Chapter 22 The Rebel of the School by L. T. Meade
RUTH'S HARD CHOICE: SHE CONSULTS HER GRANDFATHER
The next morning Cassandra Weldon was much surprised, on arriving at the school, to receive a message asking her to step into Miss Ravenscroft's special sanctum. She went there at once, wondering if the head-mistress wanted to give her particular instructions with regard to the great scholarship examination which would take place at the end of the term. Cassandra was remarkable for her calm and somewhat stately bearing; she was the sort of girl who never gave herself away. She was admired rather than passionately loved by her companions. No one could help giving her a most sincere respect. But one or two adored her, and amongst these was Florence Archer, a handsome, bright-faced, original sort of girl who was in the same form as Cassandra.
"Be sure you come and tell me afterwards what it all means, Cassie," said Florence, touching her friend affectionately on the shoulder.
Cassandra nodded. She did not suppose the matter was of special import. The rest of the girls proceeded to their different classes, and Cassandra found herself in Miss Ravenscroft's presence. Now to Kathleen the fact of being interviewed by Miss Ravenscroft only caused a sense of annoyance, and unwonted irritation; Ruth was surprised, partly delighted and partly afraid; but Cassandra, whose father had been a teacher, and who lived all her life in the scholastic world, considered it an honor almost too great for words that she should be specially interviewed by so great a person as Miss Ravenscroft. She made, therefore, a most respectful curtsy, and stood modestly before the head-mistress.
"Sit down, dear," said Miss Ravenscroft kindly. "I have sent for you, Cassandra, neither to reprove nor to give you ordinary counsel. I have sent for you to consult you, my dear child."
"You are very good," said Cassandra, flushing all over her delicate face; "and I am sure," she added, "if it is possible for me to help one like you, I should be only too proud."
"That is what I feel; and I think you can help me. We are at present in a very unpleasant position in the school. The unanimity and harmony of this entire large place is in danger, and the foundationers are in extreme peril. You perhaps know to what I allude."
"I could not be in the school without having heard rumors of a sort of insurrection which seems to be spreading a good deal," said Cassandra.
"Of course," said Miss Ravenscroft. "It has been brought to our ears that a society has been formed by an Irish girl of the name of Kathleen O'Hara. She has called it the Wild Irish Girls. There are several members, and she herself is the leader. Now, Cassandra, without going into particulars, it is the firm intention, not only of myself as head-mistress, but also of the governors, to crush this matter in the bud. It is true that the bud is rapidly blossoming into most dangerous flower and fruit, but if we are in time we shall stop all further mischief. Now to do this we must get all particulars. There is one girl who can furnish us will all we want to know, but she dreads, doubtless from conscientious motives, to betray her late companions. I allude to Ruth Craven."
"Poor little Ruth!" said Cassandra. "I thought as much. The child is very unhappy. I take a great—- very great—interest in Ruth, Miss Ravenscroft. She is a most sweet girl; she is a lady placed in a position which a lady should scarcely occupy, but through it all she will never betray the true instincts of her nature."
"I am sure of that. I quite like the child myself," said Miss Ravenscroft; "and your opinion of her, Cassie, confirms my own. She told me, too, that you have been extremely kind to her. I quite expect that is the case. But, my dear, the time has come when Ruth will either have to tell us what she knows or to resign her place in the school."
Cassandra's face looked troubled.
"There are no two opinions on the matter," continued Miss Ravenscroft. "Yesterday a meeting of the governors was convened. They assembled in the committee-room, and I was present. Ruth was sent for and questioned by Miss Mackenzie, our chairwoman. She was asked certain questions, which she absolutely refused to answer. The only thing we could get out of her was that she had been a member of the society but was one no longer."
"She left them because of me," said Cassandra. "She felt she could not be with me and with those who do not approve of the paying girls."
"There you are!" said Miss Ravenscroft. "Think of the monstrous mischief that is going on in our midst. Children like the foundationers, who are received at the school without being expected to pay anything, who get the most admirable education free of all cost, daring to set up their opinion against girls who, without being in any sense their superiors—one doesn't want to imply that for an instant—are yet vastly superior in numbers. The thing must be put a stop to, and with a high hand; and to show you, my dear, what we mean to do, we have presented an ultimatum to Ruth Craven. She will either tell publicly what she knows of the Wild Irish Girls or be publicly expelled."
"Oh, poor Ruth!" said Cassandra.
"We are naturally most anxious that such a painful scene should not take place," said Miss Ravenscroft. "I beg of you, therefore, Cassie, to see her and use your influence to induce her, not from quixotic motives, to ruin herself and injure the other girls of the school."
"I will do what I can. But Ruth is peculiar. She is, with all her sweetness, very obstinate. Still, I faithfully promise to do what I can."
Cassandra left the presence of Miss Ravenscroft and returned to her place in class. Nothing would induce her not to work with her usual diligence, but when on certain occasions she raised her head she saw that Florence Archer was watching her with curiosity and affection, and that Ruth darted quick glances at her and then bent her head, with its curly hair falling over her face, to resume her lessons.
This was a half-holiday, and the classes broke up at twelve o'clock. Cassandra hoped to have a talk with Ruth before she went home, but when she looked round for her little favorite she could not find her anywhere. The foundationers were standing in knots talking eagerly to each other. There was a sort of buzz or whisper going on in their midst. Kathleen O'Hara darted from one group to another, smiled at one set of girls, patted the shoulder of a favorite girl in another group, laughed one time, said an emphatic word to another, and presently disappeared, accompanied by Susy Hopkins.
Alice Tennant was standing by herself; she looked dull and depressed. Cassandra went up to her.
"It there anything the matter, Alice?" she asked.
"Matter!" replied Alice. "Surely you must know that for yourself. Have you not heard what a condition the school is in?"
"I have, of course, heard about the Wild Irish Girls," said Cassandra, lowering her voice. "But surely the fact that there are a few naughty girls in our midst need not upset the whole school?"
"It upsets me, anyhow," said Alice, "for I feel that I have brought it on the school. I could cry. I only wish that mother had never been induced to take Kathleen as a boarder. She is worse than troublesome; she is a girl without principle."
"Oh, I don't think quite so bad as that, dear," said a gay voice at that moment; and turning, Alice saw the piquant and beautiful face of the girl she loathed. "I guessed, of course, that you must be alluding to me," said Kathleen. "I am bad, but I have my own principles—and a good old-fashioned set, worth a great deal."
She nodded impertinently to both the girls, and then reentered the school.
"I left my satchel and came back for it," she said as she vanished from their view.
"Yes," said Alice, "that is just like her—just the sort of thing she would do. She is always daring every one. I do wish some strong influence could be brought to bear on her. There is no doubt she is very clever, and when she likes she can be extremely agreeable."
"She is extremely pretty, you know, and that goes a long way."
"Not with me, thank goodness!" said Alice. "In fact, I almost hate her face. I detest people who are always grinning and smiling and showing themselves off. My opinion is that schoolgirls ought to be modest, and attentive to their books, and not thinking of giving themselves airs. But there! no one agrees with me. Mother and the boys are fairly mad on Kathleen; and as to the servants, there's nothing they wouldn't do for her. Every one combines to spoil her; I don't see that she has the least chance."
Cassandra talked a little longer to Alice, and then prepared to go home. She was disappointed that she had not seen Ruth; but Ruth had promised to be with her quite early in the afternoon. They were both to work for two hours, and afterwards their coach was to arrive. Ruth would spend the entire afternoon at Cassandra's home. On her way back Florence Archer suddenly joined her.
"Now, Cassie," she said, "what is it?"
"Oh, can't you guess for yourself, Flo? It is this. The school has got into trouble, and the governors and Miss Ravenscroft mean to sift the matter to the very bottom. It is pretty bad when all things are considered, for if the girls won't tell they will be expelled—expelled without any hope of returning. And I rather fancy Kathleen is the sort of girl whom no one will betray. It is extremely awkward, and I feel very miserable about it."
"You look it; and yet it isn't your affair. Your place in the school is secure enough."
"What does that matter, Flo, when those you love are in danger?"
"Those you love in danger, Cassie! What do you mean now?"
"I mean just what I say. I am decidedly fond of little Ruth Craven. She is placed in a hard position, but she is so clever and so pretty that she could do anything. Well, I am certain that Ruth won't betray her companions."
"I forgot," said Florence, "that she did belong to that silly society. What a little goose she was!"
"She was led into it by Kathleen. They all were for that matter. Kathleen seems to have a singular power over them."
"But Ruth doesn't belong to it now."
"No. I can't in justice to her explain any further, Florence. I will tell you all I can, of course; but may I say good-bye now, for I have a good deal to do before dinner?"
"You are not half as friendly as you used to be," said Florence, pouting. "You hardly ever ask me to your house, and when I ask you to mine you always have an excuse ready. It is somewhat hard on me that Ruth Craven should have come between us."
"But she hasn't. I wish that you would believe that she hasn't. I have to give her a sort of protecting love; but you and I, Flo, are equal in our love. Surely we can afford to be kind to a little girl who has not our advantages."
"Oh, if you put it in that way, I don't mind a bit," said Florence cheerfully. "Well, good-bye for the present. We'll meet to-morrow morning."
The girls parted, and Florence went on her way home.
Meanwhile Ruth had also gone on her way. She walked slowly. Once or twice she stopped. Once when in a somewhat narrow and lonely path she paused and looked up at the sky, and then down at the ground beneath her feet. Once she uttered a short, expressive sort of sigh; and once she said half-aloud:
"I do hope God will help me. I do want to do just what is right."
Thus, lagging as she walked, she by slow degrees reached her home. Mrs. Craven happened to be out, but old Mr. Craven was seated by the fire. He was feeling rather poorly to-day. He had a large account-book open in front of him, and when Ruth entered he laid down the pen with which he had been summing up his figures.
"I can't make them quite right," he said slowly.
"Why, grandfather, what is the matter?" said Ruth in some surprise.
The old man's large clear blue eyes were fixed on the child.
"I had a curious feeling this morning," he said; "but I know now it was only a dream. I thought I was back in the shop again. I was up, my dear; I had taken a bit of a walk, and I came in and sat down by the fire. It came over me all of a sudden how lazy I was, and how wrong to neglect the shop and not give your grandmother a bit of help with the customers; and so strong was the notion over me that I unlocked the old bureau and took out the account-books. I said to myself I can at least square everything up for her, and that will help her as much as anything. She was always a rare one to see a good balance at the end of the week. If she had a good balance and all things nicely squared up, we'd have a nice little joint for Sunday; and she'd put on her little bonnet and best mantle, and we'd go for a walk in the country arm-in-arm, just like the Darby and Joan we were, Ruthie, and which we are. But if the balance didn't come out on the right side she'd stay at home. She'd never cry or despair; that wasn't her way, bless you! She'd say, 'We must think of some way of saving, John, or we must do a bit more selling of the stock.' She was a rare one to contrive."
Ruth had heard this story of her grandmother many and many a time before, but her grandfather's look frightened her. She went up to him and closed the big account-book.
"You have balanced things a long time ago," she said. "Don't fret now. May I put the account-book aside?"
"You may, darling; you may. But the accounts ain't balanced, Ruthie; we are on the wrong side of the ledger, my love—on the wrong side of the ledger."
Ruth said nothing more. She put the book back into the drawer and locked it. Then she sat down by her grandfather's side.
"Would you rather I got you your dinner," she said, "or would you rather I talked to you for a little?"
"I'd a sight rather my little Ruth sat near me and let me place my hand on her hair. Your hair is jet-black, Ruthie—almost blue-black. So was your father's hair, my child. He was a very handsome boy. I never looked for it that he would die in the foreign parts and leave you to your grandmother and me. But you have been a rare blessing to us—a rare blessing."
"Sometimes I think," said Ruth slowly, "that I have been a great care. It must have cost you a great deal to feed and clothe me."
"No, no, child; far from that. You were always the bit of good luck—on the right side of the balance—always, always."
Ruth took the old man's hand and pressed it between both her own. Presently she rubbed her cheeks softly against it.
"Grandfather," she said, "are you all right now—quite wide awake, I mean? Has the dream about the shop and the wrong accounts passed out of your head?"
"Why, yes, darling; of course it was only a dream."
"Then I'd like to ask you something."
"Ask away, my little Ruth. You are such a busy little maid now, what with your school, and what with your lessons, and what with that big scholarship—sixty pounds a year. Ah! we shall have a fine right side of the ledger when little Ruth has brought home sixty pounds a year."
Ruth stifled a groan.
"I am rather puzzled," she said, "and I want to put a question to you."
"Yes, my darling; I am prepared to listen."
"I know a girl," said Ruth after a pause—she thought that she would tell her story that way—"I know a girl at school, and she has been kindly treated. She is one of the foundation girls, but some of the girls who are not foundationers have singled her out and been specially good to her."
"Eh, eh! Well, that's good of them," said old Mr. Craven.
"They have been very good to her; but that Irish girl whom I told you about, she started a society—no special harm in itself—at least it didn't seem harm to the girl I have been telling you about, and she joined it. She joined it for a bit, and she liked it—that is, on the whole—but afterwards a girl who had not joined the society and did not belong to the foundationers, one whom I am sorry to say the foundationers did not care for at all, offered a great kindness to this girl—a very special and tremendous kindness—and the girl in her own mind decided that she would be doing wrong not to accept it. So she did accept it, and—Are you listening, grandfather?"
"Indeed I am, little maid. Go on, my child; I'm attending to every word."
"The girl decided to accept the kindness from the paying girl, and to do that she had to give up the society. She was sorry to give it up, but it seemed to her that it was the only right and honorable thing to do. She could not belong to both—to one side of the school and to the other; she must take her stand with one or the other; so she decided for her own special benefit to take her stand with the paying girls."
"On the whole, perhaps, she was right," said the old man. "Can't say unless I know everything; but on the whole, perhaps, she was right."
"I think she was, grandfather," said Ruth slowly. "But now please listen. The head-mistress at the school and the governors have found out about the secret society. They have found out that it exists, but they don't know much more. They know, however, that its influence is bad in the school, and they are determined to crush it out. In order to do this they must get full particulars. They must get the name of the leader. I am afraid that they know the name of the leader, but they must also get the names of her companions—all the names—and as much as possible of the rules of the society. Now the only girl not a member of the society who can give those particulars is the girl I have been talking about; for, of course, she knows, as she belonged to it at one time although she has now left it. And the governors and the head-mistress sent for this girl and asked her to betray her companions—those girls to whom she had sworn fealty—and the girl refused."
"Quite right," said old Mr. Craven.
The color rushed into Ruth's cheeks. She clasped her grandfather's hand firmly.
"She thought it right, but something dreadful is going to happen. It will be terribly hard for the girl if she sticks to her resolve, for the governors of the school have presented what they call an ultimatum to her; they have given her from now till Saturday to make up her mind, and if she refuses on Saturday grandfather, she is to be expelled publicly. Her sentence will be proclaimed in the presence of all the school, and she will be watched walking out of the schoolroom and out of the big gates, which will close behind her for ever, and all her chance goes—all her golden prospects. Nevertheless, grandfather, speaking to me from your own heart, ought the girl to betray her companions?"
"Upon my word!" said the old man, who was intensely moved by Ruth's story. It did not occur to him for one moment that the little girl was talking about herself. "I tell you what, Ruth," he said; "I must think over it. I pity that poor girl. I don't think the governors ought to put any girl in such a position."
"They are sorry, but they say they must. They must get at the truth; they must crush out the insurrection."
"But it is turning king's evidence," said the old man. "I don't see how a girl is to be expected to betray her companions."
"That is the position, grandfather. And now I think I will get you your dinner."
Ruth went out of the room into the little kitchen. For a minute she pressed her hands against her face.
"Grandfather agrees with me," she said to herself. "I am glad I consulted him. No one ever had a clearer head for business or for right and wrong than grandfather when he is at his best. He was at his best just now. I feel stronger. I won't betray Kathleen O'Hara."