Dora Wells had put a small green toad into Kittie Squire’s desk. I will never forget the terrorized cry that shrilled through the silence when that timid girl opened her desk and the equally frightened little frog, giving a leap for liberty, landed, first in Kittie’s lap, and then out on the floor of the study hall. Instantly it was like bedlam let loose.
The girls, who couldn’t see what wild animal was in their midst, imagined the worst, and scrambled up on their desks holding their skirts tight about them.
I laugh every time I think of the comical sight they made, and just at that moment the door opened and in came our principal, Mrs. Martin, and with her were the Reverend John Thornton and a very wealthy lady who was visiting our school, we heard afterwards, to see whether or not it was a proper place to send her niece who is related to nobility or some such.
Well, I wish you could have seen the expression on the face of dear Mrs. Martin when she beheld so many of the girls standing on their desks looking everywhere about as though they expected to see at least a huge rat.
“The Marchioness,” as we afterwards dubbed her, stared through her lorgnette in amazed horror, but the Reverend John proved that he was really human for there was a twinkle in his eye when he spied the frog and picking it up, he dropped it out of an open window into the garden below.
Of course, as you know, the young ladies of Vine Haven are well trained in manners, and so, a second later, we were all lined up on the floor making properly graceful courtesies, but afterwards we were told that “The Marchioness” decided not to send her niece to our school as she did not wish to have her drilled in “acrobatics.” She evidently supposed that we were all doing our daily exercises in some outlandish American fashion. The young lady, we heard later, was sent to a convent in Paris. My, but we’re glad she didn’t come here if she is anything like her aunt.
But all this time none of us knew what Betsy Clossen was doing to save the romance of poor Miss Piquilin.
When we went to our algebra class we of “The Lucky Thirteen” held our heads high and looked daggers at “The Exclusive Three,” who were whispering every time Miss Piquilin wrote on the board.
I glanced often at Betsy and I realized that her mind was not on algebra. Evidently she had not discovered what the enemy planned doing, but I had never known Betsy to fail in anything she undertook, and so I was sure that in due time she would unearth the desired information if it could be obtained in an honorable manner.
Nor was I wrong as we soon found out.