"THE SWEETS ARE POISONED."
"I think, my dear madam," said Mr. Everard to Mrs. Willis, "that you must
believe your pupil. She has not refused to confess to you from any
stubbornness, but from the simple reason that she has nothing to confess.
I am firmly convinced that things are as she stated them, Mrs. Willis.
There is a mystery here which we neither of us can explain, but which we
must unravel."
Then Mrs. Willis and the clergyman had a long and anxious talk together.
It lasted for a long time, and some of its results at least were manifest
the next morning, for, just before the morning's work began, Mrs. Willis
came to the large school-room, and, calling Annie Forest to her side,
laid her hand on the young girl's shoulder.
"I wish to tell you all, young ladies," she said, "that I completely and
absolutely exonerate Annie Forest from having any part in the disgraceful
occurrence which took place in this school-room a short time ago. I
allude, of course, as you all know, to the book which was found tampered
with in Cecil Temple's desk. Some one else in this room is guilty, and
the mystery has still to be unraveled, and the guilty girl has still to
come forward and declare herself. If she is willing at this moment to
come to me here, and fully and freely confess her sin, I will quite
forgive her."
The head mistress paused, and, still with her hand on Annie's shoulder,
looked anxiously down the long room. The love and forgiveness which she
felt shone in her eyes at this moment. No girl need have feared aught but
tenderness from her just then.
No one stirred; the moment passed, and a look of sternness returned to
the mistress' fine face.
"No," she said, in her emphatic and clear tones, "the guilty girl prefers
waiting until God discovers her sin for her. My dear, whoever you are,
that hour is coming, and you cannot escape from it. In the meantime,
girls, I wish you all to receive Annie Forest as quite innocent. I
believe in her, so does Mr. Everard, and so must you. Any one who treats
Miss Forest except as a perfectly innocent and truthful girl incurs my
severe displeasure. My dear, you may return to your seat."
Annie, whose face was partly hidden by her curly hair during the greater
part of this speech, now tossed it back, and raised her brown eyes with a
look of adoration in them to her teacher. Mrs. Willis' face, however,
still looked harassed. Her eyes met Annie's, but no corresponding glow
was kindled in them; their glance was just, calm, but cold.
The childish heart was conscious of a keen pang of agony, and Annie went
back to her lessons without any sense of exultation.
The fact was this: Mrs. Willis' judgment and reason had been brought
round by Mr. Everard's words, but in her heart of hearts, almost unknown
to herself, there still lingered a doubt of the innocence of her wayward
and pretty pupil. She said over and over to herself that she really now
quite believed in Annie Forest, but then would come those whisperings
from her pained and sore heart.
"Why did she ever make a caricature of one who has been as a mother to
her? If she made one caricature, could she not make another? Above all
things, if _she_ did not do it, who did?"
Mrs. Willis turned away from these unpleasant whispers--she would not let
them stay with her, and turned a deaf ear to their ugly words. She had
publicly declared in the school her belief in Annie's absolute innocence,
but at the moment when her pupil looked up at her with a world of love
and adoration in her gaze, she found to her own infinite distress that
she could not give her the old love.
Annie went back to her companions, and bent her head over her lessons,
and tried to believe that she was very thankful and very happy, and Cecil
Temple managed to whisper a gentle word of congratulation to her, and at
the twelve o'clock walk Annie perceived that a few of her schoolfellows
looked at her with friendly eyes again. She perceived now that when she
went into the play-room she was not absolutely tabooed, and that, if she
chose, she might speedily resume her old reign of popularity. Annie had,
to a remarkable extent, the gift of inspiring love, and her old favorites
would quickly have flocked back to their sovereign had she so willed it.
It is certainly true that the girls to whom the whole story was known in
all its bearings found it difficult to understand how Annie could be
innocent; but Mr. Everard's and Mrs. Willis' assertions were too potent
to be disregarded, and most of the girls were only too willing to let the
whole affair slide from their minds, and to take back their favorite
Annie to their hearts again.
Annie, however, herself did not so will it. In the play-room she
fraternized with the little ones who were alike her friends in adversity
and sunshine; she rejected almost coldly the overtures of her old
favorites, but played, and romped, and was merry with the children of the
sixth class. She even declined Cecil's invitation to come and sit with
her in her drawing-room.
"Oh, no," she said. "I hate being still; I am in no humor for talk.
Another time, Cecil, another time. Now then, Sybil, my beauty, get well
on my back, and I'll be the willing dog carrying you round and round the
room."
Annie's face had not a trace of care or anxiety on it, but her eyes would
not quite meet Cecil's, and Cecil sighed as she turned away, and her
heart, too, began to whisper little, mocking, ugly doubts of poor Annie.
During the half-hour before tea that evening Annie was sitting on the
floor with a small child in her lap, and two other little ones tumbling
about her, when she was startled by a shower of lollipops being poured
over her head, down her neck, and into her lap. She started up and met
the sleepy gaze of Susan Drummond.
"That's to congratulate you, miss," said Susan; "you're a very lucky girl
to have escaped as you did."
The little ones began putting Susan's lollipops vigorously into their
mouths. Annie sprang to her feet shaking the sticky sweetmeats out of her
dress on to the floor.
"What have I escaped from?" she asked, turning round and facing her
companion haughtily.
"Oh, dear me!" said Susan, stepping back a pace or two. "I--ah--"
stifling a yawn--"I only meant you were very near getting into an ugly
scrape. It's no affair of mine, I'm sure; only I thought you'd like the
lollipops."
"No, I don't like them at all," said Annie, "nor you, either. Go back to
your own companions, please."
Susan sulkily walked away, and Annie stooped down on the floor.
"Now, little darlings," she said, "you mustn't eat those. No, no, they
are not good at all; and they have come from one of Annie's enemies. Most
likely they are full of poison. Let us collect them all, every one, and
we will throw them into the fire before we go to tea."
"But I don't think there's any poison in them," said little Janie West in
a regretful tone, as she gobbled down a particularly luscious chocolate
cream; "they are all big, and fat, and bursty, and _so_ sweet, Annie,
dear."
"Never mind, Janie, they are dangerous sweeties all the same. Come, come,
throw them into my apron, and I will run over and toss them into the
fire, and we'll have time for a game of leap-frog before tea; oh, fie,
Judy," as a very small fat baby began to whimper, "you would not eat the
sweeties of one of Annie's enemies."
This last appeal was successful. The children made a valiant effort, and
dashed the tempting goodies into Annie's alapaca apron. When they were
all collected, she marched up the play-room and in the presence of Susan
Drummond, Hester Thornton, Cecil Temple, and several more of her school
companions, threw them into the fire.
"So much for _that_ overture, Miss Drummond," she said, making a mock
courtesy, and returning once more to the children.