Mr. Pat's Little Girl Part 3

She nodded brightly.

Morgan turned to the shelf, took down a large volume of Shakespeare's plays, and laying it on the table began to turn the pages rapidly.

Rosalind looked over his arm. He ran his finger down a leaf presently and pointed to the line. "There," he said.

Rosalind turned back a page and pointed to her own name, and then they both laughed as if it were a great coincidence.

A sharp tap on his arm made Miss Herbert's presence known to Morgan. Miss Herbert was not of Friends.h.i.+p. She knew the value of time if the cabinet-maker did not, and had no idea of waiting while he discussed Shakespeare in pantomime with Rosalind.

Miss Herbert with the aid of the tablet, and Morgan with many queer gestures to help out his faltering tongue, so long without the guide of hearing, contrived to despatch the business relating to a claw-footed sofa. When it was finished, Rosalind was missing, and was discovered in the little garden, making friends with the black poodle, while the striped cat looked on from the fence.

It was with evident reluctance she accompanied Miss Herbert to the carriage. Before she left she took the tablet and wrote, "I am going to learn to talk on my fingers."

"Good," the cabinet-maker answered, and he followed them to the street, smiling and nodding. "Come again," he called as they drove away.

When he returned to the shop, the world seemed brighter, the mist of doubt had lifted.

"The rough places can't last always," he told himself as he sandpapered the claw toes of the sofa. "We are certain to come to a turn in the lane after a while. There's good in everything, somewhere."

Perhaps the coming of Mr. Pat's little girl was a good omen. To him at least it was a most interesting event, nor was he the only person in Friends.h.i.+p who found it so.

CHAPTER FOURTH.

AN UNQUIET MORNING.

"You amaze me, ladies."

Farther up the street on the other side, but within sight of the Whittredges', was Mrs. Graham's Boarding and Day School for Young Ladies.

The broad, one story and a half mansion, with rooms enough for a small hotel, was still known as the Bishop place, although nearly twenty years had pa.s.sed since the little brown and white house on Church Street had opened its doors to Miss Betty and her invalid father, and to such of the ma.s.sive furniture as could be accommodated within its walls. In her circular Mrs. Graham was careful to state that her school was commodiously housed in the mansion of the late distinguished Senator Charlton H.

Bishop, and many a daughter groaned over her algebra or French verbs in the very room where her mother or grandmother before her had fleeted the time carelessly in evenings long past, for brilliant was the tradition of the Bishop hospitality.

Celia Fair, who taught drawing in the school, and on occasion kept study hour in what had once been the long drawing-room, had a fancy that the spirit of those days was responsible for many an outburst of mischief. At present Mrs. Graham's pupils were in a fever of curiosity over the new arrival at the Whittredges'.

The Whittredge place had been invested by them with something of a halo of romance, founded chiefly on the seclusion In which it pleased Mrs.

Whittredge to live. Bits of gossip let fall by their elders were eagerly treasured; it became the fas.h.i.+on, to rave over the beauty of the haughty Miss Genevieve, and even her brother who was not haughty, but quite like other people, was allowed a share of the halo on account of his connection with the lost ring, made famous by the contested will.

Katherine Roberts, returning to school after several days' absence, found herself unusually popular. Katherine lived next door to the unknown; she had seen her; it was even said she had heard her speak. Excitement grew as the news spread.

The girls were standing in groups on the porch and steps, laughing and talking together, and at sight of Katherine gave her an uproarious greeting.

Round, rosy-faced, blue-eyed Katherine, with her brown hair in two tight plaits turned under and tied with a ribbon behind her ears, was a little abashed at the attention she excited.

"What is she like, Katherine? tell us--the new girl at the Whittredges'."

"She is standing at the gate now," answered Katherine, looking over her shoulder.

"Is she? Oh, where?"

"Let's walk by and see her."

"We'll be tardy if we do, and at any rate there is the carriage; perhaps they will drive past."

"Look! there's Miss Genevieve. No, they are going the other way."

"What are you staring at?" demanded Belle Parton, joining the group. Belle was a gypsy-looking girl with merry black eyes, and hair that refused to be smooth like Katherine's, but continually fell in her eyes. As she spoke she put her hat on the step and proceeded to adjust the round comb she wore.

"The Whittredge girl. Have you seen her, Belle?" asked Charlotte Ellis.

"No; what is she like?"

"Katherine is the only one who has seen her; she says she is lovely."

"Oh, she is! You ought to see her, Belle. Maurice and I peeped through the hedge and saw her walking to and fro studying something. And her name is Rosalind. Isn't that a beautiful name?"

"I don't believe she is much," Belle announced, with a turn of her head.

The only reason she had for saying this was the naughty one of wis.h.i.+ng to snub Katherine, who took everything in earnest and now looked crestfallen.

"Never mind, Kit; tell us some more about her," urged one of the others.

"Grandmamma says she is surprised at Mrs. Whittredge's having her here.

You know she would have nothing to do with her son after he married, until lately, and she never saw her granddaughter before, I think family quarrels are awfully interesting; don't you?" As Charlotte spoke, the bell rang, and the girls turned toward the house.

"Do you, Charlotte?" exclaimed Katherine, who was accustomed to pin her faith to her friend's opinions, but thought that quarrels being wrong could not be interesting.

"I think so, too. They are so delightfully mysterious," echoed another of the girls.

"Nonsense! What is there that is mysterious?" put in pugnacious Belle.

It may have been the alluring summer day, or the fact that it was near the end of the term, and discipline had relaxed, but certain it was that a general restlessness and inclination to whisper pervaded the study hour.

It was the fas.h.i.+on among the girls to adore Celia. Fair, and usually she had no difficulty in keeping order, but this morning even her presence was without effect.

Belle Parton had her history propped up before her in a way that suggested some mischief going on behind its shelter, rather than any serious study.

Katherine, who was honestly trying to study, was distracted by the signals flying around her. Charlotte Ellis, whose seat was near the window, seemed princ.i.p.ally occupied in peeping between the sash curtains.

Celia had looked up for the second time to say, "Girls, I must have better order," and things had for several minutes quieted down, when Charlotte suddenly announced in a loud whisper, "Here they come!" and with that there was a rush for the windows.

The cause of the excitement was of course the Whittredge carriage, but all anybody caught was a fleeting glimpse of a white dress beside Miss Genevieve's black one, and, as luck would have it, Mrs. Graham opened the door just in time to witness the scramble for a view.

"Young ladies, you amaze me! What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, as the girls, half of whom had rushed because the others had, returned abashed to their seats.

"I never knew them to behave so before," said Celia, in apology.

"Something seems to be wrong to-day."

"Wrong, indeed," repeated Mrs. Graham, who was a person of somewhat majestic appearance. Then her glance fell on Belle's desk. "And this explains the rapid disappearance of my chalk!" she added, holding up to view a pen tray on which were arranged a number of tiny goblets and dishes neatly cut out of chalk.