AT SCHOOL AGAIN.
It is a curious fact that there are some weak but loving people who are
not loved in return. If they are sincere and honest they always inspire
respect. If they are at the same time unselfish, that noble quality must
also tell in the long run. But to look at them is not to love them, and
consequently they go through life with a terrible heart-longing unknown
to their fellow-men, only known to the God above, who will doubtless
reward these simple and earnest and remarkably beautiful souls in His
own good time in another world.
Such a person was Emily Frost. She was very patient, very brave, very
unselfish; but no one particularly cared for her. She knew this quite
well; she had a passionate hunger for love, but it was not bestowed upon
her. She was well educated and could teach splendidly, but she could
never arouse enthusiasm in her pupils. A far less highly educated woman
could do twice the amount poor Miss Frost could ever achieve, simply
because she possessed the gift denied to the latter.
Now, Agnes Frost was much of the same temperament as her half-sister.
She also was timid, easily frightened, very easily subdued, but
sympathetic, loving, and unselfish. Agnes, however, had the great power
of inspiring love in all those with whom she came in contact. Miss Frost
herself worshiped that little delicate and beautiful face, those sweet
lips, that tender and dainty form. She felt she could almost die for the
child. But the child, although she loved her half-sister, did not love
her in the passionate way that Miss Frost desired. Irene was the first
person to whom Agnes had given all her strong powers of affection. For
Irene she would have done anything. She did not care nearly so much for
Rosamund, although she admired her, and Rosamund herself was drawn to
the child and attracted by her. Agnes had been perfectly happy while at
The Follies; never a fear had she of the much-dreaded Irene. It is true
she had not heard the dreadful stories of the toads and wasps and
leeches; but whether she heard them or not, it would be difficult now to
remove her affection from the girl who adored her, and whom she in
return so worshiped.
Miss Frost looked on, tried to be satisfied, tried to believe that
Rosamund was right when she told her that nothing in all the world could
happen more advantageously for little Agnes' future; but nevertheless
she carried an unhealed sore at her heart.
This was the state of things when the three girls arrived at the
Merrimans'. The house had truly been swept and garnished. The room where
Jane had been ill was re-papered and painted, the place looked
spick-and-span and beautiful, and Mrs. Merriman came out with a smiling
face to welcome the arrival of the party from The Follies.
"Welcome back, my dear!" she said to Rosamund, kissing her
affectionately, and just as though there had never been any ill-feeling
between them. "How are you, you dear little thing?" she said, addressing
Agnes in that petting tone which almost all women assumed toward her.
"How do you do?" she said more stiffly to Miss Frost.
Then she turned and addressed Miss Archer, who happened to be not far
away.
"Miss Archer," she said, "this is our new teacher, who will assist you
in every possible way. Will you take her to her room now? And Rosamund,
you know where to find yours. Irene and Agnes are to sleep in the same
room, and it is next to yours. You can go upstairs, therefore, all of
you, and get tidy for supper--at which you will meet the rest of your
school-fellows, Rosamund."
Rosamund smiled; she had come back from her holidays in Switzerland
feeling very brave and determined to do what was right. She felt that
she was a sort of person who had begun a crusade. Her crusade was
against the crudities, the cruelties, and naughty conduct of one little
girl of the name of Irene Ashleigh; but she had little idea how complex
was the task set her, and how difficult it would be even now to perform
it. Nevertheless, she was feeling courageous and happy for the time
being; and if Lucy Merriman had not belonged to the school so
effectually and so thoroughly as to make it impossible to have any
school at all without her, Rosamund might have been perfectly happy at
Sunnyside. As it was, she knew she would have a hard fight with herself
in the midst of her present surroundings.
Irene took her hand affectionately, guessing little of her thoughts.
"Do come and show us round, Rosamund," she said. "I know Aggie is tired.
Aren't you, darling?"
"Oh, no," said Agnes. "I'd like to go out presently and have a walk all
alone with you, Irene."
"Then of course you shall, dear."
"But there's no time to-night," said Rosamund. "We have barely time to
get our things unpacked and get ready for supper. You know this is
school, and I told you what school meant."
"You did," said Irene, raising her bright, wild eyes to her companion's
face; "but I confess I had forgotten it. This house seems like any other
house, only not so handsome. It isn't nearly as big as The Follies, and
the people don't seem so rich; and I have seen fat Mrs. Merriman all my
life driving about with the cob and the governess-cart; and I have seen
Professor Merriman, too, with his bent back and long hair. But I never
chanced to come across Lucy except that time in church, and then I
thought her horrible. Why should I alter my plans because of the
Merrimans? I don't intend to do it."
"You must, Irene. You promised me that you would try to be good. Come,
look at Agnes."
Agnes was gazing up at her chosen companion, at the girl she loved best
in the world, with wonder in her dark eyes. It was not a reproving look
those eyes wore; it was a sweet, astonished, and yet slightly pained
gaze. It conquered Irene on the spot. She bent down and kissed the
little one.
"You never thought I should be naughty, did you?" said Irene, lowering
her voice.
"You couldn't! you couldn't! You are the best girl in all the world,"
whispered Agnes.
"Then I will make a tremendous effort to be good for your sake."
These words were also said in a whisper, and by this time the girls had
reached their own room, which they were to share together. A door opened
into Rosamund's room, and thus the three who were to be so closely
united during the greater part of their lives were more or less in the
same apartment.
"It does seem strange not to have dear Jane Denton here," said Rosamund;
"but she seems to be still so delicate that she won't come back to
school this term. Now, shall I help you to unpack, Irene? And shall I
help you to put on a pretty frock for supper? I want you to look as nice
as possible. All the girls are just dying to see you."
At that moment there came a knock at Rosamund's door. Rosamund flew to
open it. Laura Everett stood without.
"So you have come back, Rosamund! How glad I am to see you! May I come
in?"
"If you don't mind, not for a few minutes," said Rosamund. "May I have a
chat with you after supper, or one day after lessons?"
"Of course to-night. We can walk about in the corridors if it is too
cold to go out-of-doors. But is it absolutely true--I only heard it as a
whisper--that you have brought Irene Ashleigh, the terror of the
neighborhood, here?"
"She will be a terror no longer if you will all be kind to her," said
Rosamund. "I have a great deal to say to you; but don't keep me now. She
has come, and so has dear little Agnes Frost, and--oh! do ask the other
girls to be kind, and not to take any special notice. You will, won't
you?"
"I'm sure I'd do anything for you," said Laura. "I think you were
splendid all through. I cannot tell you how I have admired you, and how
I spoke to mother about you in the holidays; and mother said that though
you had not done exactly right, yet you were the finest girl she had
ever heard of or come across, and she was very glad to think that you
and I might be in a sort of way friends."
"Well, let us be real friends," said Rosamund affectionately. "Now,
don't keep me any longer. I have as much as I can do to get my couple
ready to make a respectable appearance at supper."
Laura ran off to inform her school-fellows that the noted, the terrible
Irene was in very truth a pupil at Mrs. Merriman's school. The girls, of
course, had heard that Irene was coming, and that Rosamund had been
forgiven, and, notwithstanding her disobedience, was returning to the
school. But although they believed the latter part of this
intelligence, they doubted the former, thinking it quite impossible that
any sane people would admit such a character as Irene into their midst.
But when Laura came downstairs and told her news, the girls looked up
with more or less interest in their faces.
Annie Millar, who was Laura's special friend, said that she was glad.
"She needn't suppose that I'll be afraid of her," said Annie.
"And she needn't think that I'll be afraid of her," said Phyllis Flower.
"She may try her toads and her wasps if she likes on me; but she won't
find they have much effect."
"Oh, do stop talking!" said Laura. "Can't you understand that if Irene
is to be a good girl we must not bring things of that sort up to her? I
believe she will be good, and I think Rosamund is just splendid. Yes,
Lucy, what did you say?"
Now, Lucy had up to the present been one of Laura's great friends. Their
mothers had been friends in the old days, and the clever, bright,
intelligent Laura suited Lucy to perfection. But Lucy had imbibed all
the traditions with regard to the willful Irene, and was horrified at
the thought of having her now in the school. She was also angry at
Rosamund's being reinstated; in short, she was by no means in a good
temper. She thought herself badly treated that the news of the advent of
these two young people had been kept from her, and was not specially
mollified when her mother came into the room and told her that her
father wished to speak to her for a minute or two in his study.
The girl ran off without a moment's delay, and entering the study, went
straight up to the Professor, who, gentle, patient as of old, laid his
hand on her shoulder.
"Well, Lucy," he said, "and so school begins, and the old things resume
their sway."
"I don't think they do," retorted Lucy. "It seems to me that they are
giving place to new. Why is it, father, that a girl whom you expelled
has come back again to our dear little select, very private school? And
why has she brought the very naughtiest girl in the whole neighborhood
to be her companion?"
"I can only tell you this in reply, Lucy: Rosamund, although she was
naughty, was also noble."
"That is impossible," said Lucy, with a toss of her head.
"It is difficult for you to understand; but it is the case. She was
actuated by a brave motive, and has done a splendid work. I confess I
was very angry with her at the time; but dear Mr. Singleton--such a
Christ-like man as he is--opened my eyes, and told me what a marvelous
effect Rosamund was having on little Irene Ashleigh, whom every one was
afraid of, and who was in consequence being absolutely ruined. It was at
Singleton's request that I reinstated Rosamund in the school, and it was
further at his request and that of Lady Jane Ashleigh that I decided not
to part the two girls, but to allow them to come here for at least a
term. So Rosamund and Irene are both members of the school, and I desire
you, Lucy, as my daughter, not to repeat to any of your fellow-pupils
the stories you may have heard in the past with regard to Irene. I
desire you to be kind to her, and if you cannot be friends with her, at
least to leave her alone. You have your own friends, Laura Everett"----
"Oh, Laura has already gone over to the enemy," said Lucy. "Why, she was
talking and preaching as hard as ever she could just now, when mother
came in and said that you wanted me."
"Well, my dear, I did want to speak to you. I wanted to say just what I
have said. You will attend to my instructions. You understand?"
"I understand, father," said Lucy; and she left the study with her fair
head slightly bent.
There was a puzzled expression on her face. What was the meaning of it
all? Never in her life, which would soon extend to sixteen years, had
Lucy Merriman consciously done a wrong action. She had always been
obedient to her parents; she had always been careful and prim, and, as
she considered, thoughtful for others. She adored her father and mother.
She herself had been willing to sacrifice her position as a happy only
girl to become a member of the school, just to help her father out of
his difficulties, and to enable his health to be restored, and now she
was reprimanded because she could not see that wrong was right. What was
the matter with Rosamund? Who could consider her conduct in any other
but the one way? And yet here was Mr. Singleton inducing her father to
overlook her fault.
"I felt dissatisfied when father expelled her," thought the girl. "But
now he has taken her back again; and that awful ogre, that terror, has
come here. What does it all mean? It's enough to turn a good girl
naughty; that's all I've got to say."
There was a pretty sort of winter parlor where the girls always waited
until the meals were served. Lucy re-entered it now, and found most of
her companions waiting for her. She was scarcely there a moment before
the gong sounded, and at the same instant Rosamund, followed by Irene,
who was holding little Agnes's hand, entered the room.
Now, report had said a great deal in disfavor of Irene Ashleigh. She was
the queer girl who wore the unkempt red dress, who did the strangest,
wildest, maddest things, who terrified her governesses, who was cruel to
the servants, who made her mother's life one long misery. But report
had never mentioned that there was a charm in her wild face, in those
speaking eyes; and that the same little figure clothed in the simplest,
prettiest white could look almost angelic. No, angelic was hardly the
word. Perhaps charming suited her better. Beyond doubt she was
beautiful, with a willowy, wild grace which could not but arrest
attention, and all the other girls immediately owned to a sense of
inferiority in her presence. But Irene was so endowed with nature's
grace that she could not do an awkward thing; and then the child who
accompanied her, the small unimportant child, was as beautiful in her
way as Irene was in hers. So charming a pair did they make, those two,
each of them dressed in the purest white, that Rosamund, who was
considered quite the handsomest girl in the school, seemed to sink into
commonplace in comparison. But no one had time to make any remark.
Irene said lightly, "Oh, so you are the others!" and then nodded to one
and all; and turning to Agnes, she said in a low tone, "These are the
rest of the girls, Aggie; and I'm ever so hungry. Aren't you, Aggie?"
Mrs. Merriman came in and conducted her young group to the room where
supper was laid out, and here the first cross occurred to disturb
Irene's good temper; for Agnes was placed at the other side of the
table, between Phyllis Flower and Agnes Sparkes. Agnes Sparkes was
bending toward her and talking in her lively way. She was remarking on
the similarity of their names, and little Agnes was looking up at her
older companion and smiling back, not at all frightened; for, as she
said to herself, people were so kind to her.
Miss Frost, anxious, pale, and miserable, was watching her treasure as
she gave a little bit of her heart, at least, first to one girl and then
to another, and poor Miss Frost's face looked anything but inviting.
Her nose was red, her cheeks pinched and hollow, her eyes somewhat dim.
She felt inclined to cry.
Rosamund, however, boldly asked Laura Everett to change places with her,
and sat next to Irene.
"Why have they taken Agnes away?" said Irene. "I don't like it. I have a
great mind to walk round the table and to snatch her away from those two
horrid creatures at the other end, and to bring her to us. Why shouldn't
she sit between us? I know she wishes it, poor little darling!"
"We had better leave her alone for the present, Irene; supper won't take
long. Don't take any notice. I'll ask Mrs. Merriman to let Agnes sit
next to you in future; but don't make a fuss now."
"I hate being good. I don't think I can stand it," said Irene in a most
rebellious tone. And then she scowled at Miss Frost in quite her old
ferocious way, so that the governess looked more anxious and unhappy
than ever. But this was nothing to the scowl she presently gave Lucy
Merriman. She fixed her bright eyes on Lucy's face, and not only a frown
came between her brows, but the frown was succeeded by a mocking laugh,
and then she said in a low tone, which yet was clear as a bell, "I saw
you in church one Sunday, and you frightened me so much that I had to go
out."
This remark was so strange and unexpected that most of the girls gave
utterance to a nervous laugh; but Professor Merriman raised his voice.
"Irene," he said, "that is not at all a polite thing to say. I must have
a little talk with you when supper is over, for you are not to say
unkind things to your neighbors, or of them, as long as you are in my
house."
The firmness of his voice and the dignity of his bearing had a slight
effect on Irene. Rosamund began to talk rapidly to her on different
subjects, and by and by the meal came to an end.
That evening nothing very extraordinary occurred; but Irene, without
waiting for any one, rushed down to the room and seized little Agnes's
hand.
"Come, Agnes," she said, "it is time for you to go to bed."
"I am the person who has charge of putting the little ones to bed," said
Miss Frost, going up and speaking in a trembling tone.
"You may put all the other little ones to bed, as far as I am
concerned," said Irene; "but you don't put my Agnes to bed."
"But she is my Agnes, too."
"No; she is mine. Agnes, say at once that you belong altogether to me;
that you are my darling, my doll, my baby."
"I do love you," said little Agnes; "but of course I love Emily,
too--dear old Emily!"
She laid her hand on her elder sister's arm and looked up affectionately
into her face.
"I thought, Irene, I said I wished to speak to you," remarked the
Professor then; and before Irene could reply he had taken her hand and
led her into the study.
He made her sit down, and seated himself opposite to her.
"Now, my dear," he said, "you are going to be under my roof for a few
weeks. The term as a rule lasts about twelve weeks--that is, three
months."
"An eternity--impossible to live through it," said Irene.
"I hope you may not find it an eternity; but, anyhow, it is arranged
that you are to stay here, and during that time you must be subjected to
the rules of discipline."
"What is discipline?" said Irene.
"One of the rules of discipline is to obey those put in command of
you."
"In command of me? But there is no one in command of me!"
"I am in command of you, and so is my wife, and so are your three
governesses."
"And what do you mean to do now that you are in command of me?"
"I, for one, hope to help you, Irene, to be a good girl."
"I think," said Irene steadily, "that I'd rather be a naughty girl. When
I was at The Follies I used to do what dear Rosamund wished; and then
sweet little Agnes came, and she loved me, and I loved her and did kind
things for her, and I felt ever so much better; but I am not at all
better at your horrid school."
"Did any one ever happen to punish you, Irene?"
"Punish me?" said Irene, opening her eyes.
"Yes, punish you."
"Well, no. I don't think anybody would try to do it a second time."
"I don't wish to punish you, my dear child." The Professor rose and took
one of Irene's little hands. "I want to help you, dear--to help you with
all my might and main. I know you are different from other girls."
"Yes," said Irene, speaking in her old wild strain; "I am a changeling.
That's what I am."
"Nevertheless, dear--we won't discuss that--you have a soul within you
which can be touched, influenced. All I ask of you is to obey certain
rules. One of them is that you do not say unkind things about your
fellow-pupils. Now, you spoke very unkindly to my daughter at supper
to-night."
"I don't like her," said Irene bluntly.
"But that doesn't alter the fact that she is my daughter and one of your
school-fellows."
"Well, I can't like her if I can't. You don't want me to be dishonest
and tell lies, do you?"
"No, but I want you to be courteous; and ill-feelings are always wrong,
and can be mastered if we apply ourselves in the right spirit. I must,
therefore, tell you, Irene, that the next time I hear you speak, or it
is reported to me that you speak, unkindly of any of your
school-fellows, and if you perform any naughty, cowardly, childish
tricks, you will have to come to me, and--I don't quite know what I
shall be obliged to do, but I shall have a talk with you, my dear. Now,
that is enough for the present."
"Thank you," said Irene, turning very red, and immediately leaving the
room.
The Professor sighed when she had gone.
"How are we ever to manage her?" he said to himself.
In truth, he had not the least idea. Irene was not the sort of girl who
could be easily softened, even by a nature as gentle and kind and
patient as his. She required firm measures. Nevertheless, he had made a
deeper impression than he had any idea of; and when the little girl went
up to her room presently, and saw that Agnes was in bed, but wide awake
and waiting ready to fling her arms tightly round her companion's neck,
some of the sore feeling left her heart.
"Oh, Aggie, I have you! and you will never, never love that other horrid
Agnes, or that dreadful Phyllis, or that hateful Lucy, or any of the
girls in the school as you love me."
"Oh, indeed, I never could, Irene--I never could!" said little Agnes.
"But you don't mind Em putting me to bed, do you, for it makes her so
happy? Her hands were quite trembling with joy, and she said she had not
been so happy for a long time."
"Well, she is your sister, and she's a good old sort. But, Agnes, how
are we to live in this school? Tell me, can you endure it?"
"I was at another school, and this one seems perfectly beautiful," said
little Agnes. "I think all the girls are quite nice."
"You had better not begin to praise them overmuch, or I shall be
jealous."
"What is being jealous?" said the little girl.
"Why, just furious because somebody cares for you, or even pretends to
care for you. I don't want anybody to love you but myself."
"I don't think I should quite like that," said little Agnes. "Though I
have promised to love you best, I should like others to be kind to me."
"There you are, with your sweet little eyes full of tears, and I have
caused them! But I'm dead-tired myself. Anyhow, it will only last for
twelve weeks--truly an eternity, but an eternity which has an end. Shall
we sleep in one bed to-night, Agnes? I won't be a moment undressing.
Will you come and cuddle close to me, and let me put my arms round you
and feel that you are my own little darling?"
"Yes, indeed, I should love it!" said little Agnes.