There are at all schools girls of different degrees of talent. There
are the brilliant girls, the idle girls, the plodding girls. Now Annie
belonged to the middle class. She knew how essential it was for her to
work hard unless she were to accept a fate which she considered too
horrible to contemplate--namely, that of companion to kind Uncle Maurice
in the country rectory. Her hope was to do so well at school that she
might, when she left, induce her uncle to send her for at least a year
to Paris in order to put what might be called the final polish on her
education. Then, if her present plans went well, she might go into
society with the aid of Mabel Lushington, who of course would be from
henceforth in her power.
Now Annie had a fairly good gift for writing, and this gift on the
present occasion she put absolutely at the disposal of her friend. Poor
Mabel, excited by the scheme which Annie had proposed, trembling with
fear that it might be found out, could not have written a single line of
coherent English were it not for Annie's clearer and cleverer brain.
As they sat for hours together in the summer-house, Annie's thoughts
really filled Mabel's manuscript.
"I will dictate to you, and you will put down exactly what I say,"
remarked Annie. "Now then, fire away. Idealism. You must get a sort
of epitome of what your thoughts are on the subject."
"I have not any," said Mabel. "I can't give an epitome of what I know
nothing about."
"Oh, come, Mabel; you are a goose! Here, let me dictate."
She began. Her sentences had little depth in them, but they were at
least expressed in fairly good English, and would have passed muster in
a crowd. After a long time the task was completed, and an essay was
produced--an essay, compared to the one which poor Mabel had already
written, almost fine in its construction. Annie, as she read it over,
was in raptures with it.
"I only trust it is not too good," she said. "Don't you think it sounds
very nice when I read it aloud, Mabel?"
"I suppose it does," answered Mabel. "I have got a horrid headache; I
hate sitting up all night."
"You will have to sacrifice something to your year's bliss," replied
Annie. "Now then, May, that is done. I have given you a paper. At
five o'clock we will both go into Priscie's room. When there, a little
transaction will very briefly take place. You will have to promise Pris
that you will pay her school fees for another year--namely, for three
whole terms; and she, in return for this kindness, will sign this essay
as her own, and will hand it in as her essay during the course of the
morning. Miss Phillips will lock it up, and it will lie _perdu_ until
the great prize day. Pris meantime will have given you a really good
paper, which you will sign and give in as your own. Thus your victory
will be accomplished, and you need dread nothing further."
"But," said Mabel, "I am looked upon as rather a fool in the school; no
one for a moment thinks me clever."
"I am coming to that point. For the next fortnight I shall make myself
intensely busy in circulating a little story. You must pretend to know
nothing about it, and in all probability the tale will not reach your
ears. But this story is to the effect that you are in reality a sort of
hidden genius; in short, that you are a poet and write verses in
private. Now what do you think of that? Am not I a friend worth
having?"
"You are wonderfully clever," said Mabel. "I begin to be almost afraid
of you."
"Oh, you needn't be that, dear. Who would be afraid of poor little
Annie?"
"I don't know," said Mabel. "Your eyes look quite wicked sometimes.
You must be frightfully wicked, you know, to have thought out this
scheme so cleverly."
"I am not more wicked than you are--not one single bit," cried Annie.
"Only I have the courage of my convictions, and the ability to think
things out and to save my friends. If you imagine that I am unhappy
now, you are vastly mistaken. Far from being unhappy, I feel intensely
triumphant; for I have managed to help three people--Priscie, you, and
myself."
"Oh Annie!" said Mabel, "I am not at all sure that Aunt Henrietta will
invite you to Paris."
"Aren't you?" said Annie. She took the essay as she spoke, and rolled
it up. She then proceeded to gather up some loose pages of foolscap
paper, pen and ink, and blotting-paper, and finally she blew out the
candles and added them to a little parcel which she proceeded to stow
away in a small basket.
"We will go back to the house now," she said. "We must tread very
softly."
Mabel found herself trembling a great deal and wishing most heartily she
was out of this scrape as she followed Annie across the grass. There
was a brilliant moon in the sky, and there was a little piece of lawn,
bare of any shelter, which they had to cross in order to get to the
home. Should any one happen to be looking out of a window, that person
could not fail to see the girls as they crossed this moonlit lawn.
Mabel thought of it with growing terror as they returned home, and when
they found themselves standing at the edge of a belt of dark pine-trees
preparatory to rushing across the lawn, she clutched her companion by
the arm.
"Oh, I know we shall be seen!" she cried. "Oh, I wish I had not done
it!"
"It is too late to go back now, Mabel," said Annie; "there is nothing
for it but forward--right forward. Don't be a coward;--no one will see
us. What teacher is likely to be out of bed at two o'clock in the
morning? We shall be in the house in next to no time. We'll then creep
upstairs to our private sitting-room, and all danger will be over.
Come, May, come; there's no holding back now."
Annie took her companion's hand, and they rushed tremblingly across the
lawn, each of them devoutly hoping that no one was up. A minute or two
later they were safely inside the shelter of the house, and then, again,
in another minute Annie had softly opened the door of the girls'
sitting-room, where they were to stay until the time for invading
Priscilla arrived.
"You may go to sleep if you like," said Annie. "I will hold your hand;
you needn't be at all alarmed, for I have drawn the bolt of the door, so
that if any one should come prying, that person would be prevented
entering. But just before you drop asleep I want to arrange my part."
"I wish I were well out of the whole thing," said Mabel.
"You _can_ be, of course," said Annie. "It is but to destroy, this
paper that we have just composed together."
"Oh no, Annie; it isn't mine at all."
"Well, at least you have done the writing of it; if the thoughts are
mine, the penmanship is yours. Come, Mabel, don't be a goose.
Everything is in progress, and you'll be as happy as the day is long by
this time to-morrow."
"You forget that I have still to get that horrid money."
"Of course you have; but as you seem so nervous and faint-hearted, you
had much better write a little note now to Mrs Priestley. I will light
one of the candles, and you can get that over. I will take it to-morrow
afternoon, and trust me not to return without your thirty pounds safe
and sound. But the one thing which must be settled, and positively
settled, is my little part. You have got solemnly to promise that I
shall spend the summer holidays with you."
"Suppose Aunt Henrietta refuses."
"But she is not to refuse, Mabel. If this thing were completed and I
found that you had backed out of your honourable bargain with me, I
should find it my duty to--Oh Mabel, need I go on?"
"No, no," said Mabel, "you needn't; I understand you. I don't expect I
shall be as happy as I thought, even if I have my year of liberty; but
still, I suppose I must make the best of a bad bargain, and of course I
should like to have you with me in Paris."
"It will be necessary for you to have me with you, if you are to manage
the money for the two remaining terms," said Annie.
"Very well; I will agree, I will agree."
"You promise that I shall spend the holidays with you?"
"Yes; that is, after the first week or so. I must have at least a week
to get round Aunt Henrietta."
"Oh, I will give you a week, my dear; for I also must have that week to
get round Uncle Maurice. Now then, all is right. Give me a kiss, dear;
we shall have fun! You will never regret this night, I can tell you,
Mabel."
"I hope I sha'n't. I do feel mean and small at present. But what about
the note to Mrs Priestley? What am I to say?"
"Dear, dear," said Annie, who was now in the highest spirits, "what it
is to have brains! Come and sit in this corner, over here. Now I will
light the candle for you; no one can see any light under the door. Here
we are: and here's our little candle doing its duty."
As Annie spoke she swiftly struck a match.
"Here is your sheet of paper, Mabel; and here is your pen. And now I
will dictate the note. Write what I say."
Mabel began:
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"`Dear Mrs Priestley,--My friend Annie Brooke is taking this letter to
you. The business is of great importance, and she will explain and make
the necessary terms. I want you to lend me thirty pounds, please.
Annie will arrange the terms; and I want you, please, not to tell
anybody. You know Annie Brooke--she is my greatest friend. Aunt
Henrietta will want me to have a specially beautiful dress to wear at
the break-up, for I expect to take a most distinguished position
there.'"
"Oh, must I put that in?" said Mabel.
"You must put what I tell you," answered Annie. "Go on. Have you
written `distinguished position'?"
"Yes--oh yes. This letter sounds perfectly horrid, and not a bit like
me."
"It will soon be finished now," said Annie.
"Come, Mabel; you _are_ chicken-hearted. You most pay something for
your thirty pounds, you know."
"Yes; but how on earth am I to return it to her?"
"I'll manage that, goosey, goosey. Now then, proceed.
"`I will call on you to-morrow in order to choose the dress. It must be
very rich indeed, and with real lace on it. My aunt would wish me to
look well dressed on the prize day.--Yours, Mabel Lushington.'
"Now, the date, please," said Annie.
Mabel inserted it.
"Fold it up, please, and direct this envelope," continued practical
Annie. This was done and the letter slipped into Annie's pocket. She
then, to Mabel's surprise, put another sheet of paper before that young
lady.
"What does this mean?" said Mabel.
"You will write these words, please, Mabel:
"In acknowledgment of thirty pounds, I, Mabel Lushington, faithfully
promise to invite Annie Brooke to spend the summer holidays with Lady
Lushington and myself in Paris."
"But, Annie," cried poor Mabel, "I am terrified at having to write
this."
"Don't write it, and the thing is off," said Annie.
She moved to the other end of the room. Mabel sat the very picture of
misery by the little table where the one candle burned. Some minutes
went by. After a time Annie said:
"You may as well go on, for I hold your letter to Mrs Priestley in my
pocket."
"Oh, oh!" said Mabel, "I get more frightened of you, Annie, each moment.
Well, what am I to say? I forget."
"Darling, it is so easy," said Annie in her gentlest tone. "Now then, I
will dictate once more."
She did so. The words were put down. Annie herself folded up this
precious piece of paper, and put it for safety into the bosom of her
dress.
"Now we are all right," she said; "and I've got some chocolates to give
you, and we can both curl up on the sofa and go to sleep until it's time
to wake Pris."
Mabel and Annie were about to retire to the comfortable old lounge which
occupied a place of honour in the sitting-room, when they were at once
frightened and rejoiced by hearing a voice say very distinctly outside
the schoolroom door:
"It is I--Priscie. Let me in."
Annie immediately flew to the door, drew back the bolt, and admitted
Priscilla. Priscilla was wearing a long, ugly, grey dressing-gown; her
face looked nearly as grey. She came swiftly forward and put her
manuscript on the table.
"Sign it," she said to Mabel. "Be quick. Don't hesitate, or I will
draw back. I have lived through the most awful night; but there's no
use in waiting until five o'clock. I was up, and saw you two run across
the lawn. I guessed you would come here, and I made up my mind. Be
quick, Mabel Lushington--sign."
"Here is your pen," said Annie.--"Pris, you are a plucky girl. You'll
never repent of this."
"You promise," said Priscilla, "to pay me a year's schooling?" She did
not glance at Annie; her eyes were fixed on Mabel.
"Yes," said Mabel, nodding to her and speaking with difficulty.
"You will get your money to-morrow evening, dear, at latest," said
Annie; "I mean the money for the autumn term."
Still Priscilla did not look at Annie.
"Where is your paper?" she asked, her eyes still glued on Mabel's face.
Annie supplied it.
"It is a very good paper," she said. "You won't be at all ashamed to
read it. I only trust," she added, "that it is not too good."
One very bitter smile crossed Priscilla's face for a moment. Then,
going on her knees, she deliberately wrote with a defiant air her own
signature at the foot of the essay which Annie had dictated and Mabel
had written. Mabel's weaker handwriting signed Priscilla's paper. Then
Priscilla, gathering up the false essay, folded it within her
dressing-gown, and, without glancing at either girl, left the room.
"There," said Annie when the door had closed behind her, "isn't she just
splendid? Haven't we managed well? Oh! I am tired and sleepy. Aren't
you, Mabel?"
"I don't know," said Mabel. "I am bewildered. I never knew what it was
before to feel just awfully wicked."
"You will get over that, dear. We'll just wait a minute longer, and
then we'll creep up to our rooms. What a good thing it was that I oiled
the locks! There is no fear of any one finding us out."