FINDING THE CULPRIT
When Miss Torrence opened the door, half expecting to see the mysterious
visitor of the night before, she beheld instead the editor of the
Manuscript Magazine.
“Oh, Virginia, I am so glad you came. Mother-mine, if you will excuse
us, I would like to take Virginia at once to my study, as it is nearly
time for us to go up to the school, and I have much to discuss with
her.”
“Of course, daughter. Is it about the Manuscript Magazine? I’m sure it
will be a nice one, with such a nice girl for an editor.” Then when they
had started away the little old lady recalled them to add: “Daughter,
ask Virginia who she thinks it was came to visit me last night. She was
such a dear girl, I want to see her again, and thank her for being so
kind to me. She said I reminded her of her own grandmother, and when she
kissed me good-by I know she was crying.”
“Yes, mother, I will,” the young teacher promised. Then, when they had
entered the study, she carefully closed the door and turned a troubled
face toward her companion.
“Virginia,” she said in a voice very unlike her own, “some one of the
girls climbed in this window last night and carried away the bundle of
manuscripts that I had tied up to give to you this morning. In going
out, she must have hastened, or perhaps she had not noticed the flower
pot.” Miss Torrence pointed at the floor where it lay, its pieces
scattered and the small flowering plant withering.
“Who could it have been?” But even as she spoke, the girl knew that but
one pupil in Vine Haven desired to prevent the appearance that week, of
the Manuscript Magazine.
“I am almost convinced,” Miss Torrence told her, “that the culprit is
Kathryn Von Wellering. I am sure that you are also, but I hardly know
how to proceed with an inquiry into the matter.”
“There is nothing here that would identify her?” Virg glanced about the
small den.
“No, I looked, but I haven’t been outside yet. It wasn’t snowing when I
returned, and so perhaps their footprints may still be visible.”
Together they slipped out a back door that they might not arouse the
curiosity of the little old lady who, sitting in the living room, was
partly dozing in the sun.
“It must have snowed in the night,” Virginia, in the lead, called over
her shoulder, “for there isn’t a trace of a footprint beneath this
window.”
Miss Torrence sighed. “I especially regret this, for Eleanor Burgess
told me that she had no other copy of her stories, and I assured her
that need cause her no alarm, as nothing could happen to them while they
were in either my possession or with you. I am sure that she treasured
them, and now, without doubt, whoever stole them has destroyed them.”
“Shall we take Eleanor into our confidence?” the girl asked.
“Not quite yet. I shall go at once to Mrs. Martin and ask just what she
would wish me to do to start an investigation. I do not want to openly
accuse one of her pupils, and perhaps have that girl leave the school.
It is all very unfortunate.”
They bade the little old lady good-by, and walked slowly through the
grove and toward the seminary. It was a gloriously clear day. The
freshly fallen snow on the pine branches sparkled and gleamed, while the
blue-gray waves of the ocean danced and sang, it would seem, for very
joy. It was the first time the sun had shone in weeks and nature was
glad. But even the brightness about them could not lighten the load on
the hearts of Miss Torrence and Virginia.
The girl went to her class, but Miss Torrence arranged with Miss King to
relieve her for at least ten minutes.
Mrs. Martin looked up wonderingly when a tap sounded on her office door.
It was 9, and teachers and pupils were usually in the classrooms; but
then it might be the housekeeper or even Patrick needing advice.
When the door opened and the young teacher entered, Mrs. Martin
exclaimed: “Something is wrong. I can tell by your expression. Be
seated, Miss Torrence.”
“I would rather stand. The telling will take but a moment and Miss King,
who is with my girls, is due in the music room.”
In as few words as possible, the story was told.
“Why, this is unbelievable!” Mrs. Martin was shocked and amazed. “My
natural conclusion is, as was yours, that Kathryn Von Wellering is the
only girl who has a personal interest in the destruction of those
manuscripts. You say that Anne Petersen was with her when you first
arrived last evening?”
“Yes, they were standing in front of the Honor Roll, pretending to scan
it, but I now believe that they were waiting to be sure that I was
coming to the meeting, as they naturally would not wish to go to Pine
Cabin if I were there.”
“I have noted of late that Belle Wiley and Anne Petersen are often with
Kathryn Von Wellering, and I have regretted it, especially in the case
of Belle, who is a dear little girl, and I cannot but deplore the
influence of Kathryn, whose mother thinks of nothing but society and
whose father, I fear, enriches himself at the expense of the poor. I
have been told that he is a conscienceless Wall Street broker. I regret
that I accepted Kathryn as a pupil, and if it seems best, Miss Torrence,
for the good of the other girls, I will write her mother asking her to
send for her daughter.”
Then rising, Mrs. Martin stood for a thoughtful moment gazing out at the
snow-covered world. At last, turning toward the waiting teacher, she
said: “Kathryn, Anne and Belle are all in your 9 o’clock class, are they
not?”
“Yes, Mrs. Martin. That is, they should be. If they are not there this
morning, shall I send Virginia in to tell you?”
“Yes, if you will,” the principal replied. “If she does not come almost
at once, I will know that those three girls are to be with you for one
hour.” Then she added: “Do not permit them to leave the class during
that period, Miss Torrence. I shall send for Miss Buell, and ask her to
thoroughly search the rooms occupied by those three pupils.”
The young teacher took her departure and five moments later, as Virginia
had not appeared, Mrs. Martin rang for the member of her faculty who had
charge of the rooms and the corridors. Popularly she was known among the
girls as “Miss Snoopins.”
“Miss Buell,” Mrs. Martin had drawn her within the office and closed the
door, “I want you, with all speed, to search first Kathryn Von
Wellering’s room, then Anne Petersen’s, and if you have not found a
package of manuscripts in either, you may look in Belle Wiley’s room. I
can trust you to be speedy and discreet.”
Miss Buell sniffed. “Well, I certainly hope I’ll find whatever evidence
it is you want in that disagreeable Von Wellering girl’s room. She
treats folks as if they weren’t human, but that little Belle Wiley, why,
Mrs. Martin, she’s a sweet, innocent little lamb. She never tries to
hide things or play tricks on me the way the others do, or at least some
of them.”
Mrs. Martin, knowing that Miss Buell’s weakness was loquacity, dismissed
her, and then sat down at her desk, supposedly to attend to business
matters, but she found her thoughts often wandering. She was indeed more
troubled because of what had happened than either Miss Torrence or Miss
Buell realized. “She who steals a composition will steal anything else
she desires. It is the act, and not the article, which proclaims one a
thief.”
Not more than fifteen minutes had passed when the principal heard
footsteps descending the stairs, and so rapidly, though quietly, did
they approach her door, that she believed, and correctly that Miss
Snoopins had been successful in her search.
Mrs. Martin had the door open before Miss Buell could rap. That thin
angular woman entered, her eyes fairly glittering with the joy of having
accomplished her errand.
“I found ’em,” she announced, “and what’s curious, maybe, I found two of
’em.”
“Why, how could you, Miss Buell, when only one package of manuscripts
was missing.” The principal was puzzled indeed, for at that moment from
beneath her copious gingham apron, Miss Snoopins did produce two bundles
of compositions. These she laid on the desk, saying, as she pointed at
one accusingly. “That was in the bottom of Kathryn Von Wellering’s trunk
and it was plain she was trying to hide it, for she had a tray over it
so at first glance it would look like that was the bottom and no use to
look farther, but I was bent on finding evidence and——”
Mrs. Martin looked disappointed. “But these are old compositions, I
judge, and not the ones for which we are searching. This other package
is more like it. Where did you find that?”
“In Anne Petersen’s room and the queer thing about it was that it wasn’t
hidden at all. It was lying right on the floor inside of her door. That
one wasn’t hard to find. It didn’t——”
The principal interrupted. “Miss Buell,” she said, “will you kindly ask
Miss King to again relieve Miss Torrence and you need not return.”
Mrs. Martin pretended not to notice the disappointment plainly portrayed
in the other woman’s thin face. “Then that’s all you want me to do?” she
lingered in the open door.
“Yes, thank you, Miss Buell. You have helped us immeasurably.”
Almost at once Miss Torrence entered the office and found Mrs. Martin
examining the two packages which she had not untied.
“This is the one that I lost,” she identified unhesitatingly. Then
glancing up questionably. “You say that it was found lying on the floor
just inside of Anne Petersen’s room. That is curious! What do you make
of it?”
“I haven’t decided as yet. But this much I am sure. Belle is not
involved. I am glad of that.”
Then, as she noted that the young teacher seemed to be greatly
interested in the manuscripts found in Kathryn’s trunk, the principal
inquired, “What are they, Miss Torrence?”
“Stories, poems and other compositions written by a cousin of Kathryn’s,
it would seem, who is attending a girls’ school in Boston. They are the
same in subject matter which Kathryn has been handing in week after
week, writing upon them, as is our custom, ‘original stories written by
Kathryn Von Wellering.’”
“That decides the matter, for, whether or not she or Anne Petersen
entered your cabin last night, Kathryn can no longer remain as a pupil
in this school. I shall write her mother today asking her to send for
her daughter.”
Miss Torrence looked thoughtful, then said, “The blame for the package
stolen from my den has, of course, been placed upon Anne Petersen.
Mother told me that the girl who visited the cabin was most tender to
her, quieting her fear and heating broth to warm her when she was
chilled from having attempted to arise. That never could have been
Kathryn, nor, am I sure that it could have been Anne. Although I have
sometimes thought that Anne assumed an indifference and heartlessness
that might not be real. What shall we do?”
“If it were Anne who was so kind to your mother, then there is something
in her nature that we can work upon. It might do more harm to her
character to dismiss her, than to keep her for a time. I wish, Miss
Torrence, that, at the close of your class, you would bring those two
girls to my office.”
The pupils of the 9-to-10 class of rhetoric had been puzzled by the
frequency with which Miss King had relieved their teacher during the one
short hour. Only Kathryn and Anne were suspicious of the real nature of
the interruptions. The former tried to leave at once, when the gong in
the corridor announced a 15-minute free period, but Miss Torrence was
watchful. “Kathryn Von Wellering and Anne Petersen will remain in their
seats while the others pass out, if you please.”
Kathryn was inclined to make a break and run for her room when Miss
Torrence asked them to accompany her to the office of the principal.
The young teacher noticed the difference in the behavior of the two
girls. Anne seemed composed and there was a new determination in her
face.
Kathryn, with an attempt at bravado, was nevertheless the one whose
manner betrayed guilt.
The girls were closely watched when the packages were pointed out to
them, no explanation being given. It was plain that Anne was not in the
least troubled until she was informed where the stolen manuscript had
been found. “In my room?” she repeated with such genuine surprise and
amazement that Mrs. Martin heard herself saying with conviction, “Yes,
Anne; but they were thrown there just after you left, by Kathryn,
without doubt; as she wished to place the entire blame upon you.”
Anne shrugged slightly, and seemed to be her old indifferent self. She
had in that moment recalled her promise of the night before, when she
had said: “Coward! All you are afraid of is that I will squeal. Well, I
won’t, but I don’t want you ever again to speak to me. I’m through!”
“This other package of compositions, Kathryn, was found in your trunk
and—”
The girl angrily interrupted the speaker. “Mrs. Martin, what right has
anyone to look in my trunk and take out of it something belonging to
me?”
Mrs. Martin found it hard to speak calmly. “We reserve the right to read
all letters and search where we will. This is stated in the seminary
folders and is read by the mothers of the pupils before they choose this
school for their daughters to attend, and, as for stealing—what did you
call it, Kathryn, when at night you entered Miss Torrence’s home and
took something which did not belong to you?”
“I didn’t take it,” the girl flared. “You just said that you found it in
that—that tattling girl’s room.”
“Anne has not tattled.” The principal’s voice was hard now. “Kathryn, go
to your room at once and begin your packing. I shall wire your mother to
meet the afternoon train, as you will be on it.”
Anne Petersen expected to hear more of the incident, but it was
evidently closed. Miss Torrence had taken an opportunity to thank the
girl for her kindness to her mother, adding that she would make that
frail invalid most happy if she could find time, now and then, to call
upon her, and, to her own surprise, the girl soon found the moments that
she spent in the bow window with the little old lady (who reminded her
so much of her own grandmother) were among the happiest of her day.
There she often met Virginia Davis. Too, she promised to write the very
best story that she could for the second edition of the Manuscript
Magazine, and she said that she would ask Belle Wiley to do the same.
With the departure of Kathryn Von Wellering, the large front room was
left vacant, and, as the two small rooms occupied by Anne and Belle were
on the north side of the school, and cold in winter, Mrs. Martin asked
them if they would like to be roommates and share the large, sunny room,
formerly occupied by Kathryn.
Mrs. Martin and Miss Torrence had been right. Anne Petersen, who had
scorned lying, even when she had resorted to it, developed into one of
the finest girls in the seminary; one whom every teacher could trust.
This was partly due to the something within herself, it is true, but
also to the loving influence of the little old lady in Pine Cabin and to
the roommate who believed in her.