"Well, Madam, I suppose because you are human as well as a schoolma'am, and love for your niece stronger than training. But don't distress yourself. I doubt if this is anything more than a fit of indigestion. That would account, also, for the imaginary visit of a goblin, which terrified the little one. However, it might be well to isolate Miss Dorothy for a day or so, in case anything serious develops."

By that time Dorothy was awake and sat up listening to this conversation; and when the doctor explained to her that this isolation meant that she must live quite apart from the schoolmates she so desired to know, she was bitterly disappointed.

"I haven't been here more than twenty-four hours, yet it seems as if more unpleasant things have happened than could anywhere else in a lifetime," she complained to Dawkins, who had come to arrange another cot for her to use and to bring the needed articles from her own little cubicle.

"Ah, la.s.sie! When you've lived as long as me you'll learn 't a 'lifetime' is a goodish long spell: and if so be you can't mix with your mates for a little few days, more's the blessing that's yours, alongside as you'll be of the Lady Princ.i.p.al. Now, say your prayers and hop into this fine bed I've fixed for you, and off to Noddle Island quick as wink. Good night and sleep well."

Surely our Dorothy had the gift of winning hearts, and other Oak Knowe girls with whom Dawkins exchanged scant speech would have been astonished by the kindly gossip with this newcomer. Also, the maid's belief that Dorothy's intercourse with the Lady Princ.i.p.al would be delightful was well founded. Miss Muriel was grateful to her pupil for her patience with troublesome Grace, and regretful that her isolation from her mates had come about in just this wise.

However, Dr. Winston had been right. Millikins-Pillikins had been allowed the run of the house and, like most children, found its kitchen its most attractive place. There her sharp tongue and amusing capers furnished amus.e.m.e.nt for the servants, who rewarded her with all sorts of "treats" and sweetmeats. The result was natural, but what was not so natural was her persistent declaration that she had been visited by an evil spirit.

"I did so see him, Auntie Princie! He had big whitey eyes, and his head was all red--"

"No more, darling. Say no more. Just play with your blocks. See what sort of house you can build, or--"

"Auntie Prin, I do _hate_ blocks! And you don't believe me. Did Millikins ever tell you a wrong story in her whole life?"

"No, darling, not to my knowledge. I'm proud to know you are a very truthful little girl. But even such can _dream_ queer things. Ask Dorothy to play for you and me. You know this is the last day she'll be shut up here and I'd like to hear some music."

Dorothy laid down her book and went to fetch her violin, but the self-willed Grace would have none of that. Stamping her foot, she imperiously cried:

"No, no, no! She shall come with me and seek that old debbil. She shall so. He had hornses and his face--"

"Grace Adelaide Tross-Kingdon! if you disobey me again by mentioning that subject, I shall send for the Bishop and brother Hugh and see what they can do with you. Do you want to be disgraced before them?"

The little girl pondered that question seriously. She could not understand why telling the truth should disgrace anybody. She loved the Bishop and fairly idolized her big brother Hugh. Her Aunt Muriel was more angry with the child than ever before in her short life and Millikins fully realized this fact.

"I'm sorry, Auntie Prin. I'm sorrier than ever was. I hate them two should think I was bad and I wish--I wish you wouldn't not for to tell 'em. I isn't bad, you only think so. 'Cause it's the truthiest truth, I _did_ see him. He had--"

Miss Tross-Kingdon held up a warning hand and her face was sterner than any pupil had ever seen it. Such would have quailed before it, but Millikins-Pillikins quailed not at all. Rising from the carpet, where she had been sitting, she planted her st.u.r.dy legs apart, folded her arms behind her and unflinchingly regarded her aunt. The midget's defiant att.i.tude made Dorothy turn her head to hide a smile, while the little girl reiterated:

"I did see him. I have to tell the truth all times. You said so and I have to mind. I did see that debbil. He lives in this house. When my brother Hugh comes, he shall go with me to hunt which room he lives in, and the Bishop shall preach at him the goodest and hardest he can.

This isn't no badness, dear, angry Auntie Prin; it is the truthiest truth and when you see him, too, you'll believe it. If Hugh would come--"

Miss Tross-Kingdon leaned back in her chair and threw out her hand in a gesture of despair. What made her darling so incorrigible?

"Oh! I wish he would come, I certainly wish he would! This thing is beyond me or anything in my experience. I almost begin to believe that Bible days have returned and you are possessed of the evil spirit."

Millikins-Pillikins returned to her play in supreme indifference. She knew what she knew. Couldn't a body believe one's own eyes? Didn't the _chef_ often say that "Seeing is believing," when the scullery maid stole the raisins and he found them in her pocket? She couldn't help Auntie Prin being stupid; and--

"Oh, oh, oh! Hughie's come! Hughie's come! Oh! you darling brother boy, let's go and seek that debbil!"

The youth who entered and into whose arms his little sister had sprung, held her away from him and gasped. Then answered merrily:

"That gentleman doesn't belong in good society, kiddie. It's not good form even to mention him. I'd rather go the other way."

Then he set her gently down and turned to acknowledge his aunt's introduction to Dorothy. He was well used to meeting the Oak Knowe girls, but wondered a little at finding one at this hour in the Lady Princ.i.p.al's private parlor. As he opened his lips to address some courteous remark to her, a shriek of utter terror rang through the house and a housemaid burst unceremoniously in, white and almost breathless, yet managing to say:

"Oh! Ma'am, I'm leavin'--I'm leavin' the now! Sure, 'tis a haunted house and Satan hisself dwells in it!"

CHAPTER VI

AT THE FALL OF THE MAIDEN'S BATH

There had, indeed, been strange happenings at Oak Knowe. Beginning on that first day of Dorothy's life there, with the crash outside the dining-room door. That had been caused by the tripping and falling with a loaded tray of one of the best waitresses employed. Afterward it was discovered that a wire had been stretched across the doorway, low down near to the floor, and not easily noticeable in the dim pa.s.sage. Who had done this thing?

Miss Tross-Kingdon paid scant attention to the incident, apparently, although she caused a very thorough investigation to be secretly made.

Nothing came of it.

Matters went so wrong in the servants' quarters that they became demoralized and several threatened to leave. Thefts from one and another were frequent; yet as often the missing article was found in some unusual place where, as Dawkins declared:

"n.o.body but a crazy person would ha' puttin' it."

One morning the _chef's_ spotless marble molding-board was found decorated by a death's-head and bones, done in red paint, and his angry accusations of his fellow-workers brought the Lady Princ.i.p.al to the kitchen to restore peace. But peace did not last long. The head laundress, who personally "did up" the finest pieces in "the wash,"

found her pile of them deluged with blueing, so that her work had to be done all over again. These were but samples of the strange happenings; and though most of the servants had been so long at Oak Knowe that they considered it their real home, some of the most loyal to its interests felt they couldn't endure this state of things much longer.

Then had come the fright of little Grace, followed by that of the housemaid, whom no arguments could calm, and who rushed out of Miss Muriel's parlor as she rushed into it, departing that hour for good and all and to spread far and near ill reports of the great school.

However, after that day nothing further happened. At a secret meeting of the faculty it was decided to take no outward notice of these disturbances, but to keep silent watch until such a time as the culprit, or culprits, should betray themselves.

"He or she is bound to do so, after a time. There's always a hitch somewhere in such mischievous schemes and nothing worse than mortal hands has performed this 'witch work,'" said the Bishop calmly, though vexed that such foolishness could be found at his beloved Oak Knowe.

Then for many days the disturbances ceased.

Dorothy fell into the daily life of the school with all her heart, making friends with her mates in her own Form and even with some of the older girls. Best of all, she had lost all fear of the Lady Princ.i.p.al, whose heart she had won by her devotion to little Millikins. She even begged forgiveness for Winifred, against whom the teacher still felt some resentment; saying to Dolly:

"It isn't what she did--in itself--so much as her broken trust. She has been with me so long, she has been taught so constantly, that I feel indignant at her deception. Anything but deception, Dorothy.

Remember that a treacherous person is more to be feared than an openly wicked one."

"But, dear Miss Muriel, Winifred will never cheat again. Never, I know. She won't go off bounds a step now, even though her 'restriction's' taken off. And she keeps away from me till she makes me feel dreadfully. Says she doesn't want to 'contaminate' and get me into trouble again. Please let her go nutting this afternoon with Miss Aldrich's cla.s.s."

"Very well. She may go."

"One thing more, Miss Tross-Kingdon. When may I, may we, go to see Robin?"

The lady smiled. A sudden memory of the scene upon which she had entered that rainy evening of her first visit to the cottage amused her, and she answered graciously:

"Probably on Sat.u.r.day, if you wish. Though I am still doubtful whether your guardians would approve."

"I can answer for them, dear Miss Muriel. They are just the kind that would like me to go. Some of Aunt Betty's dearest friends are very poor. She finds them honester and more generous than the rich ones. As for darling Uncle Seth, he learned to be a regular blacksmith, just so he could live among them on 'even terms,' he said. Yet he's the wisest, best man in all the world."

In the Lady Princ.i.p.al's private opinion he was also the most eccentric; but she did not dash Dorothy's enthusiasm further than to say:

"To me it seems wisest to content one's self with the station in which one has been born. To step aside from the normal path in life--"