Part 16 (1/2)

”I--I didn't say that any one else went.”

”No, my dear, you did not say so. But--” and here Miss Russell rose, and, crossing the room, laid her hand on Peggy's shoulder; ”if I know anything at all of girls, you did not go alone, and you did not go of your own motion. And--Peggy, if you were not the kind of girl I thought you, you would not be feeling as you do now about the whole thing.”

This was too much. Peggy could have borne, or she thought she could have borne, anger or scorn, or the cold indifference that is born of contempt; but the kind tone, the look of affectionate inquiry, the friendly hand on her shoulder,--all this she could not bear. She covered her face with her hands and burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

It seemed hours that she wept, and sobbed, and wept again. It did not seem as if she could ever stop, the tears came rus.h.i.+ng so fast and so violently; but however long it was, Miss Russell did not try to stop or check her, only stood by with her hand on the girl's shoulder, patting it now and then, or putting back with the other hand--such a soft, firm, motherly hand it was!--the stray locks which kept falling over Peggy's face as the sobs shook her from head to foot.

At last, however, the storm abated a little; and then, while Peggy was trying to dry her tears, and the choking sobs were subsiding into long, deep breathings, Miss Russell spoke again.

”Peggy, we teachers have to go a good deal by instinct, do you know it?

It is not possible for me, for example, to know every one of seventy-odd girls as I ought to know her, by actual contact and communion. But I have acquired a sort of sense,--I hardly know what to call it,--an insight by means of which I can tell pretty well what a girl's standard of life is, and how I can best help her. I know that now I can best help you and myself by saying--and meaning--just what I said before. I place entire confidence in you, Peggy Montfort.”

Peggy looked up in amazement; could she believe what she heard?

”To some girls,” the Princ.i.p.al went on, ”the taste of stolen fruit is sweet, and having once tasted it, they hanker for more. To you, it is bitter.”

”Oh!” said Peggy; and the gasping exclamation was enough.

”Very bitter!” said the Princ.i.p.al. ”I speak not from impulse, but from experience, when I tell you that there is no girl in the school to-day whom I could sooner trust not to commit this offence than you, who committed it last night.”

Her own thought, almost her own words. Peggy raise her head again, and this time her eyes were full of a new hope, a new courage.

”I believe that is true, Miss Russell,” she said, simply. ”I had thought that myself, but I didn't suppose--I didn't think--”

”You did not think that I would know enough to understand it!” said Miss Russell, smiling. ”Well, you see I do, though we both owe it partly to dear Emily Cortlandt, who reminded me of my duty and of your position.

Now, Peggy, I have a recitation, and we must part. I put you in charge of 'Broadway,' fully and freely. No one must come in, and no one must go out, by that window. And if you have any trouble,” she added, with a smile, ”if you have any trouble and do not think it right to tell me, call for the Owls, and they will help you. Good-bye, my child!”

She held out her hand, and Peggy took it with a wild desire to kiss it, or to fall down and kiss the hem of her gown who had shown herself thus an angel of sympathy and kindness. But the Princ.i.p.al bent down and kissed the girl's forehead lightly and tenderly.

”We shall be friends always now,” she said, simply. ”Don't forget, Peggy!”

She was gone, and Peggy took her own way in the opposite direction, hardly knowing whither she was going. Her heart was so full of joy and love and grat.i.tude, it seemed as if she must break out into singing or shouting. Was ever any one so kind, so n.o.ble, so lovely? How could any one not try to do her very, very best, to deserve the care and friends.h.i.+p of such a teacher as this?

Pa.s.sing as if on wings through the geometry room, she saw a figure crouching over a desk, and was aware of Rose Barclay, bent over her book, and crying bitterly. Nothing could hold Peggy back in that moment of exaltation. In an instant she was at the girl's side. ”Let me help you!” she cried. ”Please let me; I know I can.”

Rose Barclay looked up fiercely. ”I asked you to help me, once!” she said. ”I am not likely to ask again. Go away, please, and let me alone.”

”No, I won't!” said stout Peggy. ”You never would let me explain, but now you are going to let me. I couldn't show you my example, and I wouldn't, and I never will; but I could make you see how to do your own right, and that's what I am going to do now.”

Down she sat without more ado; took the pencil from the unwilling hand, and set to work on an imaginary problem. Rose Barclay sat still for a moment with averted face, pride and shame doing their best to silence the better voices within her. At length she stole a glance at Peggy's face, and there beheld such a s.h.i.+ning expanse of goodwill and friendliness that Pride and Co. gave up the battle, and retreated into their dens. Heaving a long sigh of relief, she bent forward, and soon was following with all her might Peggy's clear and lucid explanation.

”Why, yes!” said Rose, at last. ”Why, I do see. Why, I do believe I could do that myself.”

”Of course you can!” said Peggy. ”Here, take the pencil, and I'll give you one.”

She did so, and, after some s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g of the mouth and knitting of the brows, Rose actually did do it, and felt like Wellington after Waterloo.

Then, at Peggy's instigation, she tackled the actual lesson, and, steered by Professor Peggy, went through it triumphantly. Then she turned on her instructor.