DETECTIVES AT WORK.
Miss Ashton’s forgetfulness was not of a kind to be depended upon. Mr. Stanton, the janitor, had come to her a few days after the sleigh-ride to tell her that he had found a back window unlocked; that he was sure he had locked it carefully before going to bed, and that under the window was the print of footsteps.
He “kind o’ hated,” he said, “to be a-telling on the gals, but then, agin, he hadn’t been there nigh eighteen years without learning that gals were gals, as well as boys were boys, and weren’t allers—not zactly allers—doin’ jist right; perhaps it was best to let Miss Ashton know, and then—there now—he hated to do it awfully. If the gals found it out it might set ’em agin him.”
“Mr. Stanton,” said Miss Ashton gravely, “if you had made this discovery and kept it to yourself, you would have lost your place in twenty-four hours. Please show me the window.”
The snow, for a wonder, remained as it was on the night of the ride, and looking from the window Miss Ashton saw the distinct marks of a number of feet around the bank into which Myra Peters had fallen. 121 She also saw, and took off, the piece torn from her dress. This would surely give her a clew to one of the girls; but, before using it, she would make herself acquainted as far as possible with the time and circumstances when it had occurred.
Mr. Stanton could fix the morning when he found the window unlocked, and Miss Ashton remembered that on the previous evening Susan Downer’s brother had been there to call.
This put a really serious aspect upon the matter. She immediately connected it with the boys from the Atherton Academy. She called a Faculty meeting, hoping some of the teachers had heard the girls go and come, or the sleigh, if indeed it had been a sleigh-ride that tempted them.
But none of them had heard the least noise after bedtime, nor even unusual sleigh-bells. If it had not been for the open window, the footprints, and the torn bit of dress, Miss Palmer, who prided herself upon, and made herself unpopular by, her vigilance, would have said it could not have happened; as it was, there was no denying it, and no question that something must be done.
Susan Downer’s examination had proved so far satisfactory to Miss Ashton, that it had shown her there had been a sleigh-ride given by the Atherton boys; and she said reluctantly to herself, “I am afraid the reliable-looking young man, Jerry Downer, had a hand in it. How strange it is that we can trust young people so little!” 122
Then Miss Ashton felt ashamed of this feeling; for in her long experience she had known a great many true as gold, who had gone out from her training to be burning and shining lights in the world.
The quickest way to get at the bottom of the whole, she thought after much deliberation, would be to take the bit of torn dress into the hall, and ask to which young lady it belonged.
Accordingly, after morning prayers, she asked the school to stop a few moments, held the piece of cloth up in her hand, and simply said,—
“The owner of it might need it for repairing her dress, and if she would remain after the others left, it would be at her disposal.”
The majority of the school laughed and chatted merrily about it. Some few came up to see if it could have by any luck belonged to the torn dresses of which not a few hung in their closets.
But no one claimed it! Here, then, was a dilemma! It would not be possible to go to every room, and examine the wardrobe of every scholar; besides, now it was known that the bit had been found, and might easily be made to lead to a discovery of the guilty ones, what more natural than that the dress should be hidden away, or sent from the academy building to prevent the possibility of detection!
Miss Ashton was disappointed over this failure. She was not much of a detective, and had less reason for being so than falls to the lot of many teachers. 123
She wrote to the principal of the Atherton Academy, inquiring whether he had given leave to a party of his boys to take a sleigh-ride on the night of the twentieth of November. She knew Jerry Downer had been one of them, as he had called on his sister, who was one of her pupils, on that night.
She received an immediate answer, saying, “He had not given leave for any sleigh-ride on that night, and was both surprised and sorry that a boy he had always considered so reliable as Jerry Downer should have been among them. He would inquire into the matter at once.”
And he lost no time; sending for Jerry, he put the question point-blank, his usual straightforward way of dealing with his boys,—
“Did you go on a sleigh-ride the evening of the twentieth of November?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jerry unhesitatingly.
“Did I give you leave to go?”
“No, sir; but I supposed the party had asked you, or they would not have gone.”
“Your supposition was entirely erroneous. My leave had never been asked. Who besides yourself made up the party?”
Now Jerry hesitated: he could take the blame of his own going, but it would be mean in him to tell the names of his companions.
“Mr.—Uncle John (the principal smiled grimly as he heard this familiar name), I mean Dr. Arkwright,” said Jerry, the color browning, instead of reddening 124 his sea-tanned face, “I am very sorry, sir; I thought they had leave; I would not have gone.”
“Don’t think again; know, Jerry Downer: that is the only way for a boy that wants to do right. You will tell me, if you please, the names of your companions.”
“Would that be honorable in me, sir?” asked Jerry, now looking the doctor straight in the eye.
A look of doubt passed over the principal’s face before he answered, then he said with less austerity,—
“I must find out in some way who among my boys have broken my rules; you can help me more directly than any one else.”
“Would it be honorable in me?” repeated Jerry.
“You are not here to ask questions, but to answer them. Are you going to refuse to help me by giving me the names of the boys?”
“I cannot, indeed I cannot; it would be so mean in me. You must punish me any way I deserve, sir; I am willing to bear it; but I cannot tell on the boys.”
“Very well, Jerry Downer; you are dismissed,” and he waved Jerry out of the room.
But after Jerry had gone, he went to the window and stood watching him.
“That is a generous boy!” he said; “but he has made a mistake. He will see it when he is older and wiser. He will learn that true manhood helps law and order, not even the idea of honor coming before it, noble as it is.” 125
Still the difficulty of unravelling the matter remained with him in as much doubt as it did with Miss Ashton; but with both of these excellent principals there was no question but that it must be sifted to the bottom, the delinquents discovered and punished.
The time for doing this was short; and should it be necessary to expel a pupil, the coming vacation offered a suitable occasion.
Soon after, Miss Ashton, going through the corridor one evening, found two girls in close and excited conversation,—Myra Peters and Julia Dorr.
They did not see her at first, so she was quite near enough to them to catch a few words.
“You may say what you please,” said Julia Dorr. “I’m as sure of it as sure can be; I’ve sat close by you time and again when you had it on, and if I had been you I would have owned it.”
“Owned it!” snarled Myra Peters, “will you be kind enough to mind your own business, and let other people’s alone, Miss Interferer?”
“Well, interferer or not, I’ve half a mind to go and tell Miss Ashton.”
“Tell Miss Ashton what?” asked a voice close beside them.
The girls turned, to find Miss Ashton there.
“Tell Miss Ashton what?” she asked again pleasantly; “I always like to hear good news. What is this about?”
Now, nothing had really been farther from Julia’s 126 intention than to tell on Myra. She was one of those who had gone up to the desk when Miss Ashton showed the piece of cloth, and had recognized it as like a dress she had seen Myra wear. That there was anything of more importance attached to it than the ability to mend the dress neatly, she did not think, so she answered readily,—
“Why, Miss Ashton, that piece of cloth you showed us was exactly like Myra’s dress. I’ve seen it a hundred times; but she declares she never had a dress like it, and we were quarrelling about it. I wish you would show it to her close up, and see if she don’t have to give in.”
“I will; come to my room, Myra!” and she led the way there, Myra following with a frightened, sullen face.
Then she found the piece, and laid it on the table.
“Myra,” she said, after looking at the girl kindly for a moment, “is this like your dress? Tell me truly; it is much the best thing for you to do.”
Myra gazed at the cloth for a moment, then burst into a flood of tears.
“So you were one of the sleighing-party?” said Miss Ashton quietly. “Will you tell me who were with you?”
If Myra had not been taken so entirely by surprise, she might, probably would, have refused to answer, for honor is as dear to girls as to boys; but she sobbed out one name after another, until the six stood confessed. 127
“Thank you,” was all Miss Ashton said, then she handed Myra the tell-tale cloth, and added, “You had better put it neatly in the place from which it was torn.”
She opened her door, and Myra, wiping her eyes, went quickly out and back to her room.
Hardly conscious what she was doing, with an impatient desire to get away, she began to pack her trunk.
“I will go home, home, home!” she kept repeating to herself. “I never will see one of those girls again. Oh, dear, dear! If I only hadn’t gone on that sleigh-ride; that abominable Mamie Smythe is always getting the girls in trouble: I perfectly detest her. What will my father say?”