“You said you would treat me for a week as if I were innocent.”
“Very well, then; I will take your hand.”
Miss Henderson entered the schoolroom holding Evelyn’s hand. Evelyn was looking as if nothing had happened; the traces of her tears had vanished. She sat down on her form; the other girls glanced at her in some wonder. Prayers were read as usual; the head-mistress knelt to pray. As her voice rose on the wings of prayer it trembled slightly. She prayed for those whose hearts were hard, that God would soften them. She prayed that wrong might be set right, that good might come out of evil, and that she herself might be guided to have a right judgment in all things. There was a great solemnity in her prayer, and it was felt throughout the hush in the big room. When she rose from her knees she ascended to her desk and faced the assembled girls.
“You know,” she said, “what an unpleasant task lies before me. The allotted time for the confession of the guilty person who injured my book, Sesame and Lilies, has gone by. The guilty person has not confessed, but I may as well say that the injury has been traced home to one of your number—but to whom, I am at present resolved not to tell. I give that person one week in order to make her confession. I do this for reasons which my sister and I consider all-sufficient; but during that week, I am sorry to say, my dear girls, you must all bear with her and for her the penalty of her wrong-doing. I must withhold indulgences, holidays, half-holidays, visits from friends; all that makes life pleasant and bright and home-like will have to be withdrawn. Work will have to be the order of the hour—work without the impetus of reward—work for the sake of work. I am sorry to have to do this, but I feel that such a course of conduct is due to myself. In a week’s time from now, if the girl has not confessed, I must take further steps; but I can assure the school that the cloud of my displeasure will then alone visit the guilty person, on whom it will fall with great severity.”
There was a long, significant pause when Miss Henderson ceased speaking. She was about to descend from her seat when Brenda Fox spoke.
“Is this quite fair?” she said. “I hope I am not asking an impertinent question, but is it fair that the innocent should suffer for the guilty?”
“I must ask you all to do so. Think of the history of the past, girls. Take courage; it is not the first time.”
“I think,” said Brenda Fox later on that same day to Audrey, “that Miss Henderson is right.”
“Then I think her wrong,” answered Audrey. “Of course I do not know her as well as you do, Brenda, and I am also ignorant with regard to the ordinary rules of school-life, but I cannot but feel it would be much better, if the guilty girl will not confess, to punish her at once and put an end to the thing.”
“It would be pleasanter for us,” replied Brenda Fox; “but then, Miss Henderson never thinks of that.”