OPEN CONFESSION IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL
A housemaid, passing through the disused "old laundry" on the ground
floor, as a short-cut toward the newer one in a detached building,
heard a strange noise in the drying-room overhead, and paused to
listen. This was unusual. In ordinary the loft was never entered,
nowadays, except by some slippered maid, or Michael with a trunk.
Setting down her basket of soiled linen she put her hands on her hips
and stood motionless, intently listening. Dorothy? Could it be
Dorothy? Impossible! No living girl could make all that racket;
yet--was that a scream? Was it laughter--terror--wild animal--or what?
Away she sped; her nimble feet pausing not an instant on the way, no
matter with whom she collided nor whom her excited face frightened,
and still breathlessly running came into the great Assembly Hall.
There Miss Tross-Kingdon had, by the advice of the Bishop, gathered
the whole school; to tell them as quietly as she could of Dorothy's
disappearance and to cross-examine them as to what anyone could
remember about her on the evening before.
For the sorrowful fact could no longer be hidden--Dorothy Calvert was
gone and could not be found.
On the faces of those three hundred girls was consternation and grief;
in their young hearts a memory of the "spookish" things which had
happened of late, but that had not before disturbed them; and now, at
the excited entrance of the maid, a shiver ran over the whole company.
Here was news! Nothing less could explain this unceremonious
disturbance. Even Miss Muriel's face turned paler than it had been,
could that have been possible and without a word she waited for the
maid to speak.
"Oh! Lady Principal! Let somebody come! The drying-loft!
screams--boards dragging--or trunks--or murder doing--maybe! Let
somebody go quick--Michael--a man--men--Somebody quick!"
Exhausted by her own excitement, the maid sank upon the nearest chair,
her hand on her heart, and herself unable to add another word. Miss
Tross-Kingdon rose, trembling so that she could hardly walk, and made
her way out of the room. In an instant every assembled schoolgirl was
on her feet, speeding toward the far west wing and the great loft,
dreading yet eager to see what would there be revealed.
Still anxious on his own account, but from a far different cause, and
still listening at the closed door with wonder at what seemed going on
behind it, was Jack, the boot-boy. At the approach of the excited
girls, he lifted his ear from the keyhole and looked behind him, to
find himself trapped, as it were, at this end of the narrow passage by
the multitude which swarmed about him, feverishly demanding:
"Boy, what is it? What is it? Is Dorothy in there? Is Dorothy found?"
"Is Dorothy--"
Poor Jack! This was the worst yet! At full comprehension of what that
question meant, even he turned pale and his lips stuttered:
"I--I--dunno--I--Jiminy cricket!"
He must get out of that! He must--he must! Before that door was opened
he must escape!
Frantically he tried to force his way backward through the crowd which
penned him in, but could make little progress; even that being
suddenly cut off by a strong hand laid on his shoulder and the _chef_
forcing into his hand a stout crowbar, and ordering:
"Help to break her down!" at the same instant Michael, the porter,
pressing to his side armed with an ax. "Now, all together!" cried he,
and whether or no, Jack was compelled to aid in the work of breaking
in.
But it was short work, indeed, and the crowd surged through the
opening in terror of what they might behold--only to have that terror
changed into shouts of hilarious delight.
For there was Dorothy! not one whit the worse for her brief
imprisonment and happily unconscious of the anxiety which that had
caused to others. And there was Baal, the goat! Careering about the
place, dragging behind him a board to which he had been tied and was
unable to dislodge. The room was fairly lighted now by the sun
streaming through the skylight, and Baal had been having a glorious
time chasing Dorothy about the great room, from spot to spot,
gleefully trying to butt her with his horns, leaping over piles of
empty trunks, and in general making such a ridiculous--if sometimes
dangerous--spectacle of himself, that Dorothy, also, had had a merry
time.
"Oh! you darling, you darling!" "Dolly Doodles, how came you here!"
"Why did you do it? You've scared us all almost to death!" "The Bishop
has gone into town to start detectives on your track!" "The Lady
Principal--Here she is now! you've made her positively ill, and as for
Dawkins, they say she had completely collapsed and lies on her chair
moaning all the time."
"Oh, oh! How dreadful! And how sorry I am! I never dreamed; oh! dear
Miss Muriel, do believe me--listen, listen!"
The lady sat down on a trunk and drew the girl to her. Her only
feeling now was one of intensest gratitude, but she remembered how all
the others had shared her anxiety and bade her recovered pupil tell
the story so that all might hear. It was very simple, as has been
seen, and needs no repetition here, ending with the heartfelt
declaration:
"That cures me of playing detective ever again! I was so anxious to
stop all that silly talk about evil spirits and after all the only
such around Oak Knowe was Baal!"
"But how Baal, and why? And most of all how came he here in the
house?" demanded Miss Tross-Kingdon, looking from one to another;
until her eye was arrested by the expression of Jack, the boot-boy's
face. That was so funny she smiled, seeing it, and asked him:
"Can't you explain this, Jack?"
"Uh--er--Ah! Wull--wull, yes, Ma'am, I allow 't I might. I mean 't I
can. Er--sho!--Course, I'll have to. Wull--wull--You see, Miss Lady
Principal, how as last summer, after school was took in, I hired
myself out to work for old John Gilpin an' he had a goat. Dame didn't
hanker for it no great; said it et up things an' got into places where
'twarn't wanted and she adwised him, that is to say she told him, how
't he must get rid of it. He got rid of it onto me. I hadn't got
nobody belongin' and we've been first rate friends, Baal and me."
This was evidenced by the quietude of the animal, now lying at the
boot-boy's feet in affectionate confidence, and refreshing itself with
a nap, after its hilarious exercise.
"Strange that we didn't know he was on our grounds, for I did not.
Where have you kept him, Jack, and how?"
The lad flushed and fidgetted but dared not refuse to reply. He had
been too long under the authority of Miss Tross-Kingdon for that, to
whose good offices his mother had left him when she died.
"Wull--Wull--"
"Kindly stop 'wulling' and reply. It is nearly lunch time and Dorothy
has had no breakfast."
"Yes, Miss Muriel, please but I have. When I waked up after I'd slept
so long it was real light, so I went poking around to see if I could
find another door that would open, or any way out; and I came to a
queer place away yonder at the end; and I heard the funniest
noise--'ih-ih-ih--Ah-umph!' something like that. Then I knew it was
the goat, that I'd heard pat-pat-pattering along the hall last night
and that I'd followed. And I guessed it was Jack, instead of a
burglar, who'd rushed past me and locked me in. I was mighty glad to
see anybody, even a goat, and I opened the gate to the place and Baal
jumped out. He was tied to that board--he'd pulled it off the gate,
and was as glad to see me as I was him. That little sort of cupboard,
or cubby-hole, had lots of excelsior in it; I guess it had come around
crockery or something, and that was where Baal slept. There was a tin
box there, too, and I opened it. I was glad enough then! For it was
half full of cakes and apples and a lemon pie, that you call a
'Christchurch' up here in Canada; and before I knew it Baal had his
nose in the box, like he was used to eating out of it, and I had to
slap his nose to make him let me have a share. So I'm not hungry and
all I care is that I have made you all so worried."
But already that was almost forgotten, though Miss Muriel's curiosity
was not yet satisfied.
"Jack, are you in the habit of keeping that animal here, in this
room?"
"Yes--yes, Ma'am; times I am. Other times he stays in the old
shed down by the brook. Most of the men knew I had him; Michael
did, anyhow. He never said nothing again' it;" answered the boy,
defiantly, trying to shift responsibility to the old porter, the
most trusted servant of the house.
"No, I cannot imagine Michael meddling with you and your foolishness;
and for a lad who's lived so long at a great school, I wonder to hear
such bad grammar from your lips. How did you get Baal into this room
without being detected in it?"
"Why, Ma'am, that was easy as preachin'. That back end, outside steps,
what leads up from the ground for carrying up wet clothes, it used to
be. He comes up that way, for goats can climb any place. Leastwise,
Baal can, and the door's never locked no more, 'cause I lost the key;"
answered Jack, who was now the center of attention and proud of the
fact.
"Very well, Jack. That will do. Kindly see to it that Baal is
permanently removed from Oak Knowe, and--" She paused for a moment, as
if about to add more, then quietly moved away, with Dorothy beside her
and all her now happy flock following.
Never before had the laughter and chatter of her girls sounded so
musical in her ears, nor her own heart been lighter than now, in its
rebound from her recent anxiety. She wasn't pleased with Jack, the
boot-boy; decidedly she was not pleased. She had not been since his
return from his summer's work, for he had not improved either in
industry or behavior. She had not liked the strange interest which
Gwendolyn had taken in his slight gift for drawing, which that
enthusiastic young artist called "remarkable," but which this more
experienced instructor knew would never amount to anything.
Yet that was a matter which could wait. Meanwhile, here was a broken
day, with everybody still so excited that lessons would be merely
wasted effort; so, after she had sent Dorothy to put on her ordinary
school dress, she informed the various classes that no more work was
required that day and that after lunch there would be half-holiday for
all her pupils.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Three cheers for Dolly and may she soon get lost
again!" shouted Winifred, and, for once, was not rebuked because of
unladylike manners.
Left to himself, Jack regarded his beloved Baal, in keen distress.
"Said you'd got to go, did she? Well, if you go I do, too. Anyhow I'm
sick to death of cleaning nasty girls', or nasty shoes o' a lot o'
girls--ary way you put it. Boot-boy, Baal! Think o' that. If that
ain't a re--restrick-erated life for a artist, like Miss Gwen says I
am; or uther a dectective gentleman--I'd like to know. No, sir, Baal!
We'll quit an' we'll do it to once. Maybe they won't feel sorry when
they find me gone an' my place empty to the table! Maybe them girls
that laughed when that old schoolmarm was a pitchin' into me afore all
them giggling creatures, maybe they won't feel bad, a-lookin' at that
hull row of shoes outside cubicle doors waiting to be cleaned and not
one touched toward it! Huh! It'll do all them 'ristocratics good to
have to clean 'em themselves. All but Miss Gwendolyn. She's the
likeliest one of the hull three hundred. I hate--I kinder hate to
leave her. 'Artists has kindred souls,' she said once when she was
showin' me how to draw that skull. Who can tell? I might get to be
more famouser'n her, smart as she is; an' I might grow up, and her
too, and I might come to her house--or is it a turreted castle?--an' I
might take my fa--famousness an' offer it to her to marry me! And
then, when her folks couldn't hardly believe that I was I, and her old
boot-boy, maybe they'd say 'Yes, take her, my son! I'm proud to
welcome into our 'ristocraticy one that has riz from a boot-boy to our
rank!' Many a story-book tells o' such doings, an' what's in them
ought to be true. Good for 't I can buy 'em cheap. The Bishop caught
me reading one once and preached me a reg'lar sermon about it. Said
that such kind of literatoor had ruined many a simple fellow and would
me if I kep' on. But even Bishops don't know everything, though I
allow he's a grand old man. I kind of sorter hate to leave Oak Knowe
on his account, he takes such an int'rest in me. But he'll get over
it. He'll have to, for we're going, Baal an' me, out of this house
where we're wastin' our sweetness on the desert air. My jiminy
cricket! If a boy that can paint pictures and recite poetry like I
can, can't rise above shoe-cleanin' and get on in this world--I'd like
to know the reason why! Come, Baal! I'll strap my clothes in a bundle,
shake the dust of old Oak Knowe offen me, and hie away to seek my
fortune--and your'n."
Nobody interfering, Jack proceeded to put this plan into action; but
it was curious that, as he reached the limits of Oak Knowe grounds, he
turned and looked back on the big, many-windowed house, and at the
throngs of happy girls who were at "recreation" on the well-kept
lawns. A sort of sob rose in his throat and there was a strange
sinking in his stomach that made him most uncomfortable. He couldn't
tell that this was "homesickness," and he tried to forget it in
bitterness against those whom he was deserting.
"They don't care, none of 'em! Not a single mite does anyone of them
'ristocratics care what becomes of--of poor Jack, the boot-boy! Come
on, Baal! If we don't start our seekin' pretty quick--Why jiminy
cricket I shall be snivellin'!"
Saying this, the self-exiled lad gripped the goat's leading strap and
set out at a furious pace down the long road toward the distant city.
He had a dime novel in one pocket, an English sixpence in another--And
what was this?
"My soul! If there ain't the key to that old door they broke in to see
what was racketing round so! I wonder if I ought to take it back?
Baal, what say? That cubby of our'n wasn't so bad. You know, Baal, I
wouldn't like to be a thief--not a reg'lar thief that'd steal a key.
Course I wouldn't. Anyhow, I've left, I've quit. I'm seekin' my
fortune--understand? Whew! The wind's risin'. I allow there's going to
be a storm. I wish--Old Dawkins used to say: 'Better take two thoughts
to a thing!' an' maybe, maybe, if I'd ha' waited a spell afore--I mean
I wouldn't ha' started fortune-seekin' till to-morrow and the storm
over. Anyhow, I've really started, though! And if things don't happen
to my mind, I can show 'em what an honest boy I am by takin' back that
key. Come on, Baal, do come on! What in creation makes you drag so on
that strap and keep lookin' back? Come on, I say!"
Then, both helping and hindering one another, the lad and his pet
passed out of sight and for many a day were seen no more in that
locality.
Yet the strange events of that memorable day were not all over. At
study hour, that evening, came another surprise--a visit to her mates
of the invalid Gwendolyn. From some of them she received only a silent
nod of welcome; but Laura, Marjorie, and Dorothy sprang to meet her
with one accord, and Winifred followed Dorothy's example after a
second's hesitation.
"Oh, Gwen! How glad we are to have you back! Are you sure you're quite
strong enough to come?" questioned Marjorie, while less judicious
Laura exclaimed:
"But you can't guess what you've missed! We've had the greatest scare
ever was in this school! You'd ought to have come down sooner. What do
you think it was that happened? Guess--quick--right away! Or I can't
wait to tell! I'll tell anyhow! Dorothy was lost and everybody feared
she had been killed! Yes, Gwen, lost all the long night through and
had to sleep with the goat and--"
Gwendolyn's face was pale from her confinement in the sick room but it
grew paler now, and catching Dorothy's hand she cried out:
"Oh! what if I had been too late!"
Nobody understood her, not even Dorothy herself, who merely guessed
that Gwen was referring to their interview of the night before; but
she didn't know this proud girl fully, nor the peculiar nature of that
pride which, once aroused, compelled her to do what she most shrank
from. As Dorothy pushed a chair forward, Gwendolyn shook her head.
"Thank you, but not yet. I've got something to say--that all of you
must hear."
Of course, everybody was astonished by this speech and every eye
turned toward the young "Peer" who was about to prove herself of noble
"rank" as never in all her life before.
Dorothy began to suspect what might be coming and by a silent clasp of
Gwendolyn's waist and a protesting shake of her head tried to prevent
her saying more.
But Gwendolyn as silently put aside the appealing arm and folding her
own arms stood rigidly erect. It wouldn't have been the real Gwen if
she hadn't assumed this rather dramatic pose, which she had mentally
rehearsed many times that day. Also, she had chosen this quiet hour
and place as the most effective for her purpose, and she had almost
coerced Lady Jane into letting her come.
"Schoolmates and friends, I want to confess to you the meanest things
that ever were done at dear Oak Knowe. From the moment she came here
I disliked Dorothy Calvert and was jealous of her. In less than a week
she had won Miss Muriel's heart as well as that of almost everybody
else. I thought I could drive her out of the school, if I made the
rest of you hate her, too. I'd begun to teach the boot-boy to draw,
having once seen him attempting it. I painted him a death's head for a
copy, and gave him my pocket-money to buy a mask of the Evil One."
"Oh! Gwendolyn how dared you? You horrid, wicked girl!" cried gentle
Marjorie, moved from her gentleness for once.
"Well, I'll say this much in justice to myself. That thing went
further than I meant, which was only to have him put pictures of it
around in different places. He'd told me about keeping a goat in the
old drying-room, and of course he couldn't always keep it still. The
kitchen folks put the pictures and the goat's noises together and
declared the house was haunted. I told the maids that they might lay
that all to the new scholar from the States, and a lot of them
believed me."
Even loyal Laura now shrank aside from her paragon, simply horrified.
She had helped to spread the rumor that Dorothy was a niece of
Dawkins, but she had done no worse than that. It had been left to
Jack-boot-boy to finish the contemptible acts. He got phosphorus from
the laboratory, paint from any convenient color box, and his first
success as a terrifier had been in the case of Millikins-Pillikins, at
whose bed he had appeared--with the results that have been told. He
it had been who had frightened the maid into leaving, and had spread
consternation in the kitchen.
"And in all these things he did, I helped him. I planned some of them
but he always went ahead and thought worse ones out. Yet nobody,
except the simpletons below stairs, believed it was Dorothy who had
'bewitched' the house," concluded that part of Gwendolyn's confession.
Yet still she stood there, firmly facing the contempt on the faces of
her schoolmates, knowing that that was less hard to bear than her own
self-reproach had been. And presently she went on:
"Then came that affair at the Maiden's Bath. Dorothy Calvert, whom I
still hated, saved my life--while she might have lost her own. What I
have suffered since, knowing this and how bravely she had borne all my
hatefulness and had sacrificed herself for me--You must guess that. I
can't tell it. But last night I made myself beg her pardon in private
as I now beg it before you all. May I yet have the chance to do to her
as she has done to me! Dorothy Calvert--will you forgive me?"