To say she knew nothing about it would be to tell a lie. Susan dealt plainly enough with herself now, not even to cover it with the more respectable name of falsehood, and it was so hard to escape Miss Ashton if she were once on the track; she would find 119 out, and if she did not expel her too, she would never respect her again.
It must be acknowledged, Susan’s was a hard place; but she is not the first, and will by no means be the last, to learn that the way of the transgressor is often very, very hard.
“I don’t care,” was Susan’s conclusion, after some hours of painful thought. “Thanksgiving is most here, and she’ll forget it before we come back.”
CHAPTER XIX.
DETECTIVES AT WORK.
Miss Ashton’s forgetfulness was not of a kind to be depended upon. Mr. Stanton, the janitor, had come to her a few days after the sleigh-ride to tell her that he had found a back window unlocked; that he was sure he had locked it carefully before going to bed, and that under the window was the print of footsteps.
He “kind o’ hated,” he said, “to be a-telling on the gals, but then, agin, he hadn’t been there nigh eighteen years without learning that gals were gals, as well as boys were boys, and weren’t allers—not zactly allers—doin’ jist right; perhaps it was best to let Miss Ashton know, and then—there now—he hated to do it awfully. If the gals found it out it might set ’em agin him.”
“Mr. Stanton,” said Miss Ashton gravely, “if you had made this discovery and kept it to yourself, you would have lost your place in twenty-four hours. Please show me the window.”