"Poverty isn't always a recommendation for usefulness. Is he old enough? Is it that lad who came with Mr. Gilpin?"

"Yes, Miss Muriel. He's just the loveliest boy I've seen in Canada--"

"The _only_ one, except Jack!" interrupted Winifred.

"It was because of me and my carelessness he got hurt and broke himself. He was carrying my telegram that I ought to have sent long before and he was so starved he fell off his bicycle and always ever since I've wished I could help him some way and he'd have such a nice home here and he wouldn't bring in goats, and his mother could do things to help and I thought maybe he could do the shoes and other things would be easier than what he did and could be a golf-boy for the Bishop when the time comes and it's pretty near and--"

"There, Dorothy, take your breath, and put a comma or two into your sentences. Then we'll talk about this project of yours. Where's Robin now?"

"Right out on the settle this minute waiting--if he hasn't gone away--May I--"

"Yes, honey, step-an'-fetch him!" laughed Winifred again, "he's used to that sort of talk."

Away flashed Dorothy and now, at a really serious rebuke from the Lady Princ.i.p.al, Winifred sobered her lively spirits to be an interested witness of the coming interview, as Dorothy came speeding back, literally dragging the shy Robin behind her.

But, as before, the presence of other young folks and Miss Muriel's first question put him at his ease.

"Robin, are you willing to work rather hard, in a good home, for your mother and to provide one for her, too?"

"Why, of course, Ma'am. That's what I was a-doin' when I fell off.

Goody! Wouldn't I? Did you ever see my mother, lady?"

"Yes, Robin, at our Hallowe'en Party," answered Miss Tross-Kingdon, smiling into the beautiful, animated face of this loyal son.

"You'd like her, Ma'am, you couldn't help it. She's 'the sweetest thing in the garden,' Father used to say, and he knew. She feels bad now, thinking we've been so long at the farmer's 'cause she don't see how 't we ever can pay them. And the doctor, too. Oh! Ma'am, did you hear tell of such a place? Do you think I could get it?"

"Yes, lad, I did hear of just such, for Dorothy told me. It's right here at Oak Knowe. The work is to pick up row after row of girls'

shoes, standing over night outside their bedroom doors and to blacken them, or whiten them, as the case might be, and to have them punctually back in place, in time for their owners to put on. Cleaning boots isn't such a difficult task as it is a tedious one. The maids complain that it's more tiresome than scrubbing, and a boy I knew grew very careless about his work. If I asked you and your mother to come here to live, would you get tired? Or would she dislike to help care for the linen mending? Of course, you would be paid a fair wage as well as she. What do you think?"

What Robin thought was evident: for away he ran to Dorothy's side and catching her hand kissed it over and over.

"Oh! you dear, good girl! It was you who helped the doctor set my bones, it was you who let me slide on your new toboggan, and it's you who've 'spoke for me' to this lady. Oh! I do thank you. And now I'm not afraid to go back and see Mr. Gilpin. He was so vexed with me because he thought--May I go now, Ma'am? and when do you want us, Mother and me?"

"To-morrow morning, at daybreak. Will you be here?"

"Will I not? Oh! good-by. I must go quick! and tell my Mother that she needn't worry any more. Oh! how glad I am!"

With a bow toward Miss Tross-Kingdon and a gay wave of his hand toward the girls, he vanished from the room, fairly running down the corridor and whistling as he went. The rules of Oak Knowe had yet all to be learned but it certainly was a cheerful "noise in halls" to which they listened now.

"And that's another 'link' in life, such as Uncle Seth was always watching for. If I hadn't delayed that telegram and he hadn't fallen down and--everything else that happened--Robin would never have had such a lovely chance," said Dorothy proudly.

"That's a dangerous doctrine, Dorothy. It's fine to see the 'links'

you speak of, but not at all fine to do evil that good may come. I'd rather have you believe that this same good might have come to the lad without your own first mistake. But it's time for studying Sunday lessons and you must go."

"Catch me studying 'links' for things, Dolly, if it gets a body lectured. Dear Lady Princ.i.p.al does so love to cap her kindnesses with 'a few remarks.' There's a soft side and a hard side to that woman, and a middle sort of schoolma'amy side between. She can't help it, poor thing, and mostly her soft side was in front just now.

"Think of it! Wax Works and Ice Palaces all in one term! I do just hope Mrs. Jarley'll have a lot of real blood-curdling 'figgers' to look at and not all miminy-piminy ones. Well, good night, honey, I'm off to be as good as gold."

Every pupil at Oak Knowe, in the week that followed, tried to be "as good as gold," for a pleasure such as Lady Jane proposed to give the school was as welcome to the highest Form as to the lowest Minims, and the result was that none was left out of the party--not one.

It was all perfectly arranged, even the weather conspiring to further the good time, with a beautifully clear day and the air turned mild, with a promise of the coming spring. The snow was beginning to waste, yet the sleighing held fine and the city stables had been ransacked to obtain the most gorgeous outfits with the safest drivers.

Thirty handsome sleighs with their floating plumes and luxurious robes, drawn by thirty spans of beautiful horses was the alluring procession which entered Oak Knowe grounds on the eventful Sat.u.r.day; and three hundred happy girls, each in her best attire piled into them. Yes, and one small boy! For who could bear to leave behind that one last child of the great family? And a boy who in but a week's time had learned to clean shoes so well and promptly?

So clad in his new suit, of the school's uniform, "Such as all we men folks wear"--as he had proudly explained to his mother when he first appeared in this before her--and with a warm top-coat and cap to match, the happy youngster rode in the leading sleigh in which sat Lady Jane herself.

Of how those happy young folks took possession of the exhibition hall, that had been reserved for them; and smiled or shuddered over the lifelike images of famous men and women; and finally tore themselves away from the glib tongue of the exhibitor and his fascinating show--all this any schoolgirl reader can picture for herself.

Then of the dinner at the great hotel, in a beautiful room also reserved that they might indulge their appet.i.tes as hunger craved without fear or observation of other guests: the slow drive about the city, and the swift drive home--with not one whit of the gayety dimmed by any untoward accident.

"Oh! it's been a perfect success! Nothing has happened that should not, and I believe that I've been the happiest girl of all! But such a crowd of them. Better count your flock, Miss Tross-Kingdon, maybe, and see if any are missing;" said Lady Jane as she stepped down at the Oak Knowe door.

"I don't see how there could be, under your care, my Lady, but I'll call a mental roll."

So she did. But the roll was not perfect. Two were missing. Why?

CHAPTER XVI

A PERPLEXING PROBLEM OF LIFE

Miss Tross-Kingdon entered Miss Hexam's room, looking so disturbed that the latter asked:

"Why, Muriel, what is the matter?"

They two were of kin and called each other by their first names.

"Matter enough, Wilda. I'm worried and angry. And to think it should happen while the Bishop is away on that trip of his to the States!"

"Tell me," urged the gentle little woman, pushing a chair forward into which the Lady Princ.i.p.al wearily dropped.

"It's that Dorothy Calvert. She's lost herself again!"

"She has a knack of doing that! But she'll be found."

"Maybe. Worst is she's taken another with her. Robin, the new boot-boy."

Miss Hexam laughed:

"Well, I admit that is the greater loss just now! Girls are plentiful enough at Oak Knowe but boot-boys are scarce. And this Robin was a paragon, wasn't he? Also, I thought Dorothy was away up toward the 'good conduct medal,' as well as 'distinction' in music. I don't see why she should do so foolish a thing as you say and lessen her chances for the prize."

"Wilda, you don't understand how serious it is. It was one thing to have it happen in this house but it's night now and she away in a strange city. I declare I almost wish she'd never come at all."

For a moment Miss Hexam said no more. She knew that Miss Muriel loved the missing girl with sincere affection and was extremely proud of her great progress in her studies. All the school had readily conceded that in her own Form Dorothy stood highest, and would certainly win the "honors" of that Form. When the Princ.i.p.al had rested quietly a while longer she asked:

"Now tell me all about it, Muriel."