Very soon after this surprising occasion, there was another social event and another surprise for our young friends; but not a pleasant surprise for anybody. A disgraceful thing happened. Miss Julia Rhodes’s music pupils gave a public concert in the Assembly room. It was not the concert that was disgraceful; though, owing to the embarrassment of most of the performers, the music was bad enough; and Hazel and Cora felt that they had completely wrecked the occasion when, in stooping to draw out the bench on which they were to sit while playing their duet, they unexpectedly bumped heads, much to the amusement of the audience and to the detriment of their duet.
No, bad as it was, it wasn’t the concert but what happened while it was going on, that publicly disgraced Highland Hall. A number of the village people were invited to the concert and the day pupils, of whom there were perhaps a score, had been asked to bring their parents and friends.
All these guests had hung their wraps in the lower hall, where ordinarily the day pupils hung theirs. Several of the women had carelessly left their purses in their pockets. When they attempted to pay their carfare on the way home, not one of them had a single penny. Some pilfering person had taken every scrap of cash from every purse, and in some cases even the purses were missing.
The principal losers wrote indignant notes to Doctor Rhodes, who naturally was anything but pleased.
Right after prayers the next morning, Doctor Rhodes called the school to order. His face was sterner than usual and his voice was unusually harsh. He told the girls what had occurred, and what a disgrace it was to any school to have such very unpleasant things happen to its trusting guests.
“Moreover,” said he, “many losses of jewelry and money by the pupils in our own dormitories have been reported to me from time to time; and, while it would have been possible, night before last, for a thief to have slipped into that lower hall from outside, I have a feeling that there is some one right in our own school who isn’t—well, to put it plainly—quite as honest as she might be. I don’t like to say this or to think it. I am sorry for the necessity.
“It has been suggested that the person taking these various things might save herself trouble if she were to leave them on the table in the library some time during the day. That room is never occupied during school hours; so the repentant thief would be entirely safe from observation. I am giving some one a very good chance to get out of an unpleasant predicament. I hope she will take advantage of it and mend her ways from this time forward.”
Of course after that, even a very stupid person could have guessed the topic of conversation wherever little groups of girls gathered together. Oh, how their tongues did wag! Oh, how they whispered and nodded their heads! And oh, how many more young persons had lost things that they hadn’t hitherto mentioned. Of course they wondered all day long what was happening in the library. But the day passed and the library table was still empty. Nothing had been returned.
Jean and Bettie were dressing for dinner the next night when Sallie, in a most unusual state of excitement, burst into their room, and flung herself upon Jean’s bed.
“I’m—I’m so mad I could scream,” sobbed Sallie, thumping the pillow with her clenched fist and lashing the air with her feet. “I could kill all that Rhodes family. I—I—I—”
But now Sallie’s words were drowned in sobs.
“Goodness, Sallie, don’t cry so,” said Jean. “You’re in an awful state.”
“Who wouldn’t be in an awful state if—if—” More sobs.
“There, there,” comforted Jean, patting the heaving shoulders. “Get a glass of water for her, Bettie. That’s right. Now take a little drink, Sallie.”
“If—if it were anybody but you,” said Sallie, suddenly jerking herself upright, “I’d throw that water straight in your face! I’m so mad!”
But Sallie clawed the wet hair from her own face, drank the water and handed the glass to Bettie.
“There, now,” said she. “I guess I can talk. You know where I room up on the top floor with Abbie? Well, you know and everybody else knows that Abbie has no money; and that I have just about as much as Abbie has which is just none at all. We are the only people in this school who have no spending money. The other Doctor Rhodes used to give—”
“The other Doctor Rhodes,” gasped Bettie.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” returned Sallie, quickly. “What I mean is just this. I have no money and everybody knows it. Very well, then. I’m the very person that would steal money. And jewelry. I—or poor old Abbie.”
“But you wouldn’t,” soothed Jean.
“But—but some folks think I would. Now, a real paying pupil would get mad and go home if Mrs. Rhodes searched her bureau drawers, wouldn’t she?”
“I should say so,” agreed Jean.
“Well, Mrs. Rhodes and Mrs. Henry Rhodes searched mine and Abbie’s.”
“But they didn’t find anything,” comforted Bettie, “so you don’t need to care.”
“But they did. There was a pocketbook under the pin cushion. Mrs. Drayton’s calling cards were in it. She lost hers here the other night, you know—and that wasn’t the worst. There was money in it—more than two dollars.”
“Were you right in the room all the time?” queried horrified Bettie.
“No, I happened to go upstairs quietly and there they were looking in all our bureau drawers and under our mattresses and even in the pockets of our clothes. They had already found the purse.”
“Was Abbie there?”
“No, she was down in the kitchen. Doctor Rhodes sent for me and for Abbie to go to the office. He asked us which of us took that pocketbook and I could see that poor old Abbie was just as surprised as I was—you know you can always see just what she thinks. And, oh! Abbie thought I took it. She gave me such a suspicious look.
“And then, Doctor Rhodes asked her if she had ever known of my stealing anything before that. Oh, think of him asking that! And Abbie—well, you know Abbie is never very positive about anything. She said ‘I don’t know. I don’t guess I ever did.’ But I could just see that she thought I had taken that miserable purse. She’s so simple minded that she believes anything you tell her. She could see that those Rhodes people were accusing me, so she believes, of course, they were right.”
“But we don’t,” Jean and Bettie assured her.
“But other people will. I don’t know what to do. I’d run away if I had any place to run to.”
“If you ran away,” said Jean, wisely, “they’d be sure you had done it. It’s braver to stay right here and go on just as usual. We know you didn’t do it—why, we know you didn’t. And tomorrow when I have my drawing lesson I’ll tell Mrs. Henry Rhodes that you told me all about it and I’ll let her see that Bettie and I believe in you. And she’ll tell Doctor and Mrs. Rhodes—I’ll ask her to. Mrs. Henry understands girls; and she always helps us when we ask her to.”
“Don’t worry,” comforted Bettie. “It’ll come out all right—I know it will. Things always do if you just wait long enough.”
“I wonder,” said Isabelle’s fretful voice in the hall, “what’s happened to dinner—it’s ten minutes past the time.”
“My goodness!” cried Sallie, “I forgot all about that bell.”
“I wish,” said Jean, after Sallie had scurried away down the corridor, “that Sallie wasn’t a boarding school orphan. She’s much too nice. I like her ever so much.”
“Yes,” agreed Bettie, “she’s one of the sweetest girls in this school even if she hasn’t any clothes or pocket money or anything. And I’d believe in her even if they found a bushel of strange purses under her pin cushion.”