Girls New and Old

"What is that?"

"Just tell Kate the truth quite simply to-morrow; don't exaggerate, and don't protest. Tell her you know she suspects you, assure her of your innocence, and then leave the matter in my hands; don't say another word. Of course it is easy to guess who is at the bottom of all the mischief."

"Who?" inquired Molly.

"Why, Matilda Matthews! Did you notice how anxious Kate was to keep her in the room this evening, and how often Matilda made for the door? I was quite amused watching the clever way in which Kate kept her victim within sight. Of course I could not guess her motive at the time; now I see that she wanted to shame Matilda thoroughly."

"Yes; I hate Matilda!" said Molly. "I never did hate anyone before, but I hate her! Of course she has made the mischief; but how did she find out? That is the puzzle of all puzzles, Cecil."

"Of course it is a puzzle," said Cecil; "but we'll drag it into the light of day somehow. Now, Molly, I'm dead tired, and I think I must say good-night."

"Good-night!" said Molly.

A moment later her friend went away.

Cecil ran upstairs to her own cubicle. It was next to Kate's, and as she laid her head on her pillow she thought she heard a sound something like a sob not far away. She longed to speak and give a word of comfort, but she knew that anything she said would be overheard by other girls. There was nothing for her to do but to bide her time.

Cecil's new life was full of the keenest interests. Her examinations had been successful. She had taken a high place in the school. Miss Forester had already singled her out for special notice. It was arranged that she was to try for the great yearly scholarship given by the governors of Redgarth to the best pupil, and her head was absorbed with the new and vivid interests which her different studies were bringing to her. Nevertheless, Cecil had lived an unselfish life; she loved Molly with all her heart and soul, and determined not to leave a stone unturned to get her out of her present difficulty. She lay awake for a short time thinking about her, suppressed a sigh as she thought of the valuable help Maurice, not to say Jimmy, could give her in this emergency; for Maurice was the soul of common sense, and Jimmy was a born detective. But as the boys were far away, she had to trust to her own ingenuity. Suddenly an idea darted through her mind. Why not write to Jimmy and ask his advice?

"I never knew such a lad for ferreting out mysteries," thought Cecil. "I need not give him any names, but I'll just put the case in a few strong words, and see what he suggests. The thing to find out is this: How did Matilda get her knowledge? I'll put the whole case to Jimmy."

Cecil knew that she would have no time to do this in the morning. She got softly out of bed, lit her candle, sat down before her writing-desk, and wrote the following letter:

Dear Jimmy:

You know you are fond of mysteries. Can you make anything out of the following? You must forgive me for not mentioning names. The case is just as I am putting it. There is a very nice girl in this school; she is what you would call a brick; she has a friend who is just as nice in her own way. The friend is the sort of true girl who would not tell a secret for all the world. One day these two girls were sitting together in a little summerhouse, made of wood, in our large playground. The one girl told the other girl a secret. It was an important secret, and just the sort which any person who had a grain of honor in him or her would rather be cut in pieces than tell again. Well, Jimmy, in some mysterious way the secret has got out; everyone in the school knows about it, and the poor dear girl, who would rather have her tongue cut out than betray her friend, is supposed to have been treacherous, and to have betrayed her friend's confidence. In some dreadful way the secret has got into the hands of a very unscrupulous girl in the school, and she is making use of it, and we're all unhappy. There was not a soul anywhere near the summerhouse when the one girl told the other the secret. How did the mischievous, cruel girl get hold of it? That is what I want to know. Now, Jimmy, dear, set your keen detective wits to work and give me a clew, if you can. Give my love to Maurice; I will write to him on Saturday. I hope you all try not to make poor Mr. Danvers too unhappy.

Your loving sister,Cecil.

P.S. – Write by return, if you can. Set your keen wits to work, Jimmy, and give me a solution of this mystery as you love me.

Cecil felt absurdly cheered when she had written this letter. She went back to bed, and soon afterward fell asleep.

The next morning Kate came down to breakfast looking just as usual. She was watched with great interest when she entered the breakfast room, but except that she held her head a little higher than usual, and that her cheeks were even brighter than of yore, there seemed no change whatever about her. She talked a good deal during breakfast, and even addressed Molly Lavender as if nothing special had happened. Cecil watched her with anxiety; Molly avoided meeting her eyes. Immediately after breakfast followed prayers, and then the girls went up to their rooms to get ready to go to school. Molly ran up to hers, put on her hat and jacket, snatched up her exercise and note books, and went and waited in the hall. Kate, as a rule, was one of the first to go to school. Molly felt her heart beating faster than usual as she heard her light footsteps coming downstairs.

"Kate, I want to speak to you," said Molly, the moment Kate entered the wide central hall.

"Well, what is it, Molly?" answered Kate.

She had been looking quite bright and cheerful when she came into the hall; some words of a little song which she used to sing to Cusha were bubbling from her lips. Kate had a voice sweet and true as a lark's. The gay sound stopped when Molly addressed her. Molly's brown eyes met hers fully.

"I must say it," said Molly; "you shan't hinder me. I know you suspect me, Kate."

"We won't say anything more on the subject now, Molly," replied Kate, in a gentle tone.

"We must," replied Molly, with spirit. "Do you think I am going to live under suspicion? Look at me, Kate, and tell me if I seem like the sort of girl you suspect me of being."

"No, you don't; that is the cruel thing," said Kate, giving her a critical glance.

"Kate, won't you believe me?" said Molly. Her voice grew full of entreaty. "I never betrayed anyone in all my life; I never told a lie in all my life; I never broke a confidence since I was born. I have plenty of faults, but these are not mine. Is it likely, Kate, that I would tell what you told me in such confidence? Is it likely – is it?"

"No," said Kate, "it is not likely, but – " She paused.

"Yes, Kate, yes! what do you mean by 'but'? Do you still believe that I betrayed you?"

"How can I help myself, Molly?"

Molly's eyes grew full of tears. The voices of several girls were heard approaching.

"Listen," said Kate, going quickly to Molly's side. "I spoke to Miss Leicester this morning. She said that, after all, mine was a sort of false humility last night. She was sorry that I told my story to the school. I am not sorry; I am glad that everyone knows. I hate deception, and there is no deception now. I would give all the world not to believe that you broke my confidence, Molly; but I told no one else."

"I never broke it," said Molly. "I had not the faintest idea why you were cold and distant to me until last night. Now, I wish to tell you emphatically that I am innocent – innocent as a baby."

Kate looked full at her; the girls were entering the hall. Molly laid her hand on Kate's arm.

"You do believe me – you must!" said Molly.

"No!" replied Kate.

Molly rushed away.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE LITTLE HOLE IN THE SUMMERHOUSE

ON a post card came Jimmy's reply. It was decidedly enigmatical and short.

"Look out for eavesdroppers. Your affectionate brother."

The post card was lying on Cecil's plate when she came in to dinner on a certain Saturday afternoon. She hastily slipped it into her pocket. On Saturday afternoon there was, of course, a half holiday. Only those who were working very hard for a coming examination dreamt of turning to books on such a lovely day as this.

Kate, who seemed to have completely recovered her spirits, and who was more popular than ever at St. Dorothy's, was off on a long botanical expedition with several other girls. Molly had a headache, and preferred a quiet time in her own room. Cecil meanwhile felt Jimmy's card burning a hole in her pocket.

"Look out for eavesdroppers," she repeated to herself.

Until she received her brother's frank communication, it had never occurred to her to solve the mystery in this way.

"Eavesdropping is such a schoolboy trick!" she said to herself. "I doubt whether there is anything in Jimmy's solution, but such as it is, I am bound to act on it. I shall visit the summerhouse this afternoon."

Cecil went to her cubicle as this thought came to her, and hastily put on her hat, jacket, and gloves.

"Are you coming with us, Cecil?" called out Kate, who was just preparing for her own walk in the cubicle near by.

"Not to-day," replied Cecil.

"I wish you would; you have more taste for botany than all the other girls at St. Dorothy's put together. I know some rocks where we can get lovely specimens of rare ferns. Do come!"

"No; I can't," replied Cecil.

Her door was a little open; Kate came to it now, and pushed in her laughing face.

"It strikes me," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper as she spoke, "that you do not greatly care to be friends with me."

"Yes, I do, Kate," replied Cecil, "but you are unjust to Molly; you are making Molly suffer very much. There is no one near now, so I am able to speak what is in my mind. Molly is in trouble because you do not believe her. You accuse her in your own mind of a most base and dishonorable act."

"Oh, how you worry me!" said Kate. "Do you think that I would believe anything against Molly if I could help myself? Do you think I want to doubt?"

"You shall not long," said Cecil, with spirit. "I have made up my mind not to leave a stone unturned to set this matter straight. Go for your walk, Kate, enjoy your botany, but try and remember that, because you have so little faith, you are making a most loving and loyal heart suffer. Go! I think you are a noble girl in many ways, but I am surprised at your want of faith."

Kate looked as astonished as if someone had suddenly slapped her in the face. She stood silent for a moment, opened her lips once as if she meant to say something, changed her mind, and went softly away. A moment or two later Cecil left the house.

"I feel as if I were engaged on a very dirty, disagreeable bit of work," she said to herself. "I must find out if it would have been possible for anyone to have overheard Kate's and Molly's conversation. Let me see, an idea comes to me. Why should not Matilda Matthews herself help me to unravel this mystery? Matilda is always dying to be seen with the St. Dorothy girls. I must pander to her weakness a little now. After all, it is in a good cause."

Matilda lived at Dacre House. It was one of the most fashionable of the houses of residence; only really rich girls could afford to go there. Matilda's father and mother had more money than they knew what to do with. Matilda was their only child, and they did not care what expense they lavished on her. Cecil had never yet been to Dacre House. It was at the other side of the great school quadrangle. She soon found herself walking up the wide flight of steps, and ringing the hall door bell. A neatly dressed servant quickly answered her summons.

"I have called to see Miss Matthews. Do you happen to know if she is in?" inquired Cecil.

"I don't know, miss; I'll inquire. Will you come upstairs to the drawing room, please?"

Cecil obeyed.

Dacre House was richly and expensively furnished; there were Turkey carpets on the stairs; the drawing room was a very large and luxurious apartment. Cecil looked round her with a sense of dissatisfaction. She missed the plain, but exquisite, neatness of St. Dorothy's.

"I am glad I am there," she said to herself.

At this moment Matilda entered the room. She quite blushed and giggled when she saw Cecil.

"How do you do?" she said, in a sentimental voice. "Is not the day lovely?"

"Yes," said Cecil. "I want to know if you will come for a walk with me, Matilda?"

"With you?" asked Matilda, her dull eyes lighting up. "Do you want us to be chums?"

Cecil hated herself – she found that to gain her object she must really act with guile. Never before had straightforward Cecil stooped to this sort of work.

"Never mind, it is in the cause of friendship," she said to her aggrieved conscience. Aloud she replied:

"I have not thought whether we are to be chums or not. I simply want a companion to spend the afternoon with me."

"Don't you like the girls at St. Dorothy's?" asked Matilda, in a low voice.

"Of course I do! they are delightful. We can discuss them when we are out – that is, if you are coming."

Matilda had every intention of coming. It was all very well to be rich, and to be surrounded by luxuries, and to be fawned on by girls poorer than herself, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she lacked those things which girls like Cecil Ross and Molly Lavender, and even poor, low-born Kate O'Connor, possessed. She lacked sadly all that nobility of spirit which shone in Cecil's eyes, and was reflected in every tone of Molly's sweet voice. She hated the girls who possessed those gifts which had been denied to her. She underwent unceasing mortification from the fact that her own figure was squat, her own face plain and freckled, from the knowledge that no amount of fine dress could make her look the least like a lady.

"Yes, I'll go," she said, after a pause. "I did not mean to go out this afternoon, for I have just had a new novel sent to me by post, and I meant to sit by the fire and enjoy it, but as you have been good enough to call, Cecil, I won't refuse your request. I dare say you find it rather lonely at present, but you will soon have plenty of friends. Perhaps you know that I am going to St. Dorothy's at the half term. When I go there, I'll promise to do my best for you."

"Well, run and put on your hat now," said Cecil, "and let us start."

"Where shall we go?" asked Matilda, when the girls had left Dacre House.

"Shall we go to the big playground first? I have not half seen it."

"We'll go there, if you like; but I don't care for hockey, lacrosse, nor any of those mannish games. My father is old-fashioned; he likes me to be thoroughly educated, but he always says, 'Be feminine before all things, Matilda.' I think hockey, and cricket, and cycling so very unfeminine, don't you?"

"Not at all," replied Cecil. "Of course, taken in excess, they may be bad; but, really," she added, "I have not studied the subject."

"Nor have I – not seriously. I hate discussing all those women's questions; we're always having them in our debating society. After all, what is the use? I, for one, mean to marry well. My idea is to marry a man twice my own age, because he will make a pet of me. I'd rather be an old man's darling, than a young man's slave; wouldn't you, Cecil?"

"I don't intend to be either," replied Cecil.

"Do you mind my leaning on you?" asked Matilda. "I'm quite certain we'll be chums. I like your face; you don't know how I admire independent sort of girls like you. How fast you walk! It quite blows me to walk as fast as that. Ah, that's better, let me catch on to your arm; you don't mind, do you?"

If Cecil had spoken the truth, she would have said, "I mind intensely." As it was, she made no response. Matilda took silence for consent. One or two of the St. Dorothy girls passed them, and stared when they saw who Cecil Ross' companion was.

"What conceited creatures those schoolgirls are!" said Matilda. "And of all the girls in the place none give themselves such airs as those who live at St. Dorothy's. Well, here we are at the playground. What do you mean to do, now we have got here, Cecil? For my part, I am not a good walker; I require plenty of rest; I have none of the muscle which characterises the modern girl."

"I should think not," thought Cecil to herself. Aloud she said:

"If you are tired, we can sit in the summerhouse."

"A good idea," responded Matilda; "we can watch the girls at their cricket and lacrosse from there. Let us go straight to the summerhouse, and look on at the different games. I don't object to looking on, but I hate joining. When first I went to Dacre House, I was forced to join, but now, thank goodness! I am past that stage. Of course, when I go to St. Dorothy's, I shall be more or less my own mistress."

"What a big world this great school is!" said Cecil.

"Yes, isn't it?" replied Matilda. "But though it's big, it's narrow, too. Do you see that set of girls over there? They are most of them in dark blue, with white sailor hats; they live in Miss Ford's house. Miss Ford and Mrs. Churchill put on the most fearful airs, and so do their girls. The girls in those two houses are the aristocrats of the school; one or two of them have titles, and several are honorables. Father made a great effort to get me into Mrs. Churchill's house. Father is first cousin to Sir John Jones, and Sir John Jones was made a baronet ten years ago; but Mrs. Churchill is so exclusive, and when she heard that father had made his money by tallow, it was decided that I had better go to Dacre House. Don't you think all that sort of thing very ridiculous?"

"I am incapable of judging," replied Cecil. "I suppose as long as the world lasts there will be distinctions of class."

"Oh, good gracious! how frightfully conservative and old-fashioned you are!"

"Not at all; you mistake me. I am indifferent myself to all that sort of thing. I have come to school to study; I want to get the governors' scholarship, if I can."

"You belong to the distinction of talent. I have no doubt you are clever; you look it. For my part, I hate study, and, if it were not for mother, would not dream of going to Cambridge. But mother's heart is set on it; Sir John Jones' daughter is at Girton now, and she hopes I may make her acquaintance. I know that is the real reason she is sending me, but I hope you won't repeat it."

Cecil shut her lips; she was quite silent.

They soon reached the summerhouse, and seated themselves in such a position that they had a good view of the field. Several games were going on vigorously, and Cecil's thoughts reverted to her brothers. She wondered if they, too, were having a good time on that bright Saturday afternoon.

"By the way," said Matilda, in a low, wheedling sort of tone; "talking of rank and all that, don't you think it is odd of Miss Forester to allow a girl like Kate O'Connor to come to Redgarth?"

"Why?" asked Cecil calmly.

"Why? Need you ask? Her origin!"

"What about her origin?" asked Cecil.

"Well," Matilda giggled, "I think she has explained all that herself."

"She has told us of a very beautiful life which she led in Ireland," said Cecil. "I fail to see where her low origin comes in. Hers was the sort of life which Tennyson, if he were now alive, would write a lovely ballad about."

"Oh, if you take it in that spirit, I have not a word to say," replied Matilda. "I knew there were some silly, romantic, sentimental girls at St. Dorothy's, but I did not know that you were one. I am glad it has not been my lot in life to milk cows, and clean dairies, and weed stupid little gardens."

"And read Shakspere, and the Bible, and the book of nature," continued Cecil, in fine scorn. "Such privileges are only accorded to the few."

"I suppose Kate is one of nature's ladies," said Matilda, in a reflective tone. "I suppose you are all going to take her up more heartily than ever, after her extraordinary exhibition the other night?"

"After the very beautiful poem which she recited in our presence," cried Cecil. "Yes; we will all take her up warmly."

"I could see that there was a good deal of hurt feeling behind all that fine oration," responded Matilda, after a pause; "I expect she was very angry with her dear friend Molly Lavender for betraying her."

"Molly never betrayed her," replied Cecil, with firmness.

"Oh, my dear Cecil! how can you believe that story? Why, Molly even hinted two or three things to me."

"Did she? I was going to ask you about those two or three things," said Cecil.

Matilda fidgeted uneasily.

"I don't mean that she said much," she interrupted.

"Precisely; perhaps you will tell me what she did say."

"How can I recollect now?"

"You must recollect," said Cecil suddenly. "The fact is this: Molly declares that she never repeated a single word of Kate's confidence to you. You must tell what she really said, Matilda, and perhaps the best way – the very best way – is to tell me in Molly's own presence."

"You frighten me," said Matilda. "You know how I hate getting into rows. There is not a girl in the whole school who hates that sort of thing more than I do; I believe you brought me out here on purpose."

"I thought perhaps you would help me," said Cecil. "The fact is, I am very unhappy about this. Molly is supposed by Kate to have betrayed her secret. Kate and Molly were great friends; now their friendship has been completely broken. Molly's word is beyond suspicion. Do you know, Matilda," – Cecil stood up as she spoke, – "do you know that it was in this summerhouse, just here, that Kate told Molly that beautiful story of her early home which she repeated again for our benefit a few nights ago?"

"Was it?" replied Matilda. Her mottled face grew red; her small eyes did not dare to meet Cecil's. "I am sure," she added sulkily, "I don't care where it was told; I knew nothing about it. Molly herself told me the very little I know; other girls seemed to have heard of it at the same time."

"Molly never told you," said Cecil; "that is a lie!"

"How dare you, Cecil Ross, accuse me of anything so unladylike? I shall not stay another moment in your presence."

"Yes, you shall," replied Cecil. "I don't mean to conceal my motives any longer from you. I suspect you of having got your information, not from Molly, who would rather cut out her tongue than betray her friend, but in some underhand way. Yes, I am very angry and very determined, and I am not the sister of four brothers, and I have not got to fight my own way in the world, for nothing. I know I am a new girl at St. Dorothy's, and a new member of this great school, but that will not deter me from trying to clear up this mischief as soon as possible."

"Oh, what a shabby, mean wretch you are!" cried Matilda. "I shall leave you at once."

"You need not stay long, but you shall until I do what I have come to do. This door is open, but I see that it can be shut, and that there is a key to it. I mean to lock the door while I explore this summerhouse."

Cecil walked quickly to the entrance as she spoke. She was a head and shoulders over Matilda, and had twice her physical strength. Matilda rushed to the door to escape, but Cecil was too quick for her. In a moment the door was locked; the key was in Cecil's pocket. She turned round and faced her angry companion. Matilda was now as frightened as she was angry. She had never met determination like Cecil's before. She sat down on the nearest chair and began to cry.

"Oh, how awfully shabby and unkind you are!" she cried. "What can you mean to do with me?"

"Nothing; you shall help me to search the summerhouse."

"What for?"

"Just to see if, by any possibility, Kate's and Molly's conversation could have been overheard."

"I won't do it, Cecil Ross; I won't!"

"All right; you can sit in that corner, and I'll search by myself."

Cecil felt herself at that moment endowed with all Jimmy's detective qualities; she moved the simple furniture, and poked about for a time without success, but suddenly observing a row of bats on the wooden wall, just on a level with the bench on which she and Matilda had been seated, she removed them one by one. Behind one of the bats was a notch of wood, out of which a hard wood kernel had been carefully removed. A round hole was therefore distinctly visible, against which a person from outside might put either an ear or an eye.