THE HUMILIATION OF LINDA
Early in the morning after the Grand Guard Ball in Freeling, Nan
Sherwood had an adventure.
She had spent part of the previous day writing another letter to her
mother, and that she finished, sealed, stamped and mailed in the school
letter-bag. This time she knew that no ill-natured girl would get hold
of it. But, of course, the whole school knew by this time that she was
going to leave at the end of the term, and that "her folks weren't rich
at all, so there!"
Not that Nan had ever talked about the Scotch legacy more than she could
help; and certainly she had not boasted to the girls of her wealth.
There are certain natures, however, who envy the successful, and Nan had
been very successful in making friends, in finding favor with the
teachers, and in standing well in her classes.
So even some girls whom she had been kind to, were glad to repeat now
the story of Nan Sherwood's coming poverty as first circulated by Linda
Riggs and her satellites. Nan had heard many unkind whispers, and when
alone she grieved over this.
By reason of her fretting, she did not sleep well after the ball, and
she arose long before the gong sounded and when it was still quite dark.
There was a paring of silver moon low on the horizon, which looked as
though it had been sewed into the black velvet robe of Night; and the
robe was trimmed with sparkling silver and red stars as well.
The air was keen, although there was no wind; and the hoarfrost hung
from the bushes and dried grass-blades, while there was a rime of it the
length of the balustrade to the beach. Nan ran down this flight to see
if the ice would bear yet. Skating was in the offing, and she and Bess
loved to skate.
Professor Krenner had reported the day before that the strait between
the lake shore where his cabin stood, and the Isle of Hope, half a mile
out in the lake, was skimmed over with ice. Here, at the foot of the
flight of stairs and along by the haunted boathouse, the edge of the
water was fringed with a crust of thin ice.
"Not much more fun for me at dear old Lakeview Hall," Nan was thinking
as she skipped lightly along the edge of this uncertain ice. "But I'll
get my skates sharpened, as Bess begged me. That will not be a _great_
extravagance. We'll have some good fun before the term closes and we go
home for the holidays. Oh, dear!"
The sigh was not because of the home-going. It was for the reason that
Nan felt very sure that she would never see the Hall again.
Just as she was thinking this and watching idly the broken water far out
in the strait toward the Isle of Hope, she put her foot upon a strip of
ice and, to her amazement, it broke through and she plunged knee deep in
the icy water.
"Oh! _Oh!_ OH!" she gasped, in graduated surprise.
For as she strove to pull out the first foot, her other one
went--_slump_--right through the ice, too. And it was cold!
Nan was not frightened at first. She was an athletic girl, and very
strong and agile. But she was amazed to find that both feet were fast in
the half-frozen slime at the bottom of this hole into which she had
stepped. She strove to pull her feet free, and actually could not do it!
Then, as she lifted her head to look about for help, she saw a figure in
black running hard toward her. It came from the rear of the big
boathouse. It was a slight figure, and Nan immediately thought of "the
black dog" that had chased Mrs. Cupp the night of the boathouse party.
"I'll get you! I'll get you!" exclaimed the boy, for such in reality he
was, and he threw forward a tough branch for Nan to cling to.
She accepted this aid gladly. At first she almost drew him into the
water. Then he braced his heels in the bank and flung himself back to
balance her weight. First one foot and then the other Nan pulled out of
the icy mire, and in half a minute she was ashore.
"Oh! how can I thank you?" she cried. "If you hadn't been here----"
"It's all right--it's all right, Miss," the boy stammered, and
immediately began to back away. "You needn't thank me. I'd have done it
for anybody."
Nan was eyeing the lad curiously. Many thoughts beside those of
gratitude for his timely help, were passing through her mind.
"Who are you?" she asked abruptly. "Do you live around here?"
The boy was a pale youth, but he flushed deeply now and edged farther
away, as though he really feared her.
"Oh, yes! I live near here. I--I'm glad I could help you. Good-bye!"
Before Nan could stop him by word or act, he turned around and ran up
the shore of the lake until he was hidden from the girl's surprised
view.
"Well! isn't that the strangest thing?" demanded Nan, of nobody at all.
Then she realized that she was getting very cold indeed, standing there
with wet feet and ankles, and she herself started on a run for the steps
to the top of the bluff, and had just time enough to get to the Hall and
change her shoes and stockings before breakfast.
At the table she was giving to Bess an eager account of her adventure
when Laura Polk said to the chums from Tillbury:
"Heard the latest, girls?"
"Don't know. What is the latest?" asked Bess. "Nan's got a yarn to tell
that almost passes human belief. She seems to have interviewed a ghost
and got her feet wet at the same time."
"That's nothing," declared Laura. "Linda's lost that beautiful
necklace."
"Goodness! you don't mean it?" gasped Bess.
"The poor girl!" exclaimed Nan, with sympathy. "How did it happen?"
"The deponent knoweth not," said Laura, tightly. "It's a big
loss--bigger than that awful maxim Miss Craven used to teach all us
girls: 'Lost! Somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours,
each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are
gone forever!'"
"How ridiculous!" chuckled Bess.
"It is no laughing matter, girls," said Nan, with gravity.
"What isn't; the maxim?" cried Bess.
"No. Linda's loss."
"Pooh! What do I care?" scoffed Bess. "I'm wasting no tears over Linda."
"But that lovely necklace!" cried Nan.
"It was a beauty," admitted Laura.
"Oh! her father won't mind. He has more money than anybody else in the
world--to hear her tell it," laughed the heartless Bess.
"She can't help being foolish, I suppose," added Laura.
"She showed how silly she was by wearing the necklace," Bess declared.
"Maybe a burglar saw it; and followed her home, and stole it."
Mrs. Cupp rang her bell sharply. "Young ladies!" she exclaimed, when
there was comparative silence. "Young ladies! Attention! Miss Sherwood
is wanted in Dr. Prescott's office at once."
Many of the girls stared at Nan as she slowly arose, her breakfast
partly eaten. More than one whisper went around the tables. One girl
asked right out loud:
"Wonder what Dr. Prescott wants her for?"
"I know!" squealed the eager voice of one of the younger pupils. "I came
right past Linda Riggs' door, and I heard her say to Cora Courtney that
she knew Nan stole that necklace!"
"Oh!" The exclamation was general. But Amelia Boggs' voice rose above
the confusion.
"You miserable infant!" she cried. "You ought to be spanked and put to
bed for a week!"
"Young ladies!" came in Mrs. Cupp's stern voice, "less confusion,
please!"
Nan had risen in some trepidation to go to the principal's study. But
the suggestion that she was wanted because Linda had lost her necklace
almost bound her feet where she stood. It seemed to Nan as though she
could not move.
"Nan! Nan!" cried Bess, jumping up, her face ablaze. "It's a story, a
wicked story! They sha'n't treat you so!"
Her arm was over Nan's shoulders and she was crying, frankly. Mrs.
Cupp's voice again was heard above the noise.
"Elizabeth! Sit down!"
The reckless Bess paid no attention to the command, but went on with Nan
to the door. This flagrant disobeying of the matron's order awed the
other girls to silence.
Bess left her chum in the hall and came back, her eyes streaming.
"I don't care what you do to me, Mrs. Cupp, so there!" she sobbed.
"Nan is shamefully abused. You can punish me all you want to, Mrs.
Cupp, only don't tell me to keep my mouth closed for a week, for
I--just--could--not--do--it!"
"I believe you, Elizabeth," said the matron, drily, preparing to follow
Nan Sherwood. "I will attend to your case later."
In the principal's office Nan found Linda in tears and Dr. Prescott
looking very grave indeed.
"Do you know anything about the loss of Linda's necklace, my dear?" the
preceptress said kindly to Nan.
"No, Dr. Prescott," whispered Nan, her face very white and her lips
fairly blue.
"That is sufficient, Nancy. You are mistaken, Linda. And it is a mistake
that can hardly be excused."
"You just take her word for it!" cried Linda, wildly. "And my father
will about _kill_ me when he knows grandmother's necklace is gone. She's
a----"
"That will do!" Dr. Prescott sternly warned her.
"I don't care! She's a pauper! Nobody else in the school is poor enough
to _want_ to steal. She tried to take my bag on the train----"
"No more of it!" commanded Dr. Prescott, rising angrily. "You are
incorrigible, Linda. First of all, I want to know how you came to have
the necklace to wear. Mrs. Cupp tells me she strictly forbade you to
take it out of your trunk."
Mrs. Cupp entered at that moment. "Here's Henry," she said shortly to
the doctor. "He has something to show you."
The man came in, wiping his snowy boots on the mat.
"What is it, Henry?" asked the troubled principal.
"This, Mum," said Henry, holding out something that glittered in his
hand. "I reckon 'tis some gewgaw of the young ladies. I found it under a
window with some trash from a wastepaper basket, and I want you to be
tellin' 'em again that I will _not_ have 'em throwing trash out o'
window."
"My necklace!" shrieked Linda, and leaped to seize it.
But Henry closed his hand, and Linda might as well have tried to open a
bank-vault without the combination.
"Give it to me," said Dr. Prescott, soberly. "When did you empty your
basket out of the window, Linda?"
"La--last night--after we got home from the ball. I forgot it yesterday
and it was--was too full," wept Linda.
"And your necklace went out of the window with it," said Dr. Prescott,
sternly.
"Look at that child!" suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Cupp. The matron crossed
the room quickly and caught poor Nan before she fell. "She's just about
made sick by this," she said tartly. "Why! she's fainted. And she's
feverish! Here's a pretty to-do!"
The principal hurried to Nan's side and looked into her pallid face.
"There is trouble here--more trouble than we know about," she whispered.
"Don't take her to her room. In here! You may go, Henry. Thank you! And
you return to your room, Linda. We will look further into this affair."
Half an hour later Mrs. Cupp came out of the principal's suite of rooms
with a troubled face, and telephoned for Dr. Larry, the school
physician.