"WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THIS TIME OF NIGHT?"
It so happened that of the ten resident teachers but three were at home
that evening; the others having joined a theatre party going to town, and
it would be midnight before they returned.
Those at home were Miss Preston, Miss Howard, and, unfortunately, Mrs.
Stone. Of the first two mentioned the girls felt small apprehension, for
they understood them pretty thoroughly, but Mrs. Stone was an obstacle not
so easily surmounted, and it seemed to them that she was never more
ubiquitous.
At nine-thirty Miss Preston had bade all good-night in an unusually
solicitous manner, wishing each happy dreams. Miss Howard had also retired
to her room promptly at the stroke of the clock, and everything worked
most auspiciously excepting the tucking away of Mother Stone, and she
positively refused to be tucked, but kept prowling about like a lost
spirit, till Ruth said, in desperation: "If she doesn't get settled down
pretty soon I'll do something desperate; see if I don't."
From room to room she went, popping her head in at one to ask if there was
anything she could do for this girl, listening at the next door for sounds
of insomnia, creeping stealthily on through the corridors to learn if any
girl who ought to be en route for Sleepy Town had by chance missed her
way.
She had made her way as far as the lower end of the hall, where on one
side the stairs leading to the third story joined it, and on the other a
door opened into the bath-room, when a rustle at the head of the stairs
caused her to glance quickly in that direction; but it was too dark for
her to see anything at the top of them. She paused to listen, and her
sharp ears detected the sound again. That was sufficient. Up she flew and
came plump upon Lou Cornwall, who had not had time to fly. Lou was stout
and did not move quickly, and was fair prey for Mrs. Stone, who was as
thin as a match, and managed to glide about like a wraith.
Lou was arrayed in her bath-robe, and had her cap and mask in her hand.
Quickly concealing them behind her lest Mrs. Stone's sharp eyes should
discover them even in the dark, she stood stock still waiting
developments. Mrs. Stone stooped from her towering height of five feet
nine to peer into the face of the plump little figure huddled in the
corner. "How you startled me," she said. "Why are you standing here when
everyone else is in bed, and what are you doing up this time of night?"
"I had to get up, Mrs. Stone."
"Why, may I enquire?"
"I am going to the bath-room."
"Then, why in the world don't you _go_ and not stand huddled up here as
though you were bent on some mischief? It is no wonder that we suspect you
when you take such extraordinary ways of doing perfectly simple things. Go
on at once, and, if you have been hesitating because you are timid, I'll
wait here till you return," and down she planted herself upon the top step
to mount guard.
Groaning inwardly, away went Lou, muttering: "If I don't keep you perched
there till you nearly freeze, my name isn't Lou Cornwall!"
And keep her she did, till Mrs. Stone had another trouble added to her
many, for she began to fear that Lou had been taken ill, and went to the
bath-room door to speak to her. Finding that she could not hold out any
longer, out she came, and, after receiving some very emphatic admonitions
from Mrs. Stone, crept away to her room disgusted with herself, the world
at large, and Mrs. Stone in particular.
Meantime, the other girls began to suspect that Lou had fallen into
ambush, and sent out a scout to reconnoiter, and it was not many seconds
before the scout came scuttling back with the alarming information that
the enemy was close at hand; in fact, that she was even now coming upon
them in force, for, when Mother Stone found that Lou did not come from the
bath-room as promptly as she thought she should, all her suspicions were
instantly aroused, and she was keen to make discoveries.
The girls had planned to meet in Toinette's room, and creep from there to
the old laundry as soon as all were assembled. About a dozen were already
there, but, when the scout returned with such dire tidings, they decided
that discretion was the better part of valor, and all made haste to get
back to their rooms ere the enemy appeared. But, alack-a-day! that enemy
could flit about in a surprisingly lively manner, and, ere some of them
had reached safety behind their own doors, she came in view. To get to
their rooms now was out of the question, so, making a virtue of necessity,
they all slipped into a large closet used by the housemaids for their
brooms, etc.
Whether it was from a wholesome fear that Miss Preston would be very apt
to criticize a too pronounced vigilance that Mrs. Stone refrained from
opening the girls' doors, but contented herself with simply listening, I
cannot say, but if she heard no sound within she always passed on and left
them to their innocent (?) slumbers. So on she went from one room to
another, but, luckily, the alarm had gone before, and at each room
darkness and profound silence prevailed. Satisfied that "all was well,"
she murmured something about, "It is always well to be upon the alert, for
once the girls understand that someone is sure to detect the first signs
of mischief, they are far less liable to carry it to excess," she set off
for her own room. In passing by the housemaid's door she saw that it was
not tightly closed and locked, as was the custom at night, and, with a
joyous chuckle at her own astuteness, she pounced upon it, locked the
door, and withdrawing the key sailed triumphantly to her room, where,
serene in her sense of well-doing, she fell as sound asleep as her nature
permitted.
Meantime, how fared it with the mice in the trap? When the key was turned
in the door, and they were made prisoners, nothing but the pitch darkness
which enveloped them as a garment prevented each girl's face from plainly
announcing to her neighbor: "Here is a pretty kettle of fish!" There were
five in the closet: Ruth, Edith, Pauline, May and Marie. Luckily, a
resourceful party. When all sound from the hall had ceased, Ruth gave just
one howl, and then jumped up and down three times as hard as she could
jump, by way of giving vent to her state of mind. Fortunately, the door
was a heavy one and the sound did not reach Mother Stone's ears.
"You crazy thing!" exclaimed Edith, "next thing you know you will have her
after us again."
"Suppose we do; we've got to get out somehow, haven't we?"
"Yes, but she is the last one in the world we want to let us out. What a
fix! If the girls only knew of it, they would come and let us out."
"How could they when she has the key, I'd like to know?"
Edith groaned: "I never thought of that plagued old key. Bother take her
and it, too! Why couldn't she have gone to bed just as everybody else did,
and have minded her own business, too."
"That was exactly what she thought she was doing," laughed May.
"It's all very well to laugh, but _how_ are we to get down to the laundry,
I'd like to know; or the girls ever find out where we are?"
While all this talking had been going on, little Marie, the liveliest,
slightest, most quick-witted girl in the school, had been doing a lot of
thinking, and now turned to the others and said:
"Do you see that scrap of a window up there?"
"Yes, we see it, but it might as well be a rat-hole, for all the good it
will do us; nothing but a rat could crawl through it!"
"Don't be too sure," answered Marie, with a knowing laugh. "I can get
through a pretty small space when occasion demands, and, if I'm not much
mistaken, the demand is very urgent just at this moment."
"How under the sun can you reach it, even if you can get through it after
you've reached it?"
"What good have you derived from your gymnastic training this winter, I'd
like to know, if you have to ask me that?" demanded Marie.
The window was one of those odd little affairs one sometimes sees built in
houses, perhaps simply to excite curiosity and make one wonder why they
were ever built at all, for they do not seem to be of the slightest use.
The one in question was situated high up in the closet, and had probably
been put there for ventilating purposes, if anyone ever felt inclined to
get a step-ladder and clamber up to open it. It was shaped like a segment
of a circle, was only about eighteen inches high at the widest part, and
fastened at the top with a bolt. Getting at it in broad daylight would not
have been an easy matter, and now, with only the light of the moon shining
through it, it seemed an impossibility.