A WILD IRISH PRINCESS.
The girls of the lower school were all busy with their preparation.
Violet and Rose sat side by side. They had been chums for nearly a
year now, and the fact was so fully recognized in the school that
even their desks were placed close together. Violet was puzzling her
little brains over a very difficult piece of French translation, Rose
endeavoring to learn four or five long stanzas from Scott's "Lady of
the Lake." They were both clever little girls, and, as a rule, their
preparation was quickly over, and their tasks speedily conquered; but
to-night there was a holiday feeling in the air; a sense of idleness
pervaded everyone. Lessons seemed cruel, and the children rebelled
against their tasks. They looked at one another, laughed, yawned,
struggled with the listlessness which seized them, shot envious glances
at their more studious companions, and absolutely refused to overcome
the difficulties of the French translation and the English poetry.
The door between the lower schoolroom and the room occupied by the
girls of the middle school had been thrown open, and from where the
children sat they could see the pretty flounce of a pale blue muslin
dress, and the provoking and exasperating peep of a little, pointed,
blue Morocco shoe. The shoe evidently belonged to a restless foot, for
it often appeared beneath the flounce, to vanish as quickly, and then
to poke itself into notice again.
"It's Biddy," whispered Violet in a low tone to Rose. "I don't believe
she's learning her lessons a bit better than we are."
"She never learns them at all," answered Rose. "Janet does them for her
now; don't you know that, Violet?"
"Hush!" said Violet, "we are disturbing Katie and Susy Martin, and they
are such spiteful little cats, they are sure to tell on us. Hush! do
hush, Rose! you ought not to say such things."
"I won't say them if you don't like," whispered Rose back again; "but
they are true all the same."
Violet bent over her French translation. Rose made another frantic
struggle to conquer "The Lady of the Lake."
The other children in the room were working with considerable industry;
the little idlers in the corner had to suppress their emotions as best
they could.
Rose had a very emphatic way; she was a stronger character than Violet,
and in consequence had her little friend more or less under her thumb.
Violet had a great admiration for Biddy, and, as she was really an
honorable and conscientious child, Rose's words shocked her very much.
The moments went by. The summer evening outside looked more beautiful
and inviting each moment. After preparation was over, there was a treat
in store for the children. This was Bridget O'Hara's birthday, and she
was herself the giver of the treat. The children were to have a sort of
supper-tea in the tent on the lawn, and afterward Biddy was going to
give each of them a little present in memory of the day.
The thought of Biddy's present and Biddy's treat had filled every
little heart with a pleasant sense of excitement during the entire day;
but Violet felt now that if Rose's words were really true she would not
care to accept a keepsake from Bridget.
As she sat before her desk, too lazy, too languid, and at the same time
too excited, to pay the smallest heed to her lessons, she could not
help wishing that she could see something more of the blue frock than
just that part which covered the pretty foot.
She slipped down lower and lower by her desk, and presently contrived
to get a view of Bridget's desk. She could not see her face, but she
could catch a glance of a plump young hand; it was quite still, it did
not move, it did not turn a page. Violet could stand it no longer. In
a moment of desperation she kicked off her slipper, and springing from
her seat, bent low on the floor to pick it up.
From there she could see the whole of Biddy's figure. Oh, horror! her
little heart went down to zero; Bridget O'Hara's head rested against
her plump hand; she was fast asleep.
The shrill voice of mademoiselle was heard from her corner of the room:
"Reste tranquille, mon enfant; tu es bien ennuyeuse; est ce que tu ne
sais pas que c'est l'heure de silence?"
Violet scrambled to, her feet, and sat down before her French
translation with a crimson face.
In the meanwhile a pale, quiet-looking girl had entered the room where
the middle school were busy over their tasks, and, bending down by
Bridget O'Hara's side, took up an exercise she had just finished, and
looked over it swiftly and eagerly.
"That is right," she said; "you will get good marks for this. Now, what
about your arithmetic?"
"I have managed my sums fairly well, Janet; see," pulling an
exercise-book forward. "I suppose they are all right, but they look
very funny."
"They must be all right, dear. Let me see! Yes, yes; oh, what an
incorrigibly stupid girl you are! This sum in compound subtraction has
got the answer which should be attached to the compound addition sum.
Quick, Bridget, give me your pen; I will score through these two lines,
and then you must add the figures underneath yourself. That is right.
What have you done with my----"
"Your copy, Janet? I was going to tear it up, as I had done with it."
"Don't do that, give it to me; it will be safest. Now, try and look
over your poetry, Bridget. I will wait for you outside."
"Oh, that is easy enough; I shan't be any time. It's the first page or
two of that delightful 'Ancient Mariner'; I can get it done in no time."
"Lucky for you. I will wait for you outside; I have something I want to
say to you. Be quick, for all those small tots will be out immediately,
and they'll want to take up every moment of your time. Give me those
notes, however, before I go."
Bridget pulled some crumpled bits of paper out of her pocket, and
thrust them into Janet's eager hand.
Miss May left the room, and Biddy, wide awake now, devoted herself to
her poetry.
There was an eager, pleased, almost satisfied, expression on her face.
It was over a week now since Janet had taken her up. During that time
she had, without in the least guessing the fact herself, been brought
into a considerable state of discipline.
If she obeyed no one else in the school, Janet's slightest nod was
sufficient for her.
It was Janet's present aim, whether by foul means or fair, to make
Biddy appear both good and fascinating.
She did not want her captive to feel the end of her chain; she was
clever enough to make Biddy her complete slave without allowing the
slave to be conscious of her slavery.
The result of this week of very judicious slavery was, as far as
externals went, highly beneficial.
Biddy had a gorgeous taste in the matter of dress. She wore her
splendid garments with truly barbarian recklessness, overdressing
herself on one occasion, being untidy and almost slovenly on another.
A few suggestions, however, from Janet, altered all this, and the most
fastidious person could now see nothing to object to in the clothes
which adorned her beautifully proportioned figure, and the hats under
which that charming and lovely face looked out.
To-night, Biddy's pale blue muslin, made simply, but with a lavish
disregard to expense in the matter of lace and ribbons, was all that
was appropriate; her crisp chestnut curls surrounded her fair face like
a halo. There was a queer mixture of the woman and the child about her;
she was by many degrees the most striking-looking girl in the school.
It took Biddy but a very few minutes to conquer the difficulties of
"The Ancient Mariner." She had a great aptitude for committing poetry
to memory, and after repeating the stanzas two or three times under her
breath, she slipped the book inside her desk and ran out.
To do this she had to go through the schoolroom where the little girls,
Violet and Alice, were sitting mournfully in front of their unlearned
lessons.
"Oh, you poor tots!" she said, struck by the expression on their
wistful faces, "haven't you done yet? The feast is almost ready. I've
ordered clothes baskets of strawberries, my dears, and quarts and
quarts of cream."
"Silence, mademoiselle!" screamed the French teacher.
Bridget put her rosy fingers to her lips in mock solemnity, blew a kiss
to all the children, and banged the door somewhat noisily behind her.
Violet's blue eyes sought Alice's; there was a world of entreaty in
their meaning. Alice began, with feverish, forced energy, to mutter to
herself:
"A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid."
Violet continued to gaze at her; then, taking up a scrap of paper, she
scribbled on it:
"I don't believe that Janet helps Biddy with her lessons."
This scrap of paper was thrust into Alice's hand, who, in a moment,
tossed a reply into Violet's lap:
"Yes, she does. You ask Honora Stedman or Jessie Sparkes."
Violet tore the paper into a thousand bits. Tears, she could scarcely
tell why, dimmed her pretty eyes. She sank back in her seat, and
resumed her lessons.
"Maintenant, mes enfants, l'heure de préparation est passée," said the
French governess, rising, and speaking with her usual, quick little
scream. "Mettez vos livres de côté; allons-nous à la fête donnée par la
gracieuse Mlle. Bridget O'Hara."
The children jumped up with alacrity. Chairs scraped against the
floor; desks were opened and books deposited therein more quickly than
quietly, and then the whole eager group went out.
There was a large tent erected on the front lawn; gay flags were posted
here and there round it, and a rustic porch had been hastily contrived
at the entrance. This was crowned with many smaller flags, and was
further rendered gay with bunches of wild flowers and ferns which had
been fastened to it, under Bridget's supervision, early in the day.
The brilliant effect of the many colored flags and banners, the peep
within the tent of tempting tables and many charming presents, excited
the wild spirits of the little ones to an almost alarming degree.
Alice looked at Violet with a face full of ecstasy.
"_How_ I love Biddy O'Hara!" she exclaimed. "Think of her getting up
such a lovely, exquisite treat for us! Would any other girl think only
of others on her birthday? Oh, I love her; I do love her!"
"But if she does really crib her lessons!" answered Violet, in a low
tone of great sorrow. "O Alice, it can't be true."
"It is true," replied Alice; "but, for goodness' sake, Violet, don't
fret yourself; it isn't our affair if Biddy chooses to do wrong.
Whether she does right or wrong, I shall still maintain that she's
a dear, generous darling. Do come on now, Violet, and let us enjoy
ourselves." Alice caught her little companion's hand as she spoke, and
the two children ran down the rather steep grassy incline to the tent.
Most of their companions had arrived before them, and when they entered
under the flower-crowned porch, they found themselves in the midst
of a very gay and attractive scene. Bridget, with two or three older
girls of the school, was entertaining the children with strong sweet
tea, piles of bread and butter, cakes of various sizes and shapes, and
quantities of strawberries, which were further supplemented with jugs
of rich cream.
Violet and Alice seated themselves at once at one end of the long
table, and the merry feast went on.
What laughter there was at it, what childish jokes, what little
harmless, affectionate, mirthful repartees! Bridget O'Hara's face wore
its sweetest expression. The Irish girl had never looked more in her
element. Frances Murray and Dorothy, who were both helping her, had
never seen Bridget look like this. She showed herself capable of two
things: of giving others the most intense pleasure and enjoyment, and
absolutely forgetting herself.
Dorothy had not felt kindly disposed to Bridget during the past week.
Bridget's conduct, Bridget's extraordinary reserve, the marked way in
which she resented small overtures of friendship from Evelyn Percival,
hurt her feelings a great deal; but to-night Dorothy Collingwood felt
her heart going out to Biddy in a new, unexpected way.
"I agree with Evelyn," she said suddenly, turning round and speaking to
Frances Murray.
"About what, my dear?" retorted that young lady. "You generally do
agree with Evelyn, you know."
"Don't tease me, Frances; of course we're chums, but I hold, and always
will hold, my own opinions. I agree with her now, however. I agree with
her with regard to Bridget O'Hara."
"Biddy looks very sweet to-night," replied Frances, "but surely Evelyn
cannot care about her."
"Biddy has been very nasty to Evelyn," answered Dolly. "Of course, I
know who is really to blame for it. Still I thought Biddy would have
more spirit than to be led in a matter of this sort. But do you think
Evelyn resents this sort of thing? Not a bit of her. She is just as
sweet and good about it all as she can be, and she said to me, what I
am really inclined to believe, that if Biddy is only done justice to,
there won't be a nobler woman in the world than she."
"Oh, fudge!" said Frances; "I grant that she does look very sweet now,
but it's just like Evelyn to go to the fair with things, and it's just
like you, Dolly, to believe her. Come, come, the little ones cannot eat
another strawberry, however hard they try, and Bridget is going up to
the end of the tent to distribute the presents."
"Let us see," replied Dolly.
The two girls went up to the far end of the tent, where a little table
covered with a crimson cloth stood; on this Bridget had placed her
small gifts.
They were all minute, but all dainty. They had arrived from Paris, a
few nights ago, in a small box. Thimbles in charming little cases,
dainty workboxes, writing cases, penholders, dolls, photograph frames,
boxes of colors, etc., etc., lay in profusion on the pretty table.
Biddy stood by her presents, a bright light in her eyes, a bright
color on her cheeks. The two elder girls, who stood in the background,
could not help a sudden pang as they watched her. There was something
about her mien and bearing which made them, for the first time, clearly
understand that this girl was a wild Irish princess at home. For the
first time they got an insight into Biddy's somewhat complex character.
"Come here, darlings," she said to the children in her sweet, rather
low-pitched voice. "I am glad to give you a little bit of pleasure. It
is the best sort of thing that can happen to me, now that I'm away from
father. Had you enough to eat, pets?"
"Oh, yes, Biddy, oh, yes!" they all cried.
"That's right. I thought you would. We have lots of feasts of this sort
at the Castle. The children aren't like you, of course; they live,
half of them, down in the cabins near the water's edge, and they come
up with their little bare feet, and their curly heads that have never
known hat nor bonnet, and their eyes as blue as a bit of the sky, or
as black as the sloes in the hedges. Oh, they are pets every one of
them, with their soft voices, and their little prim courtesies, and
their 'Thank you, kind lady,' and their 'Indeed, then, it's thrue for
ye, that I'm moighty honored by ateing in the sight of yer honor.'
Ah, I can hear them now, the pets! and don't they like the presents
afterward, and don't they send up three cheers for father and me before
they go away! They are all having a feast to-night at the Castle in
honor of my birthday, and father is there, and all the dogs, but I'm
away; I expect they're a bit lonesome, poor dears, without Biddy, but
never mind! You have all been very good to let me give you a little
feast, my dear darling pets."
There was a great pathos in Biddy's words; the children felt more
inclined to cry than to laugh; Dolly felt a lump in her throat, and
even Frances looked down on the ground for a second, but when there
was a brief pause Frances raised her hand, and waved it slightly as a
signal.
This was enough, all the hands were raised, all the handkerchiefs
waved, and from every throat there rose a "Hip! hip! hurrah!" and
"Three cheers for the Irish princess!"
"Many happy returns of the day," said Frances, and then all the
children repeated her words.
"You must not add any more," exclaimed Biddy. "I don't wish to cry; I
want to be happy, as I ought to be when you are all so nice and good
to me. I may as well say frankly that I did not at all like school at
first, but I do now. If you are all affectionate and loving, and if
Janet goes on being kind to me, I shall like school, and I shan't mind
so much being broken in."
"Poor Biddy," exclaimed Dorothy, turning to her companion; "she reminds
me of the lovely silver-winged horse Pegasus. She does not like the
taming process."
"No, my dear, that's true," replied Frances; "but Pegasus grew very
fond of Bellerophon in the end."
"Only I deny," said Dolly, "that Janet is in the least like
Bellerophon."
"Listen!" exclaimed Frances.
"I am going to give you your presents now," said Bridget. "Come here,
each of you in turn."
The children pressed eagerly to the front, and Biddy put a small gift
into each of their hands.
"Now come for a walk with me," she said. "I shall tell you a fairy
story--a very short one; it pleased the barefooted children at home,
and I dare say it will please you. After that you must go to bed."
It was really late now. The sun had set, but there was an after-glow
all over the sky, and the moon was showing her calm, full, round face
above the horizon.
Alice linked her hand inside Biddy's arm, the other children surrounded
her, and Violet felt herself pressed up to her other side.
On another occasion Violet would have taken Biddy's arm, and held it
tight. She did not do so to-night; she walked quietly by her side,
holding a lovely jointed doll in her arms.
Bridget told a wonderful fairy tale, but Violet's eyes were fixed on
her doll, and her thoughts were far away.
The other children cheered and applauded, and questioned and
criticised, but Violet was absolutely silent.
At last the gong in the great house sounded. This was the signal for
all the little ones to go to bed. They each of them pressed up to kiss
Bridget, and thank her for the lovely treat she had given them. Each
one after she had kissed her friend ran into the house.
At last Violet was the only child left. Even Alice ran off, but Violet
stood in the middle of the gravel walk, clasping her doll in her arms.
"What is the matter, Vi?" asked Bridget. "Don't you like the doll?
Would you rather I exchanged it for something else?"
Alice had climbed the steep grassy slope. She stood on the summit, and
shouted down into the gathering darkness:
"Come, Violet, come at once, or you'll be late!"
"Kiss me, Violet, and run to bed," said Bridget. "If you don't like the
doll, I'll exchange it to-morrow."
"But I do like the doll," said Violet. "I love it! It isn't that,
Biddy. May I ask you something?"
"Of course you may, you little darling. How pale you look. What's the
matter, Vi?"
"Is it true, Biddy, that you crib your lessons? Alice says it's true;
but I don't believe her."
Bridget had knelt down by Violet in her earnest desire to comfort her.
She rose now to her feet, and stood erect and tall in the moonlight.
After a very brief pause, she spoke in a haughty tone:
"Alice says that I crib?" she repeated. "What do you English girls mean
by 'cribbing'?"
"Alice says--oh, please don't be angry, Biddy--she says that Janet
helps you; that Janet does--does _some_ of your lessons for you,
herself. I don't believe it! I said it wasn't true."
"You are a good little soul," said Biddy.
She took the child's hand within her own.
"What a plucky little thing you are, Vi. So you think it wrong to crib?"
"I think it wrong to crib?" repeated Violet. "I think it wrong to crib?
Why, of course; it is _most un_honorable."
Bridget colored.
"That's what you English think," she said, in a would-be careless tone;
"but when a girl doesn't know, and when she's quite certain to get into
all sorts of scrapes--eh, Vi--you tell me what a girl of that sort has
got to do?"
"She must not crib," said Violet, in a shaky and intensely earnest
little voice; "it's most awfully unhonorable of her; a girl who
cribs must feel so--so mean. If it was me, I'd rather have all the
punishments in the school than feel as mean as _that_. But you don't
crib, Biddy, darling; you are so lovely, and you are so sweet; I
know--I _know you don't crib_."
Bridget O'Hara had been tempted by Janet into a very dishonorable
course of action, but no spoken lie had ever yet passed her lips.
When Violet looked up at her with the moonlight reflected on her little
pale, childish, eager face, Biddy felt the hour for that first lie had
arrived. She thought that she would do anything in the world rather
than crush the love and the eager trust which shone out of Violet's
eyes.
"Of course I don't crib," she was about to say; but suddenly, like a
flash, she turned away.
"I'm sorry to destroy your faith in me, Vi," she said, in a would-be
careless tone; "but though I have done a very 'unhonorable' thing, as
you call it, I really can't tell a lie about it. I do crib, if cribbing
means taking Janet's help when I learn my lessons."
The faint roses which Violet wore in her cheeks faded out of them.
"I'm awfully sorry for you," she said. "I didn't believe it a bit when
Alice said it; I wouldn't believe it now from anyone but yourself.
There's the doll back again, Biddy; I--I can't keep it, Biddy."
She pushed the waxen beauty into Bridget's arms, and rushed back to the
house.