Girls New and Old

by L. T. Meade

When Molly came to St. Dorothy's, she was just in the humor to take up a fresh friendship. She had never met anyone like Kate before; Kate had fascinated her. Still, in her heart of hearts she loved Cecil best, but there was something about Kate's gay ways, her brightness, her wit, her fun, which appealed to a fresh side of Molly. Molly had been very proud of Kate's confidence. She had held her little head high when Kate confided in her and made much of her. Then came the dreadful time of reaction—the time when Kate snubbed Molly unmercifully. Molly Lavender was too well born, too rich, too endowed with that sort of things which girls esteem, to have had much experience hitherto of snubbing. Schoolgirls quickly find out whether their companions are encased in the triple armor which good birth joined to money confers. Molly was fifteen, but she had never been really snubbed before. She was astonished and puzzled. The fact that a girl who was of no birth in particular had done this, did not affect her. Molly was too true a lady, in the best sense of the term, not to recognize a real lady when she met her.

She loved Kate deeply, and her conduct hurt her; it hurt her to the point of intense pain. Kate's speech on her birthday had caused Molly's ears to tingle and her heart to swell. She had admired the proud girl, as she stood before her schoolfellows and spoke of the old poetry, the old charm, the old idyllic life, which had passed away forever. Molly had longed to stand by the side of this girl and show every other girl in the school how noble and splendid she was, but the girl herself had repulsed her. The girl, with her own hands, had cast Molly aside. Then had come the explanation; the mystery was cleared. Molly was innocent of the crime imputed to her. She had been given the means to amply exonerate herself; then she had met Kate, and Kate was too ill to listen to her; and now, now Kate O'Connor, beautiful, good, talented, was about to die.

Molly found herself face to face with her first trouble. Many girls of her age had known worse, but to Molly it was full of intense bitterness; a pain which almost reached agony's point. She was hopeless and frightened. It was awful to meet death like this. Death, the invincible, the inexorable! What right had death to come and claim one so young, so full of life, so eminently fitted to do good in the world? Above all, what right had death to come and snatch away Molly's friend?

"She mustn't die," sobbed the girl. "Oh, please, God, don't let Kate die, make her better! let the operation succeed. Give the doctors great wisdom, give them skill, help them to save her life. Oh, God, I am a miserable, weak girl, but I do beg very hard for this—this great boon! oh, do spare Kate's life! Oh, God, do listen to me! if you will spare her life, I'll try very hard to please you; I'll try to be so good; I will give up my life to you. Oh, God, hear me! let it be a bargain between us; spare Kate, and then I'll give up my life to you."

Molly's prayer scarcely comforted her. Still it excited her a good deal; she felt hopeful; she wondered as she left the church if the great God up in heaven, the Maker of all things in heaven above and earth beneath, had heard her little, childish prayer; if he was inclined to consider her poor little bargain. She wondered, she hoped; then she went slowly back to St. Dorothy's.

Miss Leicester was not present at supper. Molly found herself forced to take the head of Kate's table. As she had heard the latest news of Kate, she was immediately made the heroine of the hour. All the other girls flocked round her, asking eager questions in awe-struck voices.

"Is she really in danger, Molly?" asked Hester.

"Yes," said Molly, "yes; but I can't talk of it now."

"Oh, we must know everything!" said Amy. "It is perfectly awful. Why, of course, we all loved Kate better than anyone else in the house! It did not matter a bit about her running about barefooted long ago, nor her grandfather being a sort of peasant king. Kate was just Kate, and we all loved her; oh, she mustn't die!"

"Do sit down, Amy, and eat your supper," said poor Molly. "What is the good of our saying that sort of thing? If God wishes it, she will die; it all rests with God."