MORE MYSTERIOUS HAPPENINGS
Very soon after this surprising occasion, there was another social event
and another surprise for our young friends; but not a _pleasant_
surprise for anybody. A disgraceful thing happened. Miss Julia Rhodes’s
music pupils gave a public concert in the Assembly room. It was not the
concert that was disgraceful; though, owing to the embarrassment of most
of the performers, the music was bad enough; and Hazel and Cora felt
that they had completely wrecked the occasion when, in stooping to draw
out the bench on which they were to sit while playing their duet, they
unexpectedly bumped heads, much to the amusement of the audience and to
the detriment of their duet.
No, bad as it was, it wasn’t the concert but what happened while it was
going on, that publicly disgraced Highland Hall. A number of the village
people were invited to the concert and the day pupils, of whom there
were perhaps a score, had been asked to bring their parents and friends.
All these guests had hung their wraps in the lower hall, where
ordinarily the day pupils hung theirs. Several of the women had
carelessly left their purses in their pockets. When they attempted to
pay their carfare on the way home, not one of them had a single penny.
Some pilfering person had taken every scrap of cash from every purse,
and in some cases even the purses were missing.
The principal losers wrote indignant notes to Doctor Rhodes, who
naturally was anything but pleased.
Right after prayers the next morning, Doctor Rhodes called the school to
order. His face was sterner than usual and his voice was unusually
harsh. He told the girls what had occurred, and what a disgrace it was
to any school to have such very unpleasant things happen to its trusting
guests.
“Moreover,” said he, “many losses of jewelry and money by the pupils in
our own dormitories have been reported to me from time to time; and,
while it would have been possible, night before last, for a thief to
have slipped into that lower hall from outside, I have a feeling that
there is some one right in our own school who isn’t—well, to put it
plainly—quite as honest as she might be. I don’t like to say this or to
think it. I am sorry for the necessity.
“It has been suggested that the person taking these various things might
save herself trouble if she were to leave them on the table in the
library some time during the day. That room is never occupied during
school hours; so the repentant thief would be entirely safe from
observation. I am giving some one a very good chance to get out of an
unpleasant predicament. I hope she will take advantage of it and mend
her ways from this time forward.”
Of course after that, even a very stupid person could have guessed the
topic of conversation wherever little groups of girls gathered together.
Oh, how their tongues did wag! Oh, how they whispered and nodded their
heads! And oh, how many more young persons had lost things that they
hadn’t hitherto mentioned. Of course they wondered all day long what was
happening in the library. But the day passed and the library table was
still empty. Nothing had been returned.
Jean and Bettie were dressing for dinner the next night when Sallie, in
a most unusual state of excitement, burst into their room, and flung
herself upon Jean’s bed.
“I’m—I’m so mad I could scream,” sobbed Sallie, thumping the pillow with
her clenched fist and lashing the air with her feet. “I could kill all
that Rhodes family. I—I—I—”
But now Sallie’s words were drowned in sobs.
“Goodness, Sallie, don’t cry so,” said Jean. “You’re in an awful state.”
“Who _wouldn’t_ be in an awful state if—if—” More sobs.
“There, there,” comforted Jean, patting the heaving shoulders. “Get a
glass of water for her, Bettie. That’s right. Now take a little drink,
Sallie.”
“If—if it were anybody but you,” said Sallie, suddenly jerking herself
upright, “I’d throw that water straight in your face! I’m so _mad_!”
But Sallie clawed the wet hair from her own face, drank the water and
handed the glass to Bettie.
“There, now,” said she. “I guess I can talk. You know where I room up on
the top floor with Abbie? Well, _you_ know and everybody else knows that
Abbie has no money; and that I have just about as much as Abbie has
which is just none at all. We are the only people in this school who
have _no_ spending money. The other Doctor Rhodes used to give—”
“The _other_ Doctor Rhodes,” gasped Bettie.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” returned Sallie, quickly. “What I mean is
just this. I have no money and everybody knows it. Very well, then. I’m
the very person that would steal money. And jewelry. I—or poor old
Abbie.”
“But you wouldn’t,” soothed Jean.
“But—but some folks _think_ I would. Now, a real paying pupil would get
mad and go home if Mrs. Rhodes searched her bureau drawers, wouldn’t
she?”
“I should say so,” agreed Jean.
“Well, Mrs. Rhodes and Mrs. Henry Rhodes searched mine and Abbie’s.”
“But they didn’t _find_ anything,” comforted Bettie, “so you don’t need
to care.”
“But they _did_. There was a pocketbook under the pin cushion. Mrs.
Drayton’s calling cards were in it. She lost hers here the other night,
you know—and that wasn’t the worst. There was money in it—more than two
dollars.”
“Were you right in the room all the time?” queried horrified Bettie.
“No, I happened to go upstairs quietly and there they were looking in
all our bureau drawers and under our mattresses and even in the pockets
of our clothes. They had already found the purse.”
“Was Abbie there?”
“No, she was down in the kitchen. Doctor Rhodes sent for me and for
Abbie to go to the office. He asked us which of us took that pocketbook
and I could see that poor old Abbie was just as surprised as I was—you
know you can always see just what she thinks. And, oh! Abbie thought _I_
took it. She gave me _such_ a suspicious look.
“And then, Doctor Rhodes asked her if she had ever known of my stealing
anything before that. Oh, _think_ of him asking that! And Abbie—well,
you know Abbie is never very positive about anything. She said ‘I don’t
know. I don’t guess I ever did.’ But I could just see that she thought I
_had_ taken that miserable purse. She’s so simple minded that she
believes anything you tell her. She could see that those Rhodes people
were accusing me, so she believes, of course, they were right.”
“But _we_ don’t,” Jean and Bettie assured her.
“But other people will. I don’t know what to do. I’d run away if I had
any place to run to.”
“If you ran away,” said Jean, wisely, “they’d be _sure_ you had done it.
It’s braver to stay right here and go on just as usual. _We_ know you
didn’t do it—why, we _know_ you didn’t. And tomorrow when I have my
drawing lesson I’ll tell Mrs. Henry Rhodes that you told me all about it
and I’ll let her see that Bettie and I believe in you. And she’ll tell
Doctor and Mrs. Rhodes—I’ll ask her to. Mrs. Henry understands girls;
and she always helps us when we ask her to.”
“Don’t worry,” comforted Bettie. “It’ll come out all right—I know it
will. Things always do if you just wait long enough.”
“I wonder,” said Isabelle’s fretful voice in the hall, “what’s happened
to dinner—it’s ten minutes past the time.”
“My goodness!” cried Sallie, “I forgot all about that bell.”
“I wish,” said Jean, after Sallie had scurried away down the corridor,
“that Sallie wasn’t a boarding school orphan. She’s much too nice. I
like her ever so much.”
“Yes,” agreed Bettie, “she’s one of the sweetest girls in this school
even if she hasn’t any clothes or pocket money or anything. And I’d
believe in her even if they found a bushel of strange purses under her
pin cushion.”