"I--I didn't say that any one else went."

"No, my dear, you did not say so. But--" and here Miss Russell rose, and, crossing the room, laid her hand on Peggy's shoulder; "if I know anything at all of girls, you did not go alone, and you did not go of your own motion. And--Peggy, if you were not the kind of girl I thought you, you would not be feeling as you do now about the whole thing."

This was too much. Peggy could have borne, or she thought she could have borne, anger or scorn, or the cold indifference that is born of contempt; but the kind tone, the look of affectionate inquiry, the friendly hand on her shoulder,--all this she could not bear. She covered her face with her hands and burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

It seemed hours that she wept, and sobbed, and wept again. It did not seem as if she could ever stop, the tears came rushing so fast and so violently; but however long it was, Miss Russell did not try to stop or check her, only stood by with her hand on the girl's shoulder, patting it now and then, or putting back with the other hand--such a soft, firm, motherly hand it was!--the stray locks which kept falling over Peggy's face as the sobs shook her from head to foot.

At last, however, the storm abated a little; and then, while Peggy was trying to dry her tears, and the choking sobs were subsiding into long, deep breathings, Miss Russell spoke again.

"Peggy, we teachers have to go a good deal by instinct, do you know it?

It is not possible for me, for example, to know every one of seventy-odd girls as I ought to know her, by actual contact and communion. But I have acquired a sort of sense,--I hardly know what to call it,--an insight by means of which I can tell pretty well what a girl's standard of life is, and how I can best help her. I know that now I can best help you and myself by saying--and meaning--just what I said before. I place entire confidence in you, Peggy Montfort."

Peggy looked up in amazement; could she believe what she heard?

"To some girls," the Princ.i.p.al went on, "the taste of stolen fruit is sweet, and having once tasted it, they hanker for more. To you, it is bitter."

"Oh!" said Peggy; and the gasping exclamation was enough.

"Very bitter!" said the Princ.i.p.al. "I speak not from impulse, but from experience, when I tell you that there is no girl in the school to-day whom I could sooner trust not to commit this offence than you, who committed it last night."

Her own thought, almost her own words. Peggy raise her head again, and this time her eyes were full of a new hope, a new courage.

"I believe that is true, Miss Russell," she said, simply. "I had thought that myself, but I didn't suppose--I didn't think--"

"You did not think that I would know enough to understand it!" said Miss Russell, smiling. "Well, you see I do, though we both owe it partly to dear Emily Cortlandt, who reminded me of my duty and of your position.

Now, Peggy, I have a recitation, and we must part. I put you in charge of 'Broadway,' fully and freely. No one must come in, and no one must go out, by that window. And if you have any trouble," she added, with a smile, "if you have any trouble and do not think it right to tell me, call for the Owls, and they will help you. Good-bye, my child!"

She held out her hand, and Peggy took it with a wild desire to kiss it, or to fall down and kiss the hem of her gown who had shown herself thus an angel of sympathy and kindness. But the Princ.i.p.al bent down and kissed the girl's forehead lightly and tenderly.

"We shall be friends always now," she said, simply. "Don't forget, Peggy!"

She was gone, and Peggy took her own way in the opposite direction, hardly knowing whither she was going. Her heart was so full of joy and love and grat.i.tude, it seemed as if she must break out into singing or shouting. Was ever any one so kind, so n.o.ble, so lovely? How could any one not try to do her very, very best, to deserve the care and friendship of such a teacher as this?

Pa.s.sing as if on wings through the geometry room, she saw a figure crouching over a desk, and was aware of Rose Barclay, bent over her book, and crying bitterly. Nothing could hold Peggy back in that moment of exaltation. In an instant she was at the girl's side. "Let me help you!" she cried. "Please let me; I know I can."

Rose Barclay looked up fiercely. "I asked you to help me, once!" she said. "I am not likely to ask again. Go away, please, and let me alone."

"No, I won't!" said stout Peggy. "You never would let me explain, but now you are going to let me. I couldn't show you my example, and I wouldn't, and I never will; but I could make you see how to do your own right, and that's what I am going to do now."

Down she sat without more ado; took the pencil from the unwilling hand, and set to work on an imaginary problem. Rose Barclay sat still for a moment with averted face, pride and shame doing their best to silence the better voices within her. At length she stole a glance at Peggy's face, and there beheld such a shining expanse of goodwill and friendliness that Pride and Co. gave up the battle, and retreated into their dens. Heaving a long sigh of relief, she bent forward, and soon was following with all her might Peggy's clear and lucid explanation.

"Why, yes!" said Rose, at last. "Why, I do see. Why, I do believe I could do that myself."

"Of course you can!" said Peggy. "Here, take the pencil, and I'll give you one."

She did so, and, after some s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g of the mouth and knitting of the brows, Rose actually did do it, and felt like Wellington after Waterloo.

Then, at Peggy's instigation, she tackled the actual lesson, and, steered by Professor Peggy, went through it triumphantly. Then she turned on her instructor.

"What made you come and help me, Peggy Montfort? I've been perfectly hateful to you, you know I have. I wouldn't have helped you, if you had acted the way I have."

"Oh, yes, you would," said Peggy, good-naturedly.

"Why--why, you have been crying, too!" said Rose, examining her benefactress more closely. "Peggy, you have been crying awfully, I know you have."

"Yes, I have," said Peggy; "I have cried my eyes out, and I never was so happy in my life. Come on, and have a game of ball!"

CHAPTER XI.

DECORATION--AND OTHER THINGS.

The Junior Reception was "on." In fact, it was to take place this very evening, and an air of subdued excitement hung over the whole school.

All the other cla.s.ses were invited, as well as the Faculty and many friends from outside; it was sure to be a delightful occasion. Peggy was fortunate enough to be one of the auxiliaries called in by the Snowy Owl to help in the decorations, and she counted it a high privilege, as indeed it was. As a general thing, there is more sympathy between juniors and freshmen than between any other two cla.s.ses in school or college; various reasons may be a.s.signed for this, but it remains the fact. Besides this, however, Peggy felt a very special bond with the "Jews," because her dearest friends were among them. This had come about partly from the accident of her coming late to school, and so being put into the junior corridor; but it was still more due to her making instant acquaintance, as we have seen, with the Fluffy Owl, and through her with the beloved and powerful Snowy. These two girls, through their wise and gentle ways, were a power for good in the whole school, and especially in their own cla.s.s. They were queens of the steady and right-minded majority, while Grace Wolfe led the wilder and less disciplined spirits. The Owls went their quiet way, and troubled themselves little, less perhaps than they should have done, about the doings of the "Gang." They were busy with study, with basket-ball, with a hundred things; they could not always know (especially when pains were taken that they should not know) what tricks the Scapegoat and her wild mates were up to.

Both Owls had a real affection for Peggy, and though they knew nothing as yet of the recent escapade, they felt that it would be well to keep her rather under their wing, the more so that Grace had undoubtedly taken a fancy to the child, too.

"She's too fascinating!" said the Snowy. "We shall have the Innocent falling in love with her if we don't look out, and that would never do!"

"Never!" said the Fluffy, shaking her head wisely; but she added, in an undertone, "If only the mischief isn't done already!"

So the two asked Peggy to help them in the work of preparing the gymnasium for the great event, and she consented with delight. She was making plenty of friends in her own cla.s.s, oh, yes; especially now that she and Rose Barclay had made it up. She was the one stay and comfort of poor little Lobelia Parkins, and was devotedly kind to that forlorn creature, taking her out to walk almost by main force, and presenting to all comers a front of such stalwart, not to say pugnacious, determination, that no one dared to molest the girl when Peggy was with her. Spite of all this, however, her heart remained in Corridor A, and she would have left the whole freshman cla.s.s in the lurch at one whistle from the Owls--or, alas! from the Scapegoat.

But all this is by the way, and does not help us to get up the Junior Reception.

There had been an early morning expedition to the neighbouring woods (not, however, through the fire-escape), and Peggy and the Owls had returned each with a wheelbarrow-load of boughs and ground pine and all manner of pleasant woodland things. The leaves had turned, and were glowing with scarlet and gold and russet. These were put in water, lest they should begin to curl and wither before night; while the evergreens were heaped in a corner and left to their fate. Now it was afternoon, and the girls, released from their tasks, had flown to the scene of action. Already the gymnasium began to a.s.sume a festive appearance.

Several garlands were in place, and on the floor sat six or eight juniors, busily weaving more. Ladders stood here and there. At the top of one stood the Snowy Owl, arranging a "trophy," as she called it, of brilliant leaves, on another, Peggy was valiantly hammering, as she arranged in festoons the long folds of green and white bunting that the Fluffy handed up to her. The Fluffy was a curious sight, being swathed in bunting from head to foot. When Peggy demanded "more slack," she simply turned around a few times and unrolled herself, thus presenting the appearance of an animated spool.

"It's effective," said Gertrude, surveying her from her perch, "but I can't say that it looks comfortable. How ever did you get yourself into such a snarl, Fluff?"

"Why, I was measuring it, don't you know?" said Bertha, "and it got all into a heap on the floor, and there was so much of it I didn't know what to do. So I began to roll it round and round myself, and the first thing I knew I was the coc.o.o.n-thing you see before you. I feel as if I ought to come out a b.u.t.terfly, somehow."

"They are lovely colours!" said Peggy. "There's nothing so pretty as green and white. How do you choose your colours? We haven't chosen ours yet, but I suppose we shall soon."

"The Snowy chose them," said Bertha. "They were Sir Somebody-or-other's colours at the Siege of Acre. I wanted scarlet, because that was Launcelot's--"

"Fluffy! it was nothing of the kind!"

"Well, you know what I mean, Snowy; don't make a cannibal meal of me.

Scarlet was Elaine's colour, and Launcelot wore it; that was what I meant."

"I thought--" said Peggy, timidly, "I thought she was the Lily Maid; I thought she wore white."

"Did, herself," said the Snowy, with her mouth full of tacks. "But she gave him a scarlet sleeve embroidered with pearls, and he wore it on his helmet, and that was what made Guinevere throw the diamonds into the river."

"Oh!" said Peggy, meekly. She had tried to read the "Idyls of the King,"