberation, would be to take the bit of torn dress into the hall, and ask to which young lady it belonged.

Accordingly, after morning prayers, she asked the school to stop a few moments, held the piece of cloth up in her hand, and simply said,-- "The owner of it might need it for repairing her dress, and if she would remain after the others left, it would be at her disposal."

The majority of the school laughed and chatted merrily about it.

Some few came up to see if it could have by any luck belonged to the torn dresses of which not a few hung in their closets.

But no one claimed it!

Here, then, was a dilemma!

It would not be possible to go to every room, and examine the wardrobe of every scholar; besides, now it was known that the bit had been found, and might easily be made to lead to a discovery of the guilty ones, what more natural than that the dress should be hidden away, or sent from the academy building to prevent the possibility of detection!

Miss Ashton was disappointed over this failure.

She was not much of a detective, and had less reason for being so than falls to the lot of many teachers.

She wrote to the principal of the Atherton Academy, inquiring whether he had given leave to a party of his boys to take a sleigh-ride on the night of the twentieth of November.

She knew Jerry Downer had been one of them, as he had called on his sister, who was one of her pupils, on that night.

She received an immediate answer, saying, "He had not given leave for any sleigh-ride on that night, and was both surprised and sorry that a boy he had always considered so reliable as Jerry Downer should have been among them.

He would inquire into the matter at once."

And he lost no time; sending for Jerry, he put the question point-blank, his usual straightforward way of dealing with his boys,-- "Did you go on a sleigh-ride the evening of the twentieth of November?"

"Yes, sir," said Jerry unhesitatingly.

"Did I give you leave to go?"

"No, sir; but I supposed the party had asked you, or they would not have gone."

"Your supposition was entirely erroneous.

My leave had never been asked.

Who besides yourself made up the party?"

Now Jerry hesitated: he could take the blame of his own going, but it would be mean in him to tell the names of his companions.

"Mr. --Uncle John (the principal smiled grimly as he heard this familiar name), I mean Dr. Arkwright," said Jerry, the color browning, instead of reddening his sea-tanned face, "I am very sorry, sir; I thought they had leave; I would not have gone."

"Don't _think_ again; _know_, Jerry Downer: that is the only way for a boy that wants to do right.

You will tell me, if you please, the names of your companions."

"Would that be honorable in me, sir?"

asked Jerry, now looking the doctor straight in the eye.

A look of doubt passed over the principal's face before he answered, then he said with less austerity,-- "I must find out in some way who among my boys have broken my rules;

you can help me more directly than any one else."

"Would it be honorable in me?"

repeated Jerry.

"You are not here to ask questions, but to answer them.

Are you going to refuse to help me by giving me the names of the boys?"

"I cannot, indeed I cannot; it would be so mean in me.

You must punish me any way I deserve, sir; I am willing to bear it; but I cannot tell on the boys."

"Very well, Jerry Downer; you are dismissed," and he waved Jerry out of the room.

But after Jerry had gone, he went to the window and stood watching him.

"That is a generous boy!"

he said; "but he has made a mistake.

He will see it when he is older and wiser.

He will learn that true manhood helps law and order, not even the idea of honor coming before it, noble as it is."

Still the difficulty of unravelling the matter remained with him in as much doubt as it did with Miss Ashton; but with both of these excellent principals there was no question but that it must be sifted to the bottom, the delinquents discovered and punished.

The time for doing this was short; and should it be necessary to expel a pupil, the coming vacation offered a suitable occasion.

Soon after, Miss Ashton, going through the corridor one evening, found two girls in close and excited conversation,--Myra Peters and Julia Dorr.

They did not see her at first, so she was quite near enough to them to catch a few words.

"You may say what you please," said Julia Dorr.

"I'm as sure of it as sure can be; I've sat close by you time and again when you had it on, and if I had been you I would have owned it."

"Owned it!"

snarled Myra Peters, "will you be kind enough to mind your own business, and let other people's alone, Miss Interferer?"

"Well, interferer or not, I've half a mind to go and tell Miss Ashton."

"Tell Miss Ashton what?"

asked a voice close beside them.

The girls turned, to find Miss Ashton there.

"Tell Miss Ashton what?"

she asked again pleasantly; "I always like to hear good news.

What is this about?"

Now, nothing had really been farther from Julia's intention than to tell on Myra.

She was one of those who had gone up to the desk when Miss Ashton showed the piece of cloth, and had recognized it as like a dress she had seen Myra wear.

That there was anything of more importance attached to it than the ability to mend the dress neatly, she did not think, so she answered readily,-- "Why, Miss Ashton, that piece of cloth you showed us was exactly like Myra's dress.

I've seen it a hundred times; but she declares she never had a dress like it, and we were quarrelling about it.

I wish you would show it to her close up, and see if she don't have to give in."

"I will; come to my room, Myra!"

and she led the way there, Myra following with a frightened, sullen face.

Then she found the piece, and laid it on the table.

"Myra," she said, after looking at the girl kindly for a moment, "is this like your dress?

Tell me truly; it is much the best thing for you to do."

Myra gazed at the cloth for a moment, then burst into a flood of tears.

"So you were one of the sleighing-party?"

said Miss Ashton quietly.

"Will you tell me who were with you?"

If Myra had not been taken so entirely by surprise, she might, probably would, have refused to answer, for honor is as dear to girls as to boys; but she sobbed out one name after another, until the six stood confessed.

"Thank you," was all Miss Ashton said, then she handed Myra the tell-tale cloth, and added, "You had better put it neatly in the place from which it was torn."

She opened her door, and Myra, wiping her eyes, went quickly out and back to her room.

Hardly conscious what she was doing, with an impatient desire to get away, she began to pack her trunk.

"I will go home, home, home!"

she kept repeating to herself.

"I never will see one of those girls again.

Oh, dear, dear!

If I only hadn't gone on that sleigh-ride; that abominable Mamie Smythe is always getting the girls in trouble: I perfectly detest her.

What will my father say?"

CHAPTER XX. REPENTANCE.

It is a common error that to send a girl into a boarding-school to finish her education is to bring her out a model, not only in learning, but in accomplishments and character.

Here were two hundred girls, coming from nearly two hundred different families, each one brought up, until she was in her teens, in different ways.

Looking over the population of a small village, the most careless observer must see how unlike the homes are; how every grade of morals and manners is represented, and with what telling effect they show themselves in the characters of the young trained under their roofs.

It happened often that Montrose Academy was looked upon by anxious parents--who were just discovering, in wilfulness, disobedience, perhaps in matters more serious even than these, the mistakes they had made in the education of their daughters--as a sort of reformatory school, where Miss Ashton took in the erring, and after one or more years sent them out perfect in every good work and way.

While Miss Ashton made all inquiries in her power to prevent any undesirable girls from joining her school, she was often imposed upon, sometimes by concealments, and not unseldom by positive falsehoods, but oftener by the parental fondness which could see nothing but good in a spoilt, darling child.

It often happened that with just such characters Miss Ashton was very successful, not seldom receiving a girl of a really fine nature which had been distorted by home influences, and sending her away, after years of patient work, with this nature so fully developed and improved that her whole family rose to her standard.

Instances of this kind made Miss Ashton careful in her discipline.

She well understood that a girl once expelled from a school, no matter how lightly her friends might appear to regard the occurrence, was under a ban, which time and circumstances might remove, but might not.

In the case of this sleigh-ride, the disobedience to known and strictly enforced rules made her more anxiety than any case of a similar kind had given her for years.

She knew now the names of the girls concerned: they had given her trouble before.

Mamie Smythe she had often been on the point of sending home, but she was one of those characters with fine traits, capable of being very good or very bad in her life's work.

The mother was a wealthy widow, Mamie her only child.

Spoiled by weak and foolish fondness she had been; but her brightness, her lovableness, her cheery, witty, sunshiny ways remained.

Evidently, here she was the accountable one; she should be expelled as a lesson to the school, but to expel her meant, _what_?

She had wealth, she had position, she would in a few years be able to wield an influence that, in the right direction, would outweigh that of almost any other girl in school.

To be sent home, back to that weak mother, with a life of frivolous pleasures before her, what, under these circumstances, was it the wisest and best thing to do?

Favoritism for the rich or the poor was not one of Miss Ashton's faults.

By this time the whole school knew of the ride, of its discovery, and was holding its breath over the probable consequences.

The girls said, "Miss Ashton grew thin and pale from the worry."

The feeling of the school, most of whom were tenderly attached to her, was decidedly against those who had troubled her; and if she could have known the true state of the case, when she was neither eating nor sleeping, in her anxiety to do what was right, she would have found that the good for order, discipline, and propriety, which was growing from this evil done, was to exceed any influence she could hope to exert, even from the severest act of just discipline.

She was to be helped in a most unexpected way.

Two days after her interview with Myra Peters, there was a soft tap on her door, and opening it, there stood Mamie Smythe!

Her face, usually covered with smiles, was grave and even sad.

"Miss Ashton," she said, without waiting to close the door, "please don't be hard on the other girls.

It was all my fault; I was the Eve that tempted them.

I know it was wrong; I know it was _dreadful_ wrong!

I was worse than Eve; I was the serpent that tempted Eve!

They wouldn't a single one of them have gone if it hadn't been for me!

Do, please, Miss Ashton, punish me, and not them!

They never, never, _never_ would have gone if I hadn't tempted them.

Please, please, Miss Ashton!

I'll do anything; I'll get extra lessons for a year!

I won't have a single spread; I'll be good; you won't know me, Miss Ashton, I'll be so good; and I'll bear any punishment.

You may ferule me, as they do in district schools," and she held out a little diamond-ringed hand toward Miss Ashton; "I'll be shut up for a week in a dark closet, and live on bread and water.

You may do anything you please with me, only spare them," and she looked so earnestly and imploringly up in Miss Ashton's face, that her heart, in spite of her better judgment, was touched; all she said was,-- "Tell me about it, Mamie."

"When Susan gave me the note," began Mamie.

Miss Ashton started.

"Susan who?"

she asked, for Susan Downer had not confessed to any note; indeed, had virtually denied connection with the ride.

"Susan Downer, of course; she gave me the note.

Her brother brought it to her, and I was wild with joy to have a sleigh-ride.

It was such a bright moon, and the sleighing looked so fine, I wanted all day to ask you to let me have a big sleigh, and take the girls out, but I knew you wouldn't." "Yes, I should have," interrupted Miss Ashton.

"That's just awful," said Mamie, after a moment's reflection; "and if I'd been brave enough to ask you, nothing of this would have happened.

"I hadn't time to think only of the girls--you know them all, Miss Ashton!"

"And who were the boys?"

asked Miss Ashton, thinking perhaps she might aid the other troubled principal.

"The boys!

oh, the boys!"

and Mamie's face looked truly distressed now.

"Please don't ask me, Miss Ashton.

I'd cut my tongue out before I'd tell you!"

"Very well, go on with your ride."

Then Mamie repeated fully and truly all that a girl in the flush of excitement caused by a stolen sleigh-ride could be expected to remember, not palliating one thing, from the supper to the dance, and the clamber in at midnight through the open window.

If at some points a little laugh gurgled up from her fun-loving soul, as she told her tale, Miss Ashton understood, and forgave it.

"I thank you, Mamie," said she at last; and she stroked the little hand given to her so loyally for the sacrificial feruling, but she turned her eyes away.

What Mamie might have read there, she dared not trust to the girl's quick sight; indeed, she hardly dared to trust the feeling that prompted it in herself.

There was no use to have another Faculty meeting, and depend upon it for help; she must settle the trouble alone.

It was Susan Downer who was next called to the principal's room.

She went tremblingly.

What was to happen to her now?

Miss Ashton knew the girls' names who went on the sleigh-ride, and as yet no one had been punished.

Could it be about "Storied West Rock"?

How Susan by this time hated its very name, and how much she would have given if she had never known it, she could best have told.

"Susan," said Miss Ashton, as with a pale face and downcast eyes the girl stood before her, "when I asked you about your brother's visit to you on the night of the sleigh-ride, you did not tell me of the note he gave you, and you gave to Mamie Smythe.

If you had, you would have saved me many troubled hours."

"You did not ask me," said Susan promptly.

"True.

Did you know the contents of the note?"

"Mamie asked me to go with them, but I refused.

I was afraid you wouldn't like it, and I'd much rather lose a ride any time than displease you;" and Susan, as she said this, looked bravely in Miss Ashton's face.

"That's all," the principal said gravely, and Susan, with a lighter heart than that with which she had entered, left the room; but Miss Ashton thought, as she watched the forced smile on the girl's face, "There's one that can't be trusted; what a pity, for she is not without ability!"

Then she remembered the story she had read and praised, and wondered over it.

Two days before the time for the term to close, Miss Ashton received this note:-- OUR DEAR MISS ASHTON,--We, the undersigned, do regret in sackcloth and ashes our serious misconduct in going away at an improper time, and in an improper manner, on a sleigh-ride, without your consent and approval.

We promise, if you will forgive us, and restore us to your trust and affection, that we will never, NEVER be guilty of such a misdemeanor again.

That we will try our best faithfully to observe the rules of the school, and endeavor to be good and faithful scholars.

Pray forgive and test us!

MAMIE SMYTHE, HELEN NORRIS,

JANE SOMERS, JULIA ABBEY,

MYRA PETERS, ETTA SPRING.

Miss Ashton smiled as she read the note.

Repentance by the wholesale she had never found very reliable; and in this instance she would have had much more confidence if the girls had come to her, and made a full confession, without waiting to be found out.

It was not until after two sleepless nights that she came to the conclusion to give them further trial; and when she called them to her room, one by one, and had a long and faithful talk with them, sending them from her tenderly penitent, she felt sure her course had been a right one.

Then she made a short speech to the school, went over briefly what had happened, not in the least sparing the impropriety of the stolen ride, but, on account of the repentance and promises from the girls concerned, she had decided not to expel them now, but to give them a chance to redeem the character they had lost.

The school clapped her enthusiastically as she closed.

CHAPTER XXI. ACCEPTING A THANKSGIVING INVITATION.