ALMA IN A SCRAPE
It was the custom of Miss Leland's school to hold the mid-year
examinations before the Christmas holidays, early in December, so that
the teachers and the girls might enjoy their holidays without the
shadow of that depressing necessity hanging over them, and so that they
might apply themselves to the preparation for them while they were
still in the habit of studying. Miss Leland held the opinion that
after the gay indolence of the holiday season, and when the girls were
still in the state of homesickness and lassitude following their return
to school, they were much less interested in making good marks, and
much less capable of applying themselves.
Thus, the first week of a snowy December found the entire school in
that state of tension which seizes any body of young people when a
hostile body of older people is bent upon finding out how much they
know.
"History from nine to twelve to-morrow," groaned Charlotte. "I've
reread the whole volume. I've crammed dates until I don't know whether
Columbus discovered America in 1492 or 1776. I've 'rastled' with Free
Silver, and I haven't the faintest notion what the trouble was about.
A long, long time ago I knew whether Maryland was a Charter colony or
not, but now I never expect to know again. I could write everything I
know about this great and glorious country in two minutes, and it would
be quite wrong at that, and the thought that we are expected to know
enough to require three solid hours for writing it out is driving me
rapidly into a state of chronic melancholia."
"What happened in 1812, Charlotte?" demanded Nancy in a dazed voice.
"Something happened then, but I don't know what."
"Why, that was the year that Washington said 'Beyond the Alps lies
Italy.' Which was quite true. And even if he didn't say it then, it
would have been true, so you can't go far wrong there," replied
Charlotte. "Nancy, kindly fold up your book. I am going to flunk, and
I won't have you pass. If you try to study any more I'm going to sing
the Marseillaise at the top of my voice."
"I think I _will_ stop. I really do know my history, but I'm
forgetting it the more I try to study."
After dinner that night, the living-room was empty during the usual
hour for recreation, nearly all the girls having gone to their room
either to study, or simply as a matter of form, since it was considered
highly undiplomatic, to say the least, to appear as if you were so sure
of the outcome of your examinations that you felt privileged to take
life easily.
What they did, once they were in the privacy of their own rooms, was,
of course, strictly their own business. Two or three, who believed
that rest was essential, had solemnly gone to bed. A dozen or even
more of the seriously inclined had hung "Busy" signs on the panel of
their doors, through the transoms of which the greenish illumination of
the students' lamps burning within told their own story. The others,
philosophically believing that if they were going to pass they would,
and if they were destined to flunk they would do so in spite of the
best-intentioned efforts at study, were cheerfully whiling away the two
hours of grace in subdued revelry.
Alma, who had every reason to doubt that she would shine in her
examinations unless she made a superhuman effort at cramming, and who,
at the same time, was unable to comfort herself with Mildred's
philosophical indifference, was curled up on her bed, her fingers in
her ears, struggling to make the lines she read convey some sense to
her weary brain.
"I say, Milly, will you ask me some questions?" she suggested at
length, lifting a weary face from her book. "I don't know _what_ I
know."
"Oh, bother! Don't study any more. What does it matter even if you
don't pass?" said Mildred. "For goodness' sake don't you turn into a
grind like Nancy. One thing I refuse to do is to room with anyone
who's studious."
"But I'll flunk, as sure as fate," objected Alma, "and--and I don't
want to, Milly."
"You're a bit late finding that out. It's not going to do you a bit of
good to stuff now."
"Don't your father and mother mind if you don't pass?"
"Oh, Mother doesn't care a bit. She is always worrying herself to
death for fear I'm overstudying. Dad sometimes rows at me about my bad
marks, but Mother always takes my part. Besides this is my last year
of school, and what earthly good will Latin or Algebra do me when I
come out?"
"I suppose they really aren't much use," agreed Alma, finding this a
very comforting notion. "Of course, it's different with Nancy; she
wants to go to college."
"Well, of course if one wants to be a school teacher," said Mildred
with a very faint sneer. "But that's a ridiculous idea for anyone
who's as pretty as you are."
Alma hesitated; she felt the slight cast on Nancy in Mildred's remark,
but she was afraid to resent it, and told herself that she would not be
justified in doing so. She was silent for a moment, wondering why she
liked Mildred, when Mildred did not like Nancy. Perhaps,--she was
unwilling to admit this supposition, but it formed itself hazily in her
mind--perhaps she herself did not _really_ like Mildred. Perhaps way
down inside of her she shared her sister's distrust of the girl. But
why didn't she admit it? Because she was flattered with being the
chosen friend of the most important girl in the school? Because she
had accepted favors from Mildred? She blushed involuntarily as these
thoughts glided through her mind.
She did not want to quarrel with Mildred, even when she knew that she
was right and her roommate in the wrong, because she hoped that Mildred
would invite her to visit her, and that through Mildred she might have
some good times. She wished that Mildred wouldn't make mean little
remarks about Nancy, because she felt ashamed of herself for not openly
resenting them.
At length, however, she threw aside her book, and lent her rapt
attention to Mildred's chatter about the coming holidays. In a little
while other girls joined them, and the next hour of gossip drove away
her uneasiness for the coming day, and her uncomfortable reflections.
The last examination which was in Latin ended on Friday at noon. On
the Wednesday of the following week the reports had been posted on the
bulletin-board, and at the eleven o'clock recess some twenty girls were
clustered around them struggling to get near enough to read their
marks. Those who were closest called out the percentages to the others
who pelted them with agitated questions.
"You got seventy-six in French, Denise. Good enough. Good heavens,
Nancy Prescott, you made _ninety-two_ in history, and Charlotte Spencer
_ninety-four_. Ye gods and little fishes, I passed my
Algebra--sixty-eight! Catch me, somebody; I'm going to faint."
"Kay Leonard flunked everything but her French," whispered another.
"Well, it won't disturb her at all. What did I make in Latin?"
"Eighty-eight. Good for you. Drinkwater doesn't make anyone a present
of her marks. I just scraped through. I say, Alma! Alma Prescott,
what happened to you on your Latin?"
"Why?" asked Alma, peering over Allison's shoulder, and turning a
little pale. "Did--did I flunk very badly?"
"Why, it just says 'Cancelled' after your name. Didn't you take your
exam?"
"Of course I took it!"
"Well, there--you can see for yourself. It just has 'Cancelled.'"
A queer silence fell upon the chattering group of girls and for several
dreadful moments every eye was turned on Alma, who, white as a sheet,
was staring blankly at the uncompromising word written after her name.
"I--I can't understand," she said presently, in a scared, voice. "I
_did_ take the examination--and I thought I really got through. I
can't understand. Why should it be cancelled?" She turned her big,
frightened eyes to Nancy, who, as pale as she was, only stared back at
her.
"Why should my examination be cancelled?" repeated Alma, dazedly. "Was
anyone else's cancelled too?"
"No. One, two, six girls flunked--and--for goodness' _sake_--Mildred
Lloyd made the highest mark, Ninety-three! Mildred Lloyd, come here,
and get your medal! Congratulations!"
Mildred strolled up nonchalantly, glanced at the board and turned away;
only Nancy followed her curiously with her eyes. Then she turned to
Alma.
"Haven't you any idea why your examination was cancelled?" she asked,
in an odd voice that sounded as if her throat was dry. Alma shook her
head.
"It's very strange. Come and let's ask Miss Drinkwater. Maybe it's
only that your paper was lost or something like that." She tried to
sound comforting, but she had no faith in her suggestion. Just then,
however, the bell rang, and the girls had to go to their desks. Miss
Leland took her place at one end of the room and stood waiting for
silence. Everyone felt that she was there to make some important
announcement and her grave, cold expression led all of them to suspect
that it was not an entirely pleasant one.
She waited a moment after the room was silent. Alma looked piteously
at Nancy, with a glance that said, "She's going to say something about
me." Nancy kept her eyes fixedly on Miss Leland. Her lips were
pressed together tightly, and her hands had grown as cold and damp as
though she had just taken them out of ice-water. Her heart was beating
so heavily that the frill on her shirt-waist trembled.
Miss Leland took a step forward, straightened a book on the big desk,
and then looked up.
"Girls, for the first time in the history of this school, I am
compelled to make an announcement that is as great a humiliation to me
as it must be to you," she said, in a quiet, even voice.
"Ever since this school was founded there has never until now been any
occasion when I have been forced to doubt the honor of one of my
pupils." She made another pause, and in that silence an electric
thrill seemed to pass through each one of the girls; some of them
flushed scarlet and others went white, as though each one felt in a
hazy way some share in the guilt of the unnamed culprit.
"For the first time in eighteen years one of my teachers has had to
bring to my attention the fact that a pupil of this school attempted to
_cheat_ in an examination. That examination has, of course, been
cancelled, so that that girl's attempt to win a high mark,
_dishonestly_, availed her nothing.
"I do not need, I am sure, to incite in you feelings of disgust and
shame for that girl's action. Your own sense of honor makes any
warnings on my part superfluous and insulting to you.
"Fortunately, the imposition was discovered, because that girl most
unwisely left the interlinear translation of Virgil's AEneid, which she
had used to assist her in the examination, on her desk, where it was
found, and brought to me.
"I do not choose to announce the name of that girl, much as she merits
the public disgrace. I shall speak to her privately, and if she can
offer, which is not likely, any defense of her action, I may soften her
punishment. Otherwise, I have no choice left to me than to expel her
from a school which she has disgraced. Now, you may go to your
class-rooms."
The girls rose in silence, and hardly knowing what they were doing,
began feverishly to collect their books and papers. But neither Alma
nor Nancy moved. In a few moments the assembly hall was empty, save
for the two sisters, neither of whom seemed to have been conscious of
the curious glances cast at them by the other girls as they went out.
When they were alone, Nancy got up and went over to Alma, who sat as if
she had been turned to stone, with a face as white as chalk.
"Alma, of course I know you didn't do it," said Nancy, laying her hand
on her sister's, and speaking in a gentle, trembling voice.
"Oh, Nancy, it's so horrible--it's so horrible," moaned Alma. "I don't
know how all this could have happened. What shall I do, Nancy? What
in the world shall I do?"
"Come, dearest, let's go up-stairs," coaxed Nancy. "It'll come out all
right. Come, dear."
"Of course, now everyone knows that Miss Leland meant me," said Alma,
dully. "Am I going to be expelled; Nancy? I can't stand it--I won't
stand it. Come on, Nancy, let's get our things and go home."
"Alma, darling, you _didn't_ do it?" cried Nancy, the very shadow of
such a doubt making her feel faint and ill. Alma lifted a wan face and
smiled.
"I don't _know_ that I didn't do it," she said, drearily. "If they
found a trot on my desk--and it must have been my desk, because mine
was the only examination that was cancelled--why, how can I prove that
I wasn't using it?"
"But you don't even own such a thing! You wouldn't dream of having
one. In some schools girls are allowed to use interlinear translations
for their daily work, but it's not permitted here, and it wouldn't have
entered your mind to get one. Come, we'll go to Miss Leland at once.
She's alone in her office now."
Alma let herself be guided up to the principal's cosy little sanctum,
where Miss Leland was seated at her desk writing. A wood-fire
smoldered with friendly warmth on the brightly burnished andirons, and
a clear, wintry sunlight fell in through the curtained windows, where a
perfect garden of indoor plants bloomed gaily. But all these pleasant,
homelike things seemed to share the chill hostility of Miss Leland's
level glance, as the two sisters stood looking at her timidly from the
threshold of the open door.
"You may come in," she said, with a curt nod. "No doubt, Alma, you
wish to offer some explanation. Be seated."
"My sister wanted to say that there was a mistake. The book you
referred to was never in her possession, and she did not use it at her
examination," said Nancy, speaking rapidly, and almost harshly, in her
endeavor to keep from breaking into a fit of hysterical tears. Alma
was quite incapable of saying a word for herself.
"Then I am sorry that it happened to be found on her desk just after
she had left the examination-room," replied Miss Leland dryly, her tone
expressing her complete lack of belief in Nancy's words.
"Alma, did you have that book?" asked Nancy, turning sharply to her
sister. Miss Leland opened a drawer of her writing-table and took out
a small volume, bound in green cloth, which she handed over to Alma.
Alma had already opened her lips to utter a frantic denial to Nancy's
question, when her eyes fell upon the book. She shut her mouth with a
sudden gasp, and without taking it, simply stared at the inoffensive
little volume with a fixed, horrified gaze.
"Is that an interlinear?" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Is that the
book that was found on my desk?"
"So you _have_ seen it before," remarked Miss Leland. "Alma, this is a
very serious matter. There can be no excuse for a girl's making use of
any text-book whatever at an examination. A failure is to be deplored,
but it is not a disgrace--and it is to be very much regretted that you
did not choose rather to run the risk of an honorable failure than to
attempt to steal a good mark, I have no choice in the matter. I am
very sorry that I had to speak of it before the school, but I had to
make a public example of the girl who could stoop to such an act. You
understand, of course, that it will be impossible for you to continue
as a pupil in this school."
For some reason Alma had grown quite calm, and when Miss Leland had
finished speaking, instead of appearing to be overcome by the grim
meaning in the last words, she rose quietly.
"Of course, if you cannot take my word for it that I never looked
inside that book or anything like it in my whole life, why there is no
use in my saying anything more," she said, with the utmost
self-possession. "I don't know how it came to be on my desk----"
"Alma, I am anxious to believe a girl is innocent until she is proved
guilty," said Miss Leland, impressed by Alma's coolness, "only--you
_have_ seen this volume before?" She looked at the girl with a still
doubtful and puzzled expression.
Alma hesitated a moment before she admitted slowly:
"Yes, I have seen it, Miss Leland. But I never knew what it was."
"You have seen it in the possession of some girl in this school?"
"That I can't answer," replied Alma, with a firmness that Nancy had
never seen in her before. "I--I don't think you have a right to ask me
any more questions, Miss Leland. If--if you just let the whole
business go, I'm perfectly willing to--to bear the blame. Please don't
ask me any more questions. Let it be as it is. Just as long as Nancy
is satisfied that I never did that hateful thing, why, I don't mind,
you know."
The two sisters looked at each other happily, each of them sincerely
indifferent as to whether anyone else in the school believed Alma
innocent or guilty.
"Come on, Nancy," said Alma, almost gaily. They had started to leave
the room, when Miss Leland called them back.
"I am very anxious to believe in you, Alma. If there has been a
mistake, be assured that it will be set right. I will tell the other
girls at luncheon that--well, I must see. I am in a difficult
position. You may both go now. I would advise you to go directly to
your classes."
Nancy was curiously absent-minded as they made their way down-stairs,
hand in hand. Then all at once she drew in her breath sharply,
catching her under lip between her teeth. On the bottom step she
stopped short and, putting her hands on Alma's shoulder, swung her
about so that she could look into her eyes. Her own were very bright.
"What is it?" asked Alma; then, for some reason, she colored and turned
her eyes away.
"I know now where I saw that book myself, Alma," said Nancy.
"Nancy!" Alma's blue eyes now suddenly filled with tears. "Oh,
Nancy--you won't say anything. No, no, you didn't see it. Please
don't believe that of her."
"Two Sundays ago when I was talking to you--I noticed it in the
bookcase in your room. I kept reading the titles on the books when
I--you know the way you do when you're worried. It stood between a
copy of 'Bryce's Commonwealth' and a French grammar----"
"Nancy, you mustn't say anything, do you hear?" insisted Alma,
beseechingly.
"I won't say anything. But--but I'm going to--you go on to class. I
tell you, I won't say anything. Oh, Alma, you darling! Go on to
class, I say."
"Nancy, what are you going to do?" demanded Alma, as Nancy broke away
from her and ran up the stairs again. "You aren't going to Miss
Leland?"
"No, I'm not. There, isn't that the postman? You might as well see if
there's anything for us before you go to French."
Alma walked down the hall toward the front door, where the maid was
taking the noon mail from the postman. Nancy stood waiting, half-way
up the stairs, evidently lost in thoughts which were not very pleasant,
for her brown eyes sparkled with suppressed indignation and contempt,
and once or twice she pressed her lips together tightly, as she always
did when she was trying to make herself look calmer than she felt.
"Here's a letter from Mother," said Alma, coming back with an envelope
in her hand. "I can't read it now, so you take it and save it for me."
Nancy leaned over and took it from her.
"I--I may not see you until to-night," she said, slipping the letter
into the pocket of her skirt. "You know you can trust me to hold my
tongue, well--quite as well as she can, and she holds hers very well
indeed. Do you mind being stared at and whispered about?"
Alma only smiled, then, with a little toss of her head, made a right
about face, marched off, chin up, to brave the battery of glancing eyes
and whispering tongues alone.