Rilla of the Lighthouse

by Grace May North

“I shall do the same,” Phyllis Dexter echoed. “We ought not to be forced to breathe the same air with—with——”

“Une bourgeoise,” Marianne concluded the sentence for her.

The others did not notice when Faith Morley slipped away. She rebuked herself for not having thought of it before. Surely her dear friend Helen Beavers would wish her to be kind to the girl whose grandfather had been kind to Gene.

Faith paused outside of a room on the third floor of High Cliff Seminary and listened. Surely someone within was sobbing. Again her loving heart rebuked her. How many, many hours during the last week that the island girl had been in their midst had she sobbed like this and no one had come to comfort her? Muriel was in none of Faith’s classes and so she seldom saw her. Nor did she eat with the other pupils in the main dining hall, for, temporarily, she was seated at the right of Miss Gordon at the teachers’ table, there being a vacant chair which soon would be occupied by Miss Humphrey, the English teacher, whose leave of absence had not yet expired.

The problem of finding a seat for poor Muriel at first had been a hard one for Miss Gordon to solve, for she knew full well how heartless and snobbish were many of the daughters of her wealthy patrons.

When she received a message from Miss Humphrey stating that she would not return for another fortnight, the principal talked the matter over with the faculty and Muriel was then invited to sit with the teachers until the absent one should return. This would give Miss Gordon time to discover if any of the pupils were kindly disposed toward Muriel, and if so, she could then be placed at one of the three long tables in the main dining hall at which the young ladies were seated.

The teachers’ table was in a curtained alcove, and so many of the girls were not even aware of the fact that Muriel dined there. Moreover, it had been Doctor Lem’s wish that the island girl should receive private instruction, and as Miss Humphrey was the only teacher whose time could be arranged to make this plan possible, Muriel’s studies had not as yet begun.

Every day Miss Gordon sent for the girl to come to her room at the twilight hour. At first she did this for the sake of Doctor Lem, whose sister had been her dear friend, but after a time she did it gladly, for she found in the soul of this untutored girl much that it would be a joy to awaken and develop.

But, of course, there were many hours every day when Muriel was left alone. Oh, so alone. While the other girls were at their classes she wandered about the extensive, parklike grounds that grew wilder and more beautiful, so Muriel thought, a quarter of a mile down the Hudson and away from the school.

There she found a spot on an overhanging ledge where a young pine tree was clinging, none too securely, to the bank, for after each storm the earth beneath it loosened and a day was coming when that small pine and the ledge on which it stood would be hurled down the steep cliff into the blue waters seething far below.