"WHO IS THE TATTLE-TALE?"
The next day the whole school were at their books again--the short
Thanksgiving recess was ended. It had been just a breathing space for
the girls who really were anxious to stand well in their classes at
Briarwood Hall. Those who--like some of the Upedes--desired nothing so
much as "fun," complained because the vacation had been so short, and
dawdled over their books again.
But there was no dawdling in Duet Two, West Dormitory. Had Helen been
inclined to lapse occasionally, or Ruth sunk under the worriment of
mind which had borne her down since the day of the skating party on
Triton Lake, Mercy Curtis kept the two chums to the mark.
"No shirking, you young ones!" commanded the crippled girl, in her
sharp way. "Remember the hare would have won the race easily if he
hadn't laid down to nap beside the course. Come! some tortoise will
beat you in French and Latin yet, Helen, if you don't keep to work.
And go to work at that English composition, Ruthie Remissness! You'd
both be as lazy as Ludlum's dog if it wasn't for me."
And so she kept them up to the work, and kept herself up, too. There
wasn't much time for larking now, if one wished to stand well at the
end of the term. The teachers watched for shirkers more closely, too.
Even Mary Cox and her friends next door showed some signs of industry.
"Although it does seem as though we were always being worked to death,"
groaned Heavy, one day, to Ruth. "I feel as though my constitution was
actually breaking down under the strain. I've written to my father
that if he wants to see even a shadow of my former self at Christmas,
he had better tell Mrs. Tellingham not to force me so!"
She sighed breezily and looked so hard at the piece of cocoanut pie
beside Ruth's plate (having eaten her own piece already) that Ruth
laughed and pushed it toward her.
"Have it if you like, Heavy," she said. "I am not very hungry."
"Well, there isn't quite so much of you to nourish, my dear," declared
Jennie Stone, more briskly. "I really _do_ feel the need of an extra
piece. Thank you, Ruth! You're a good little thing."
"Miss Picolet will see you, Ruth," whispered Helen, on her other side.
"She is disgusted with Heavy's piggishness. But Miss Picolet, after
all, won't say anything to you. You are her pet."
"Don't say that, Helen," replied Ruth, with some sadness. "I am sorry
for Miss Picolet."
"I don't see why you need be. She seems to get along very well,"
returned her chum.
But Ruth could not forget how the little French teacher had looked--how
frightened she was and how tearful--the afternoon when Ruth had told
her of the incident aboard the _Minnetonka_, and of her loss of the
mysterious letter sent by the harpist. The little French woman had
begged her not to blame herself for the loss of the letter; she had
only begged her to say nothing to a soul about either the man or the
letter. And Ruth had kept the secret.
Nearly a fortnight had passed since the occurrence, and it lacked not
many days to the close of the term, when one evening, after a meeting
of the S. B.'s in their usual room over the dining hall, Ruth had been
delayed a bit and was hurrying out alone so as not to be caught out of
the dormitory after warning bell, when old Tony Foyle hailed her.
"I was a-goin' to the West Dormitory to ax Miss Scrimp for to call ye,
Miss Ruthie," said the old Irishman, who--like most of the help about
the school--was fond of the girl from the Red Mill. "Ye're wanted,
Miss."
"Wanted?" asked Ruth, in surprise. "Who by?"
"The Missus wants ye--Missus Tellingham. Ye're ter go straight to her
study, so ye are."
Much disturbed--for she feared there might be bad news from home--Ruth
ran to the main building and knocked on Mrs. Tellingham's door. At her
pleasantly spoken "Come in!" the girl entered and found the Preceptress
at her desk, while the old doctor, quite as blind and deaf to
everything but his own work as usual, was bent over his papers at the
end of the long table. But at this hour, and in the privacy of the
place, he had cocked the brown wig over one ear in the most comical
way, displaying a perfectly bald, shiny patch of pate which made his
naturally high forehead look fairly enormous.
"Nothing to be frightened about, Miss Fielding," said Mrs. Tellingham,
instantly reading aright what she saw in Ruth's countenance. "You need
not be disturbed. For I really do not believe you are at fault in this
matter which has been brought to my notice."
"No, Mrs. Tellingham?" asked Ruth, curiously.
"I have only a question to ask you. Have you lost something--something
that might have been entrusted to you for another person? Some letter,
for instance?"
The color flashed into Ruth's face. She was always thinking about the
note the harpist had given to her on the steamboat to take to Miss
Picolet. She could not hide her trouble from the sharp eyes of Mrs.
Tellingham.
"You _have_ lost something?"
"I don't know whether I should tell you. I don't know that I have a
right to tell you," Ruth stammered.
Mrs. Tellingham looked at her sharply for a minute or so, and then
nodded. Then she said:
"I understand. You have been put on your honor not to tell?"
"Yes, Mrs. Tellingham. It is not my secret."
"But there is a letter to be recovered?"
"Ye-es."
"Is this it?" asked Mrs. Tellingham, suddenly thrusting under Ruth's
eye a very much soiled and crumpled envelope. And it had been
unsealed, Ruth could see. The superscription was to "Mademoiselle
Picolet."
"It--it looks like it," Ruth whispered. "But it was sealed when I had
it."
"I do not doubt it," said Mrs. Tellingham, with a shake of her head.
"But the letter was given to me first, and then the envelope. The--the
person who claims to have found it when you dropped it, declared it to
be open then."
"Oh, I do not think so!" cried Ruth.
"Well. Enough that I know its contents. You do not?"
"Indeed, no, Mrs. Tellingham. I may have done wrong to agree to
deliver the letter. But I--I was so sorry for her----"
"I understand. I do not blame you in the least, child," said Mrs.
Tellingham, shortly. "This letter states that the writer expects more
money from our Miss Picolet--poor thing! It states that if the money
is not forthcoming to an address he gives her before to-day--to-day,
mind you, is the date--he will come here for it. It is, in short, a
threat to make trouble for Miss Picolet. And the person finding this
letter when you dropped it has deliberately, I believe, retained it
until to-day before bringing it to me, for the express purpose of
letting the scoundrel come here and disturb Miss Picolet's peace of
mind."
"Oh, how mean!" gasped Ruth, involuntarily.
"Mean indeed, Ruth," said the Preceptress, gravely. "And you have
yourself experienced some ill-usage from the person who has played spy
and informer in this matter, since you have come to Briarwood Hall. I
understand--you know that little can go on about the school that does
not reach my ears in one way or another--that this same person has
called you a 'tattle-tale' and tried to make your friends among the
girls believe that you played traitor to them on a certain occasion. I
have told Miss Cox exactly what I think of her action in this case,"
and she tapped the letter before her. "She has shown plainly," said
Mrs. Tellingham, with sternness, "that she is a most sly and
mean-spirited girl. I am sorry that one of the young ladies of
Briarwood Hall is possessed of so contemptible a disposition."