Part 28 (1/2)
”I must put a question to each and all of you. I had hoped the guilty person would confess; but as it is, I am obliged to ask who has done this mischief.”
She then began to question one girl after another in the cla.s.s. There were twelve in all in this special cla.s.s, and each as her turn came replied in the negative. Certainly she had not done the mischief; certainly she had not torn the book. Evelyn's turn came last. She replied quietly:
”I have not done it. I have not seen the book, and I have not torn out the inscription.”
No one had any reason to doubt her words; and Miss Thompson, looking very sorrowful, paused for a minute and then said:
”I have asked each of you, and you have all denied it. I must now question every one else in the school. When I have done all that I can I shall have to submit the matter to Miss Henderson, but I did not want to grieve her with the news of this terrible loss until I could at least a.s.sure her that the girl who had done the mischief had repented.”
Still there was silence, and Miss Thompson left the schoolroom. The moment she did so the buzz of eager voices began, and during the recess that followed nothing was talked of in the Fourth Form but the loss which poor Miss Henderson had sustained.
”Poor dear!” said Sophie Jenner; ”and she did love her brother so much!
His name was Walter; he was very handsome. He came once to the school when first it was started. My sister Rose was here then, and she said how kind he was, and how he asked for a holiday for the girls; and Miss Henderson and Miss Lucy were quite wrapped up in him. Oh, who could have been so cruel?”
”I never heard of such a fuss about a trifle before,” here came from Evelyn's lips. ”Why, it is only a book when all is said and done.”
”Don't you understand?” said Sophie, looking at her in some astonishment. ”It is not a common book; it is one given to Miss Henderson by the brother she loved. He is dead now; he can never give her any other book. That was the very last present he ever made her.”
”Have some lollipops, and try to think of cheerful things,” said Evelyn; but Sophie turned almost petulantly away.
”Do you know,” Sophie said to her special friend, Cherry Wynne, ”I don't think I like Evelyn. How funnily she spoke! I wonder, Cherry, if she had anything to do with the book?”
”Of course not,” answered Cherry. ”She would not have dared to utter such a lie. Poor Miss Henderson! How sorry I am for her!”
CHAPTER XVI.-SYLVIA'S DRIVE.
”I have something very delightful to tell you, Sylvia,” said her father.
He was standing in his cold and desolate sitting-room. The fire was burning low in the grate. Sylvia s.h.i.+vered slightly, and bending down, took up a pair of tongs to put some more coals on the expiring fire.
”No, no, my dear-don't,” said her father. ”There is nothing more disagreeable than a person who always needs coddling. The night is quite hot for the time of year. Do you know, Sylvia, that I made during the last week a distinct saving. I allowed you, as I always do, ten s.h.i.+llings for the household expenses. You managed capitally on eight s.h.i.+llings. We really lived like fighting-c.o.c.ks; and what is nicest of all, my dear daughter, you look the better in consequence.”
Sylvia did not speak.
”I notice, too,” continued Mr. Leeson, a still more satisfied smile playing round his lips, ”that you eat less than you did before. Last night I was pleased to observe how truly abstemious you were at supper.”
”Father,” said Sylvia suddenly, ”you eat less and less; how can you keep up your strength at this rate? Cannot you see, clever man that you are, that you need food and warmth to keep you alive?”
”It depends absolutely,” replied Mr. Leeson, ”on how we accustom ourselves to certain habits. Habits, my dear daughter, are the chains which link us to life, and we forge them ourselves. With good habits we lead good lives. With pernicious habits we sink: the chains of those habits are too thick, too rusty, too heavy; we cannot soar. I am glad to see that you, my dear little girl, are no longer the victim of habits of greediness and desire for unnecessary luxuries.”
”Well, father, dinner is ready now. Won't you come and eat it?”
”Always harping on food,” said Mr. Leeson. ”It is really sad.”
”You must come and eat while the things are hot,” answered Sylvia.
Mr. Leeson followed his daughter. He was, notwithstanding all his words to the contrary, slightly hungry that morning; the intense cold-although he spoke of the heat-made him so. He sat down, therefore, and removed the cover from a dish on which reposed a tiny chop.
”Ah,” he said, ”how tempting it looks! We will divide it, dear. I will take the bone; far be it from me to wish to starve you, my sweet child.”