“Whoever the sinner may be, I am determined to sift this crime to the bottom. I shall severely punish the girl who tore the book unless she makes up her mind to confess to me between now and to-morrow evening. If she confesses before school is over to-morrow evening, I shall not only not punish but I shall forgive her. It will be my painful duty, however, to oblige her to confess her sin before the entire school, as in no other way can the rest of the girls be exonerated. I give her till to-morrow evening to make up her mind. I hope she will ask for strength from above to enable her to make this very painful confession. I myself shall pray that she may be guided aright. If no one comes forward by that time, I must again assemble the school to suggest a very terrible alternative.”
Here Miss Henderson left the room, and the different members of the school went off to their respective duties.
School went on much as usual. The girls were forced to attend to their numerous duties; the all-absorbing theme was therefore held more or less in abeyance for the time being. At recess, however, knots of girls might be seen talking to one another in agitated whispers. The subject of the injured book was the one topic on every one’s tongue. Evelyn produced chocolates, crystallized fruits, and other dainties from a richly embroidered bag which she wore at her side, and soon had her own little coterie of followers. To these she imparted her opinion that Miss Henderson was not only a fuss, but a dragon; that probably a servant had torn the book—or perhaps, she added, Miss Thompson herself.
“Why,” said Evelyn, “should not Miss Thompson greatly dislike Miss Henderson, and tear the outside page out of the book just to spite her?”
But this theory was not received as possible by any one to whom she imparted it. Miss Thompson was a favorite; Miss Thompson hated no one; Miss Thompson was the last person on earth to do such a shabby thing.
“Well,” said Evelyn crossly, “I don’t know who did it; and what is more, I don’t care. Come and walk with me, Alice,” she said to a pretty little curly-headed girl who sat next to her at class. “Come and let me tell you about all the grandeur which will be mine by and by. I shall be queen by and by. It is a shame—a downright shame—to worry a girl in my position with such a trifle as a torn book. The best thing we can all do is to subscribe amongst ourselves and give the old dragon another Sesame and Lilies. I don’t mind subscribing. Is it not a good thought?”
“But that will not help her,” said Alice; while Cherry, who stood near, solemnly shook her head.
“Why will it not help her?” asked Evelyn.
“Because it was the inscription she valued—the inscription in her brother’s writing; her brother who is dead, you know.”
Evelyn was about to make another pert remark when a memory assailed her. Naughty, heartless, rude as she was, she had somewhere a spark of feeling. If she had loved any one it was the excitable and strange woman she had called “mothery.”