GETTING ON
It was a frosty night and snow lay smoothly upon the campus. Only the
walks and the cemented place about the fountain were cleaned. Tony
Foyle had made his last rounds and put out the lights; but although
there was no moon the starlight on the snow made the campus silvery in
spots. But the leafless trees, and the buildings about the open space,
cast deep shadows.
There was a light shining in a study window of the West Dormitory and
that light was in the room occupied by the Triumvirate--Ruth Fielding,
Helen Cameron and Mercy Curtis. The two latter were abed, but awake
and wondering why Ruth had not returned, and what Miss Scrimp had meant
by coming to the door and telling them to leave the light burning.
The clocks had long since struck eleven and it was close to midnight.
The night was still, for there was no wind. It was possible that very
few of either the scholars, teachers, or servants at Briarwood were
awake. But almost directly under the light in the Triumvirate's room
another light burned--in the study of the French teacher. She seldom
retired early; that is one reason why those girls who considered Miss
Picolet their enemy believed she was always on the watch.
Three figures came out of the basement door under the tower of
Briarwood Hall--a lady much bundled up, a girl ditto, and the old
Irishman, Tony Foyle.
"Sure, ma'am, jest as I told ye this afternoon, the big felly that
sassed me last fall, tryin' ter git in ter play his harp, and with his
other vagabonds, was hanging around again to-day. I hear him an' his
rapscallion companions is in Lumberton. They've been playing about
here and there, for a month back. And now I see him comin' along with
his harp on his back--bad 'cess to him! P'raps they're walkin' across
to Sivin Oaks, an' are takin' in Briarwood as a 'cross-cut'."
"Hush!" whispered the Preceptress. "Isn't that somebody over
yonder--by the fountain?"
They were all three silent, keeping close in the shadow. Some object
_did_ seem to be moving in the shadow of the fountain. Suddenly there
sounded on the still night air the reverberating note of a harp--a
crash of sound following the flourish of a practised hand across the
wires.
"Bless us and save us!" muttered Tony. "'Tis the marble harp. 'Tis a
banshee playin'."
"Be still!" commanded Mrs. Tellingham. "It is nothing of the kind, you
very well know, Tony. Ah!"
She had looked instantly toward the illuminated window of the French
teacher's study at the other side of the campus. The shade had snapped
up to the top of the casement, and the shadow of Miss Picolet appeared.
The French teacher had heard the voice of the harp.
"Oh, poor little thing," murmured Mrs. Tellingham. "This seems like
spying and eavesdropping, Ruth Fielding; but I mean to stop this thing
right here and now. She shall not be frightened out of her wits by
this villain."
They heard no further sound from the harp at the fountain. But the
door of the West Dormitory opened and the little figure of Miss Picolet
appeared, wrapped in some long, loose garment, and she sped down toward
the fountain. Soon she was out of sight behind the marble statue.
"Come!" breathed the Preceptress.
They heard Miss Picolet and the man chattering in their own
language--the man threatening, the woman pleading--when the trio got to
the fountain. Ruth was a poor French scholar, but of course Mrs.
Tellingham understood what they said. And the Preceptress glided
around the fountain and confronted the harpist with a suddenness that
quite startled him.
"You, sir!" exclaimed the lady, coldly. "I have heard enough of this.
Don't be frightened, Miss Picolet. I only blame you for not coming to
me. I have long known your circumstances, and the fact that you are
poor, and that you have an imbecile sister to support, and that this
man is your disreputable half-brother. And that he threatens to hang
about here and make you lose your position unless you pay him to be
good, is well known to me, too.
"We will have no more of this fellow's threats," continued Mrs.
Tellingham, sternly. "You will give him none of your hard-earned
money, Miss Picolet. Tony, here, shall see him off the grounds, and if
he ever appears here again, or troubles you, let me know and I shall
send him to jail for trespass. Now, remember--you Jean Picolet! I
have your record and the police at Lumberton shall have it, too, if you
ever trouble your sister again."
"Ah-ha!" snarled the big man, looking evilly at Ruth. "So the little
Mademoiselle betrayed me; did she?"
"She has had nothing to do with it--save to have had the misfortune of
losing the letter you gave her to deliver to Miss Picolet," Mrs.
Tellingham said, briefly. "I had her here to identify you, had Miss
Picolet not come out to meet you. Now, Tony!"
And big as the harpist was, and little as the old Irishman seemed,
there was that in Tony Foyle's eye that made the man pick up his harp
in a hurry and make his way from the campus.
"Child! go in to bed," said Mrs. Tellingham. "Not a word of this,
remember. Thank goodness, _you_ are one girl who can keep a secret.
Miss Picolet, I want to see you in my study. I hope that, hereafter,
you will give me your confidence. For you need fear no dismissal from
the school over such a misfortune as is visited upon you."
She took the sobbing, trembling French teacher away with her while Ruth
ran up to Duet Two in the West Dormitory, in a much excited state of
mind.
Fortunately both Helen and Mercy had dropped to sleep and none of the
other girls seemed to have heard the harp at midnight. So there was no
talk this time about the Ghost of the Campus. To the other girls at
Briarwood, the mystery remained unsolved, and the legend of the marble
harp was told again and again to the Infants who came to the school,
with the added point that, on the night Ruth Fielding and Helen Cameron
had come to the hall, the marble harp was again heard to sound its
ghostly note.
No thought of such foolish, old-wives' fables troubled Ruth Fielding's
dreams as she lay down on this night which had seen the complete
exposure of the campus mystery and the laying of the campus ghost. She
dreamed, instead, of completing her first term at Briarwood with
satisfaction to herself and her teachers--which she did! She dreamed
of returning to the old Red Mill and being joyfully received by Aunt
Alviry and Uncle Jabez--which she did! She dreamed, too, of joining
Helen Cameron and her mid-winter party at Snow Camp and enjoying
quantities of fun and frolic in the wintry woods; which, likewise, came
true, and which adventures will be related in good time In the next
volume of this series: "Ruth Fielding at Snow Camp; Or, Lost in the
Backwoods."
"I am so glad it is over!" said Ruth to herself, as she retired. "I
hope there is no more trouble."
And here let us for the time being say good bye to Ruth Fielding and
her chums of Briarwood Hall.
THE END
PEGGY LEE SERIES
By ANNA ANDREWS
A charming series of stories of a young American girl, Peggy Lee,
living with her family (including many unusual pets) on a large coffee
plantation in Central America, and her many adventures there and in New
York.
The action is rapid, full of fun, and takes the reader not only to many
interesting places in Central America, but in the country as well,
where Peggy attends a school for girls. The incidents are cleverly
brought out, and Peggy in her wistful way, proves in her many
adventures to be a brave girl and an endearing heroine to her friends
and readers.
1. PEGGY AND MICHAEL OF THE COFFEE PLANTATION
2. PEGGY LEE OF THE GOLDEN THISTLE PLANTATION
3. PEGGY LEE AND THE MYSTERIOUS ISLANDS
(Other Volumes in Preparation)
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers, New York