Part 15 (2/2)

”No, and I wasn't listening either,” exclaimed Sarah, raising her flushed face; ”but several of us knew how Georgie found out about the musicale, and I noticed, just as Marion did, how much she had practised the Polonaise, and last night I heard her tell one of the girls she was glad Marion broke down, it just _did her good_; and I determined then I'd pay her for it. I was standing very near you, though you did not know it, when Marion told you all about it last night, and I thought it was outrageous that she should bear all the blame; and before M.

Beranger too! It was a shame! But oh, dear, Miss Christine, it hasn't done a bit of good! She'll just hate me now, I know she will, for she almost made me promise not to tell.”

”I cannot say I quite approve of your method of doing Marion justice, but I hardly think she will be very severe to such a disinterested little champion,” said Miss Christine, who could not help smiling at the utter wretchedness of Sarah's tone; ”however, here she comes to speak for herself.”

”O Miss Christine, do come in there! I made an excuse to get me some darning-cotton; but Miss Stiefbach's reading the most stupid book of sermons; do come in and take her place! What!” as she caught sight of Sarah, ”is she here yet?”

”Yes, Marion, she is here, and is making herself perfectly miserable, because she believes she has made you an enemy for life. Don't you think you can convince her of the contrary?”

”O Marion!” sobbed Sarah, ”please don't be mad with me, for I really could not help it. I thought I was doing it all for your good, and when I got started I _could_ not stop till I had it all out.”

”You little bit of a goose! did you really think I was going to be angry with you after making such a thrilling stump-speech in my favor?” and throwing herself on her knees beside Sarah's chair, Marion looked up at her with a smiling face, but with eyes not undimmed by tears.

”And you really think I did it from kindness?”

”Yes, I certainly do!”

”And you won't snub me any more?” cried Sarah, giving Marion a pa.s.sionate kiss.

”Oh, I can't promise you that,” laughed Marion; ”a little, healthy snub, now and then, does you good, and I shouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't give it to you, but”--and her voice a.s.sumed the tender, affectionate tone so rarely heard by her school-mates, and which touched Sarah even more than her words--”I shall never be really unkind to you again, and I promise to love you as much as you wish.”

”You really mean it, Marion? You really mean that you will love me?”

”Yes, I really mean it. Miss Christine shall be my witness that I have this day gained a friend.”

”Yes, my dear,” answered Miss Christine, who had been a silent but interested observer of this little scene: ”and a truer one I do not think you could have.”

CHAPTER XIII.

THE WANDERER RETURNS.

For several days the musicale, and the events connected with it, formed the subjects of general conversation. At first Sarah's remarkable address to her school-mates appeared likely to have a contrary effect from that which she desired, being calculated to make Marion more disliked than ever by those to whom she had been held up by her zealous little champion as superior to themselves in every way.

But Sarah, despite her quick temper, was a great favorite in the school, for her warm heart and generous nature made her as ready to do any one a kindness as she was to fly into a pa.s.sion. She always spoke the truth, and if she unintentionally wounded or even annoyed one of her companions she was ever ready to make reparation. Perhaps many of them felt the truth of her remarks, and thought that in this case silence was their only safeguard.

Miss Christine had spoken privately to the older scholars, entreating them not to harbor any ill-will towards either of the three immediately concerned, and so the matter was pa.s.sed quietly over, and that which in many instances could have had nothing but evil results seemed likely in this one to be productive of good; for Marion, fearing that she had been the means of depriving Sarah of some of her warmest friends, almost unconsciously a.s.sumed a different bearing towards all her companions, and for her new friend's sake exhibited an interest in persons and things about her which she had heretofore treated with supreme indifference. And so the days wore on, and Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching. None of the girls who lived at a distance were going home this year, and the house was filled with lamentations, and half-stifled fears lest certain boxes should fail to make their appearance.

Marion had as yet received no definite news from her mother regarding Jemima Dobbs, and her heart was filled with disappointment when she thought of the lonely Thanksgiving they were likely to have at the farm-house in place of the bright and happy one she had pictured to herself.

She was sitting in her window one morning thinking of Aunt Bettie, when her door suddenly opened, a voice cried, ”Look out for your head!” and a thick letter was shot into her lap. She caught it eagerly, not stopping to think whose was the unerring hand that had so accurately hit its mark, and tearing off the envelope in true school-girl fas.h.i.+on, she glanced rapidly along the pages, when her eyes were caught with the words: ”Jemima will be at the B---- station Wednesday, when the seven o'clock train arrives; be sure and have some one there to meet her.”

With a cry of delight Marion ran to the door to call Florence, and was met by that young woman at the head of the stairs. She received the happy tidings as enthusiastically as Marion could possibly wish, and going back to their room, and seating themselves in their usual window, Marion read the letter aloud:--

”BOSTON, Nov. 24th.

”MY DEAR DAUGHTER:--Papa has just gone down town; Fred is at school; and Charley radiantly happy in the possession of a new mechanical toy, which I expect will be demolished in a few moments, as that young gentleman is developing a surprising fancy for inquiring into the 'why and wherefore' of everything he takes hold of. As everything seems to promise a quiet time for me, I think I will devote myself to you, as I have quite a long story to tell you.

”I know you have been very much disappointed that my recent letters have contained no news of your protege; but I am in hopes that this one will put all your anxiety to rest, and quite equal your most ardent expectations.

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