PEARSON'S BOOK OF ESSAYS.
Now that the break-up day was so near, nothing was talked of in the
school but the coming examinations, the prizes, and the delightful fair
which was to bring such honor and renown to Mulberry Court. The school
resembled a little busy hive of eager, animated workers. Even play
during these last days was forgotten, and everyone, from the eldest to
the youngest, was pressed into the service of the fair.
When the matter was first proposed, Mrs. Freeman had said to the girls:
"You are abundantly welcome to try the experiment. My share will
consist in giving you a large marquee or tent; everything else you must
do yourselves. I shall invite people to see your efforts and to buy
your wares. Each girl who contributes to the bazaar will be allowed to
ask two or three guests to be present; the only stipulation I have to
make is that you don't produce a failure; you are bound, for the honor
of the school, to make the fair a success."
The programme for the great day was something as follows: The
examinations were to be held in the morning. Immediately afterward the
prize-winners would receive their awards; there would be an interval
for dinner; and at three o'clock the great fair would be opened, and
sales would continue until dusk.
The girls who were to sell at the stalls were all to be dressed in
white with green ribbons. Mrs. Freeman had herself selected this quiet
and suitable dress; she had done this with a special motive, for she
was particularly anxious that Biddy should have no opportunity of
displaying her finery.
The evening before the great and important day arrived. Evelyn had
purchased a great many useful and beautiful articles for her stall.
She and Dolly were to be the saleswomen; and Mrs. Freeman had arranged
that the principal stall should be at the top end of the large marquee.
Janet felt a sarcastic smile curling her lips when this arrangement was
made.
"It does not really matter," she said to herself; "Bridget's and my
stall will be exactly in the center. The light from the entrance to
the tent will fall full upon it. After all, we shall have a better
position, even than that occupied by the head stall." She kept her
thoughts to herself. Her spirits had never been better, her manners
never more amiable, than since the day of her visit to Lady Kathleen.
The girls who were working under her were very busy, and much delighted
with the basket of beautiful things which had been brought from
Eastcliff, but about any further contributions Janet was absolutely
silent.
On the afternoon of the day before the bazaar, Bridget came into the
bedroom which was shared by Janet and one other girl. "Mrs. Freeman
tells me that you are going into Eastcliff," she said.
"Yes," replied Janet, "I'm to drive in with Marshall. There has been
a mistake about some of the confectionery, and Mrs. Freeman wants me
to go to Dovedale's, in the High Street, without delay, to order some
more cheese cakes, creams, and jellies. Frances Murray ought really
to attend to this, for she is to manage the refreshment stall, but
she happens to be in bed with a stupid headache. What's the matter,
Bridget? How excited you look! and, good gracious, my dear! you have
been crying; your eyes have red rims round them."
"I have had a letter from home," said Bridget, "and Pat Donovan is ill:
he fell off the ladder and hurt his back. Norah Mahoney wrote about
him--she's awfully troubled. Poor Norah, she is engaged to Pat, you
know; she's says he's very bad, poor boy!"
"Who in the world is Pat Donovan? and who is Norah Mahoney?" asked
Janet, as she hastily drew on her gauntlet gloves. "Friends of yours,
of course. But I never heard of them before."
"They are very dear friends of mine," replied Bridget; "they are two
of the servants; I love them very much. Poor, poor Pat! Norah has been
engaged to him for years and years, and now only to think of his being
hurt so dreadfully! Norah wrote me such a sad letter. I'll read it to
you, if you like."
"No thanks, my dear; I really have no time to listen to the sorrows
of your servants. It is too absurd, Bridget, to go on like that! Why,
you're crying again, you great baby! I thought, when you spoke of them,
that you meant people in your own rank."
"I won't tell you any more!" said Biddy, coloring crimson. "You have no
heart, or you wouldn't speak in that horrid tone! Dear, dear Pat! I'm
ten thousand times fonder of him than I am of anyone else in the world,
except father and the dogs, and, perhaps, Aunt Kathleen. I used to
ride on his shoulder all over the farm when I was quite a little tot!"
"Well, my dear, I must run now. I am sorry that I can't sympathize with
you."
"Yes; but, Janet, one moment. I want to send a little present to Pat;
I can, for Aunt Kathleen gave me five pounds. I want to send him a
post-office order for two pounds, and I want to know if you will
get it for me. Here's the letter, all written, and here are the two
sovereigns. Will you get a postal order and put it into the letter for
me, Janet, and then post it at Eastcliff?"
"But you are going home yourself in a couple of days."
"Oh! that doesn't matter; I wouldn't leave Pat a hour longer than I
could help without his letter. You may fancy how fond I am of him, when
I tell you that he has the care of Minerva and the pups."
"I think you're a great goose," said Janet. "But there's no time to
argue. Give me the money, child, and let me go."
"Be sure you post the letter in good time," said Bridget. "Here it is;
I haven't closed it."
She laid the directed envelope on Janet's dressing table, put the two
sovereigns on the top of it, and ran off.
The whole place was in bustle and confusion. Many of the girls were
packing their trunks preparatory to the great exodus which would take
place the day after to-morrow. Evelyn and her favorite friends were
sitting in the large summerhouse which faced the front of the house.
They were chatting and laughing merrily, and seeing Biddy they called
to her to come and join them. Her impulse was to rush to them, and pour
out some of her troubles in Dolly's kind ears; but then she remembered
certain sarcastic sayings of Janet's. Janet's many insinuations were
taking effect on her.
"They all look good enough up in that summerhouse," she said to
herself; "but according to Janet they are each of them shams. Oh, dear,
dear, what a horrid place the world is! I don't think there's anyone
at all nice in it, except father and the dogs, and Pat and Norah. Aunt
Kathie is pretty well, but even she is taken in by Janet. I don't
think school is doing me any good; I hate it more and more every day.
I shan't join the girls in the summerhouse; I'll go away and sit by
myself."
She turned down a shady walk, and presently seating herself under a
large tree, and, clasping her hands round her knees, she began to think
with pleasure of the fast approaching holidays.
While Bridget was so occupied, two ladies passed at a little distance
arm in arm. They were Miss Delicia and the English mistress, Miss Dent.
These two were always good friends; they were both kind-hearted, and
inclined to indulge the girls. They were great favorites, and were
supposed to be very easily influenced.
When she saw them approach, Bridget glanced lazily round. They did not
notice her, but made straight for the little rustic bower close to the
tree under which she was sitting.
"I can't account for it," said Miss Dent. "Of course, I have always
found plenty of faults in Bridget O'Hara, but I never did think that
she would stoop to dishonor."
Bridget locked her hands tightly together; a great wave of angry color
mounted to her temples. Her first impulse was to spring to her feet, to
disclose herself to the two ladies, and angrily demand the meaning of
their words. Then a memory of something Violet had said came over her;
she sat very still; she was determined to listen.
"I think you must be mistaken, Sarah," said Miss Delicia to her friend.
"I know my sister, Mrs. Freeman, thinks that Bridget, with all her
faults, has a fine character. I heard her saying so to Patience one
day. Patience, poor dear, just lacks the very thing she was called
after, and Henrietta said to her: 'The material is raw, but it is
capable of being fashioned into something noble.' I must say I agreed
with Henrietta."
"My dear Delicia," responded the other lady, "am I unjust, suspicious,
or wanting in charity?"
"No, Sarah; Patience--poor Patience--does fail in those respects
occasionally; but no one can lay these sins to your door."
"I am glad to hear you say so. Now you must listen to the following
facts. You know what a queer medley that poor girl's mind is in;
she has a good deal of knowledge of a certain kind: she has poetic
fancy, and brilliant imagination, she has a lovely singing voice, and
the expression she throws into her music almost amounts to genius;
nevertheless, where ordinary school work is concerned, the girl is an
absolute ignoramus. Her knowledge of geography is a blank. Kamschatka
may be within a mile of London, for all she knows to the contrary,
Africa may be found at the opposite side of the Straits of Dover; her
spelling is too atrocious for words. As to arithmetic, she is a perfect
goose whenever she tries to conquer the smallest and simplest sum."
"Well, my dear," interrupted Miss Delicia, "granted all this, the poor
child has been sent to school to be taught, I suppose. I can't see why
she should be accused of dishonor because she is ignorant."
"My dear friend, you must allow me to continue. I am coming to my point
immediately. When Bridget first came to school, she was placed in the
lowest class in the middle school. She was with girls a couple of years
her juniors. Mrs. Freeman was much distressed at this arrangement, for
Bridget is not only fifteen--she arrived at that age since she came
to school--but she is a remarkably developed, grown-up-looking girl
for her years; to have to do lessons, therefore, with little girls of
twelve and thirteen was in every way bad for her.
"There was no help for it, however, and we had really to strain a point
to keep her out of the lower school.
"For two or three weeks Biddy did as badly as any girl with a
reasonable amount of brains could. Each day we felt that we must take
her out of the middle school. Then occurred that unfortunate accident,
when Evelyn Percival was so nearly hurt. That seemed to bring things to
a crisis. Bridget was punished, you remember?"
"Yes," said Miss Delicia, nodding her wise head, "I remember perfectly."
"Bridget was punished," continued Miss Dent, "but on that day also she
submitted to authority. The next morning she took her usual place in
class, but--lo and behold! there was a marked and sudden improvement.
Her spelling was correct, the different places in the world began to
assume their relative positions. Her sums were more than good. In two
or three days she had risen to the head of her class; she was moved
into a higher one, and took a high place in that also. This state of
things continued for a fortnight; we were all in delight, for the girl
had plenty about her to win our interest. All she wanted to make her
one of the most popular girls in the school was attention to the rules,
and a certain power of getting on at her lessons.
"This golden fortnight in Biddy's life, however, came to an end. Her
aunt, Lady Kathleen Peterham, called a week ago, and took her and
Janet May to Eastcliff. On that very morning Bridget had absolutely no
lessons to say; she had not written out her theme, she had not learned
her geography; her sum book was a blank. From that day she has returned
to her normal state of ignorance; her lessons are as hopelessly badly
learnt as ever."
"Well, well," said Miss Delicia, "I am sorry for the poor child. That
rather silly aunt of hers probably turned her brain, but I cannot even
now see how you make her conduct dishonorable. She's a naughty child,
of course, and we must spur her on to greater efforts next time; but as
to her being wanting in _honor_, that's a strong word, Sarah."
"Wait a minute," said Miss Dent. "You know the girls have to give up
all their exercise books a couple of days before the examinations?
Bridget handed me hers a couple of days ago. Her books were
disgraceful--blotty, untidy, almost illegible. I examined them in
hopeless despair. Suddenly my eyes were arrested; I was looking through
the English themes.
"'Ah!' I said, 'here is the little oasis in the desert; these are the
exercises Biddy wrote during the fortnight she was so good.'
"I suppose it was the force of the contrast, but I looked at these
neatly written, absolutely correct, well spelled pages in astonishment.
Busy as I was, I felt obliged to read one of the little essays over
again; the subject was 'Julius Cæsar.' Bridget went up to the top of
her class for the masterly way in which she had worked out her little
essay. I read it over again, in perplexity and admiration. The English
was correct, the style vigorous; there were both conciseness and
thought in the well turned sentences. One phrase, however, struck on my
ear with a curious sense of familiarity. At first I said to myself, 'I
remarked this sentence when Bridget read her theme aloud, that is the
reason why it is so familiar,' but my mind was not satisfied with this
explanation. Like a flash I remembered where I had seen it before. I
said to myself the child has got this out of Pearson's book of English
extracts. Her essay is admirable, even without this concluding thought.
I must tell her to put marks of quotation another time when she uses
phrases not her own. I rose and went to the bookcase, and taking down
Pearson, looked out his remarks on Julius Cæsar. My dear Delicia,
judge of my feelings; the little essay was copied word for word from
Pearson's book! It was a daring act, and, putting the wickedness out
of sight, almost a silly one, for to quote from such a well-known
author as Pearson was naturally almost to invite discovery. All the
good, carefully written essays were copied from the same volume. I can
at last understand why Bridget has fallen back into her old state of
hopeless ignorance. I can also, alas! understand that golden fortnight
of promise."
"But this is dreadful!" said Miss Delicia. "What have you done; have
you told my sister yet?"
"No, I wanted to consult you before I spoke to anyone else on the
matter."
Bridget got up slowly and softly, and moved away down the shady path;
the two ladies did not see her as she went. She soon found herself
standing on the open lawn in front of the house. The great marquee was
being put up there; several workmen were busy, and little girls were
fluttering about like gay, happy butterflies. Alice, Violet, and two or
three more ran up to her when they saw her. "We are making wreaths of
evergreens; won't you help us, Bridget?" they exclaimed.
"No," she said; "I have a headache--don't worry me." She turned
abruptly away and walked down the avenue.
She had no longer any wish to break the rules, but she thought she
would wait about near the entrance gates, in order to catch Janet on
her way back from Eastcliff.
The girls were all busy round the marquee, and Bridget had this part
of the avenue to herself; she went and stood near an ivy-covered
wall; leaned her elbows against the trunk of a tree, and waited; a
motionless, but pretty figure, her gay ribbons streaming about her, her
hat pushed back from her forehead, her puzzled, troubled eyes looking
on the ground.
Bridget knew that Janet would be back within an hour. It mattered very
little to her how long she had to wait; she felt too stunned and sore
to be troubled by any keen sense of impatience.