THE TROUBLES OF MIETTE
Dorothy and Rose-Mary followed Miette, leaving the others in
consternation.
“How dare you do such a thing, Nita Brandt?” exclaimed Tavia, as masks
and gowns were immediately discarded.
“Do what?” asked Nita, her face blazing, and her voice trembling.
“Pry into that girl’s affairs. You were told as well as the rest of
us that we were to be most careful of her feelings. She does not
understand American boarding schools,” said Tavia, with a sarcastic
emphasis on the “boarding schools.”
“Is she any better than the rest of us?” fired back Nita.
“Better than some of us, surely,” fought Tavia.
“If you mean that for me, Miss Octavia Travers,” flamed up Nita, “I
shall demand an apology. My family record cannot be questioned.”
“I said nothing about your family, I was talking about you. And if you
demand an apology, I guess you’ll have to take it out in demanding.”
“We shall see about that. Miss Bylow will be able to settle this.”
“Miss Bylow, indeed! Since when did she become head of Glenwood?
Oh, I see. You have taken her into your confidence. Perhaps you
have--exactly! I see it as clearly as if I had been there. Miette lost
a note and you gave it to Miss Bylow!”
At this direct accusation Nita turned scarlet.
A chorus of “Ohs!” went up from the others.
“You didn’t really do that?” asked Edna Black.
“This is not an investigating committee,” Nita found words to say. “And
I can’t see that what I may do is any of your business,” and at this
she, too, fled from the room.
Meanwhile Dorothy and Rose-Mary were doing their best to console
Miette, who lay on her bed weeping bitterly.
“But I was not to tell any one,” she wailed, “and I should not have
written to Marie. But Marie was so good, and I thought she ought
to know. But now--oh, you cannot understand!” and she wept again,
bewailing the lost note.
“I am sure,” insisted Dorothy, “It cannot do so much harm as you
think, Miette. I will see Mrs. Pangborn myself--”
“Oh, please do not do that. Mrs. Pangborn was not to know,” sobbed the
girl on the bed.
Neither Dorothy nor her chum knew what to say now. It was all very
mysterious, and Dorothy wished ardently she had taken her friend’s
advice and not gone in for the initiation.
But it was too late for regrets--it was time for action.
“Could you tell me in what way I could help you?” asked Dorothy, very
gently.
“I can see no way. And, oh, I was so happy until that awful girl--Yes,
it was she who did it all! She hates me! But why? What have I done?”
and the little French girl continued to cry.
“Now, I’m going to get you a cup of chocolate,” said practical
Rose-Mary, “and when you feel stronger you will see things in a
different light.”
Then Dorothy was left alone with Miette. The girl pulled herself
together and sat up.
“I would so like to tell you,” she began, “but I have been forbidden.
Oh, if my own dear mother had not left me--” she sobbed, but tried
bravely to restrain her tears. “You see, it is nothing so very wrong,
only they--oh, I cannot tell you. I must do the best I can, and if I
have to go away--then I must go!”
“But you have done nothing wrong?” ventured Dorothy. “Why should you
have to go away?”
“That is what I cannot tell you,” sighed Miette, and then Cologne
entered with the tray and chocolate.
“Now, doesn’t this smell good?” she asked, putting the tray on Miette’s
stand. “I’m just choked myself. I always hate initiation night. I just
think we ought to stop them. Seems to me girls have queer ideas of fun
lately,” declared Cologne.
It was only ten minutes until bed time, so the chocolate had to be
partaken of hurriedly.
“It does taste splendid,” approved Dorothy, as she sipped the steaming
beverage.
“I like it very much. You are so kind,” said Miette, as tears still
welled into her dark eyes.
“Glad you think I can make chocolate,” answered Rose-Mary. “Ned and
Tavia declare I’m too stingy with the stuff, and that I only let the
pot look at the sugar. That’s why I took the trouble to bring along
some squares. I usually keep that kind of sweetness for company.”
It was safe to guess that few of the Glenwood girls got to sleep on
time that night. There had been too much excitement at the initiation
to calm down immediately, besides, there was a prospect of more
trouble--and even trouble is not always unwelcome to boarding school
girls--those who are not actually concerned, of course.
The commotion continued during the day following. Miette did not appear
in the classroom, and there was much speculation as to just what had
happened after she left the Assembly Room.
Some of the girls refused to speak to Nita, while others were equally
disagreeable with Tavia. Dorothy and Rose-Mary kept their own counsel,
but a few of the girls did see Dorothy coming out of Mrs. Pangborn’s
office.
Certainly something had happened, or would happen, shortly, was the
prevailing opinion.
But while the pupils were all eagerness for developments the teachers
were weighing matters carefully. Mrs. Pangborn was a prudent woman, and
was never known to have to rescind an official action.
“But we must manage it,” she had told Dorothy in the morning interview.
“Of course it might have been better if you had acquainted me with the
fact that this antagonism had been shown, but I cannot blame you for
refraining from seeming unnecessary ‘tattling.’ However, I am very
glad you have come to me now. You must assure Miette that no harm has
been done, and I am sure I can adjust the matter for her. I think it
best I should not talk to her myself at present, as she might feel
called upon to give me the information she is so desirous of keeping
secret.”
Dorothy was greatly relieved that Mrs. Pangborn did not blame her, and
after the talk she felt that perhaps, as Mrs. Pangborn said, it would
be all satisfactorily settled for Miette.
But Miette continued to worry, and it was two days before she could be
induced to leave her room and go back to school work.
Dorothy was accustomed to helping those in difficulties. Her father,
the major, used to call her his little Captain, and even as a child
she went naturally to those who were in distress, and in a child’s
confident way, often brought comfort where those of experience failed
to give solace. This habit was the result of her early training, as
well as the consequence of a loving heart. Now Dorothy, as a young
girl, found the talent she had so successfully developed most useful,
and with the power she was well equipped, not only to carry her own
difficulties to some satisfactory termination, but to see deep down
into the heart of those unable to cope with their own trials, weaker
in character than Dorothy, and consequently more easily discouraged.
In little Miette, however, she found a strange problem. The child
seemed willing enough to confide her story to Dorothy, but was withheld
from doing so by some unknown reason. And not knowing the real
circumstances, Dorothy could do as little “in the dark” as a lawyer
might be expected to do when a client refuses confidence.
But in spite of this Dorothy felt that it was Miette who needed her
now, and Miette whom she must assist in some way, although the mystery
surrounding the little stranger seemed as deep to-day as it was the day
she entered Glenwood.
The note that Nita Brandt picked up from the floor in the class room
and gave to Miss Bylow was in the hands of Mrs. Pangborn, but that lady
had not thought of such a thing as reading the child’s scrawl. She
knew it was intended for some friend of Miette and no matter what the
contents might be she could see no necessity of reading it, as the note
was not to be sent away.
The transgression of which Miette was accused was that of having
written this note after, and _directly_ after, Miss Bylow had announced
that no notes were to be written in the class room.
Mrs. Pangborn had intended calling Miette to her office and charging
her with this complaint, made by Miss Bylow, when the unhappy ending
to the pranks on initiation night almost threw the child into nervous
prostration. This postponed the investigation.
So, as the matter rested only Nita Brandt, and perhaps Miss Bylow, knew
the contents of the disastrous note. If Dorothy only could know it she
felt she would be able to do something to “mend matters.” But how was
she to find out? She could not ask Nita Brandt, neither could she think
of asking Miss Bylow.
So Dorothy turned the matter over and over in her busy brain. Finally
she made a resolve: she would ask Miette.