Miss Ruggles was upstairs in the bedroom, stooping over an open drawer, as the girl entered, panting and frowning.
“Look at this drawer again, Bridget!” she cried angrily. “What do you come to school for, I should like to know?”
“To be bothered from morning till night,” was the prompt, unreflecting reply.
Miss Ruggles stopped in her work of tidying, and stared hopelessly at her for a moment.
“You will be reported, of course,” she said at last, in a voice which indicated that she knew the uselessness of the punishment, but was compelled to inflict it for want of another more efficacious. She began to expostulate and argue in querulous, futile fashion, turning over the contents of the drawer with an air of impotent exasperation. She had just laid her hand on a large, untidy bundle of papers, when, with a swift movement, Bridget swooped upon it, and tucked it under her arm.
“These are private,” she announced breathlessly, shot an annihilating glance at Miss Ruggles, and dashed unceremoniously out of the room.
Down below in the garden Helen Mansfield, her special friend, was sitting alone on the grass near the house reading.
Bridget swept up to her. “Come along! Come into the arbor! Let us talk!” she cried imperiously.
Helen rose and followed her.
“Well! what did she want you for?” she inquired, when the arbor was reached.