THE CONFESSION
It was almost dawn when Barbara began to dream that she heard low,
suppressed sobs. No; she must be wrong, she was not dreaming. The sounds
were too real. The sobs were close beside her, and Bab felt Mollie's
shoulders heaving in an effort to hold them back.
"Why, little sister," cried Bab in a frightened tone, putting out
her hand and taking hold of Mollie, "what is the matter with you!
Are you ill?"
"No," sobbed Mollie. "There is nothing the matter. Please go to sleep
again, Bab, dear. I did not mean to wake you up."
"You would not cry, Mollie, if there was nothing the matter. Tell me at
once what troubles you," pleaded Barbara, who was now wide awake. "If you
are not ill, then something pretty serious is worrying you and you must
tell me what it is."
Mollie only buried her head in her pillow and sobbed harder than ever.
"Tell me," Bab commanded.
"It's the blue gown!" whispered Mollie under her breath.
"The gown?" queried Barbara, suddenly recalling Mollie's wonderful
costume at the President's reception. "Oh, yes. I have not had an
opportunity to ask you where you got such a beautiful frock and how you
happened not to tell me about it."
"I was ashamed," Mollie sobbed.
Barbara did not understand what Mollie meant, but she knew her sister
would tell her everything now.
"I bought the frock," Mollie confessed after a moment's hesitation.
"That is I did not exactly buy it, for I did not have the money to pay
for it. But Harriet was to pay for it and I was to give her back the
money when I could."
"How much did the gown cost, Mollie?" Bab inquired quietly, although her
heart felt as heavy as lead.
"It cost fifty dollars!" Mollie returned in a tired, frightened voice.
"Oh, Mollie!" Bab exclaimed just at first. Then she repented. "Never
mind, Molliekins; it can't be helped now. The dress is a beauty, and I
suppose Harriet won't mind how long we take to pay her back. We must just
save up and do some kind of work when we go home. I can coach some of the
girls at school. So please don't cry your pretty eyes out. There is an
old story about not crying over spilt milk, kitten. Go to sleep. Perhaps
some one will have left us a fortune by morning."
Barbara felt more wretched about her sister's confession than she was
willing to let Mollie know. She thought if Mollie could once get to
sleep, she could then puzzle out some method by which they could meet
this debt. For fifty dollars did look like an immense sum to the two poor
Thurston girls.
"But, Bab dear, I have not told you the worst," Mollie added in tones
of despair.
"Mollie, what do you mean?" poor Bab asked, really frightened this time.
"Harriet can't let me owe the money to her. Something perfectly awful
has happened to Harriet, too. Promise me you will never tell, not even
Ruth! Well, Harriet thought she could lend me the money. But, the day
after we got home from the dressmaker's, that deceitful Madame Louise
wrote poor Harriet the most awful note. She said that Harriet owed her
such a dreadfully big bill, that she simply would not wait for her money
any longer. She declared if Harriet did not pay her at once she would
take her bill straight to Mr. Hamlin and demand the money. Now Harriet is
almost frightened to death. She says her father will never forgive her,
if he finds out how deeply in debt she is, and that he would not let her
go out into society again this winter. Of course, Harriet went to see
Madame Louise. She begged her for a little more time, and the dressmaker
consented to let us have a week. But she says that at the end of that
time she must have the money from me and from Harriet. Harriet is
dreadfully distressed. She simply can't advance the money to me for, even
if the dividend she expects comes in time, she will have to pay the money
on her own account. Oh, Bab, what can we do? I just can't have Mr. Hamlin
find out what I have done! He is so stern; he would just send me home in
disgrace, and then what would Mother and Aunt Sallie and Mr. Stuart say?
I shall just die of shame!"
"Mr. Hamlin must not know," Barbara answered, when she could find her
breath. Somehow her own voice sounded unfamiliar, it was so hoarse and
strained. Yet Bab knew she must save Mollie. How was she to do it?
"Do you think, Bab," Mollie asked, "that we could ask Ruth to lend us the
money? I should be horribly ashamed to tell her what I have done. But
Ruth is so sweet, and she could lend us the money without any trouble."
"I have thought of that, Mollie," Barbara answered. "But, oh, we could
not ask Ruth for the money! It is because she has been so awfully good to
us, that I can't ask her. She has already done so much for us and she
would be so pleased to help us now that somehow I would rather do most
anything than ask her. Don't you feel the same way, Mollie?"
"Yes, I do," Mollie agreed. "Only I just can't think what else we can do,
Bab. I have worried and worried until I am nearly desperate. We have only
one week in which to get hold of the money, Bab."
"Yes, I know. But go to sleep now, Mollie. You are too tired to try to
think any more. I will find some way out of the difficulty. Don't worry
any more about it now." Bab kissed her sister's burning cheeks, whereat
Mollie could only throw her arms about Barbara and cry: "Oh, Bab, I am so
sorry and so ashamed! I shall never forget this as long as I live."
Bab never closed her eyes again that night. A little while later she saw
the gray dawn change into rose color, and the rose to the blue of the
day-time sky. She heard several families of sparrows discussing their
affairs while they made their morning toilets on the bare branches of
the trees.
At last an idea came to Barbara. She could pawn her jewelry and so raise
the money they needed. She had the old-fashioned corals her mother had
given to her on her first trip to Newport. There was also the beautiful
ruby, which had been Mr. Presby's gift to her from the rich stores of his
buried treasure. And the Princess Sophia had made Bab a present of a
beautiful gold star when they were at Palm Beach. Barbara's other jewelry
was marked with her initials.
Now Bab had very little knowledge of the real value of her jewelry, and
she had an equally dim notion of what a pawn shop was. But she did know
that at pawn shops people were able to borrow money at a high rate of
interest on their valuable possessions, and this seemed to be the only
way out of their embarrassment.
But how was Barbara to locate a pawn shop in Washington? And how was she
to find her way there, without being found out either by Mr. Hamlin or
any one of the girls?
Bab was still puzzling over these difficulties when she went down to
breakfast.
"Miss Moore says she would like to see you, Barbara," Harriet Hamlin
explained, when Bab had forced down a cup of coffee and eaten a small
piece of toast. "Miss Moore is much better this morning, and a carriage
is to take her home in a few hours. I have just been up to inquire about
her. Father," continued Harriet, turning to Mr. Hamlin, "Miss Moore wants
me to thank you for your kindness in bringing her here, and to say she
hopes to be able to repay you some day. Marjorie Moore seems to think you
discovered her out on the White House lawn, Barbara. However did you do
it? I suppose you were out there walking with Peter Dillon. But it is
against the rules."
"Does Miss Moore happen to know how she was hurt, Daughter?" Mr. Hamlin
queried. "Lieutenant Wilson declares the girl was struck a glancing blow
on the head with the end of a loaded cane. And the doctor seemed to have
the same idea last night."
"Miss Moore does not understand just what did happen to her," Harriet
replied. "Or at least she won't tell me. She declares she was out in the
grounds looking for some one, when she was knocked down from behind. She
never saw who struck her. How perfectly ridiculous for her to be running
about the White House park alone at night! I wonder the guards permitted
it. What do you suppose she was doing?"
"Attending to her business, perhaps, Daughter," Mr. Hamlin returned
dryly. "Miss Moore works exceedingly hard. It cannot always be pleasant
for a refined young woman to do the work she is sometimes required to do.
I hope you will be kind to her, Harriet, and help her when it is within
your power."
But Harriet only shrugged her shoulders and looked obstinate. "I should
think Miss Moore would find the society news for her paper inside the
reception rooms, rather than outside in the dark. It looks to me as
though she went out into the grounds either to meet some one, or to find
out what some one else was doing."
None of the "Automobile Girls" or Mr. Hamlin made response to Harriet's
unkind remark and they were all glad when breakfast was over and the
discussion ended.
Barbara at once went upstairs to the room that had been allotted to their
wounded guest the night before. She found Marjorie Moore dressed in a
shabby serge suit, lying on the bed looking pale and weak. A refined,
middle-aged woman, with a sad face, sat by her daughter holding her hand.
She was Marjorie's mother. The two women were waiting for the carriage to
take them home.
"I want to thank you, Miss Thurston," Marjorie Moore spoke weakly. "I
believe it was you who found me. I ought not to have asked you to come
out into the yard, but I did not dream there would be any danger to
either one of us. I want you to believe that I did have a real reason for
persuading you to join me, a reason that I thought important to your
happiness, not to mine. But I cannot tell you what it was, now; perhaps
because I may have made a mistake. I must have been struck by a tramp,
who had managed to hide in the White House grounds. I have no other
explanation of what happened to me. But--" Miss Moore stopped and
hesitated. "I have an explanation of the reason I wanted to talk to you
alone. Yet I cannot tell you what I mean to-day. I want to ask you to
trust me if ever you need a friend in Washington."
Bab thought the only friend she was likely to need was some one who could
lend her fifty dollars. And Marjorie Moore was too poor to do that. She
would have liked to ask the newspaper girl where she could find a pawn
shop, but was ashamed to make her strange request before that gentle,
sad-eyed woman, Marjorie Moore's mother.
So Barbara only pressed the other girl's hand affectionately, and said
she was glad to know she was better, and that she appreciated her
friendship.