Part 21 (1/2)

Things were quietly managed at Pentland School; there was never any outcry, any open flurry of excitement and gossip. Many of the scholars never knew why five girls left school in the middle of the term. The seniors who did know shrugged their shoulders, and said it was a pity to have such things take the girls' minds off their parts--looking at everything from the point of view of Senior Dramatics. The juniors looked pretty sober for a week, even the soph.o.m.ore spirits were dashed for the time. But nothing was said openly, and after awhile the scared whisperings died away, and work and play went on as usual. Poor little Viola Vincent mourned deeply the loss of her mate. She herself had escaped with a severe reprimand, having gone to Miss Russell to plead Vivia's cause, and confessing frankly her own share in the escapade.

Vivia was anything but an agreeable girl; but she and Viola had grown up together, next-door neighbours and companions from their cradles, and Viola was lost without her. She threw herself upon Peggy for consolation, and Peggy found herself in the curious position of protecting and comforting a junior, and a girl two years older than herself. Viola would come in, and, curling herself up in the corner of Peggy's divan, declare that she had come for a good cry. A few sniffs would follow, and then perhaps actual tears, but more likely a river of speech.

”It's no use, Peggy! I cannot live! I simply can _not_ live on in this way. I know V. was horrid to you--yes, she was! Oh, I am not blind, you know, if I am a goose! She was horrid to most of the girls, I know she was, but she was good to me, generally, and it didn't matter much if she wasn't. I was used to her little ways, and I didn't mind. And I have always had her, you see, all my life, and I don't--see--how I _can_ get along without her. I wanted to be expelled, too! Yes, I did! that was why I told Miss Russell about my being there and all; I thought she would be sure to send me away, too. I think it was very unjust of her not to, I'm sure.”

”Viola, don't talk so! You had nothing to do with the--the attack, or any violence. You would have gone away quietly when I said you could not use the window; you know you would.”

”How do you know I would have? I might have torn you limb from limb, Peggy, for all you can say. What are you laughing at?”

For this statement, coming from a small person with a grasp about as powerful as that of a week-old kitten, was too much for the stalwart Peggy's composure.

”You don't know what I am when I am roused!” Viola went on. ”I'm awful, simply awful!” And she opened her blue eyes wide, and looked like a tragic baby.

”But--my! Peggy, how you did look that night! I wonder this whole room didn't turn blue with fright. I was frightened almost to death; I wonder I'm alive to-day. Well, wasn't it too perf'ly awful for anything, the whole thing?”

”It was pretty bad!” Peggy a.s.sented. ”But it's all over now, Viola; I would try not to dwell on it too much, if I were you. Of course I know how you must miss Vivia, and I'm dreadfully sorry about it all. But just think how dear the Owls have been to both of us.”

”Haven't they?” cried Viola, drying her tears, her eyes brightening.

”Aren't they too perfectly lovely for anything, the Owls? I think the Snowy is just the sweetest thing that ever lived in this world, don't you?”

”I think she's one of them,” said honest Peggy. ”But I'm just as fond of Bertha. She was my first friend here, my very first.”

”Oh, how funny you were that first day, Peggy!” cried Viola, laughing now, her sorrows forgotten for the time. ”You were too killing! I thought I should have died, when you went tumbling all over yourself.

You _were_ killing, weren't you, now?”

”You seem to have survived!” said Peggy, good-naturedly. It was not pleasant to be laughed at, but no one ever minded Viola.

”Where are you going?” demanded Viola, as Peggy got out her ”Tam” and pinned it on with a resolute air. ”Peggy, you are not going out, just when I have come to see you? I was so lonely, and I wanted some one to talk to; and now the minute I come, you get up and go away. I must say I don't think you are very polite.” And Viola pouted and looked like a child of six instead of a girl of sixteen.

”Viola!” said Peggy. ”You have been here an hour and a half, do you know it? and I must have a walk; I haven't been outside the door this afternoon. Put on your Tam and come along with me! You'd feel ever so much better if you would take more exercise.”

”Oh, no, I shouldn't! and I cannot see what you want to be walk, walking, all the everlasting time for, Peggy Montfort. What's the use of it?”

”The use?” cried Peggy, with sparkling eyes. ”Why, there's all the use in the world. In the first place, it makes you strong and healthy, and keeps you well.”

”Oh! but gym does that! We have to do gym, and I don't mind that; in fact it's rather fun, only it spoils your figure dreadfully.”

”But gym isn't enough, if you don't take any other exercise,” said Peggy. ”And besides, V., just think of the _joy_ of walking and running.

Why, you see all the things growing, and breathe the air, and--and--hear the birds, and the water, and--well, I shouldn't want to live if I couldn't walk, that's all. Come along, and you'll see!”

”Oh, I can't, I'm too tired.”

”You are tired, because you have been sitting in the house all day. And you are pale, and--”

”No! am I?” cried Viola, running to the gla.s.s. ”I'm so glad! I just love to be pale, it's so interesting. It makes my eyes look larger, too, doesn't it, Peggy? They do look very large to-day, don't they, Peggy?”

Peggy sighed. ”You do discourage me, Viola!” she said. ”Well, good-bye.

I must go. The others are waiting for me.”

”What others? Who else is going? What are you going to do?”