considerable pleasure to picking them himself, andputting a few extra ones into his mouth on the sly.
Moses was not at all the kind of boy who would have scrupled to steal afew cherries; but in this particular old Betty, ill as she was, was toosharp for him, or for any of the other village lads. Her bed was drawnup close to her little window, and her window looked directly on to thetwo cherry trees. Never, to all appearance, did Betty close her eyes.However early the hour might be in which a village boy peeped over thewall of her garden, he always saw her white night-cap moving, and heknew that her bright blue eyes would be on him, and he would beproclaimed a thief all over the place before many minutes were over.
Moses, therefore, was very glad to secure his cherries by fair means, ashe could not obtain them by foul; and he went to bed and to sleepdetermined to be off on his errand with the dawn.
A very natural thing, however, happened. Moses, unaccustomed to gettingup at half-past three in the morning, never opened his eyes until thechurch clock struck five. Then he started upright, rubbed and rubbed athis sleepy orbs, tumbled into his clothes, and, softly opening thecottage door, set off on his errand.
The fact of his being nearly an hour and a half late did not trouble himin the least. In any case, he would get to Lavender House before sixo'clock, and would have consumed his cherries in less than an hour fromthat date.
Moses sauntered gayly along the roads, whistling as he went, andoccasionally tossing his battered cap in the air. He often lingered onhis way, now to cut down a particularly tempting switch from the hedge,now to hunt for a possible bird's nest. It was very, nearly six o'clockwhen he reached the back avenue, swung himself over the gate, which waslocked, and ran softly on the dewy grass in the direction of thelaurel-bush. Old Betty had given him most careful instructions, and hewas far too sharp a lad to forget what was necessary for the obtainingof a quart of cherries. He found his tree, and lay flat down on theground in order to pull out the basket. His fingers had just claspedthe handle when there came a sudden interruption--a rush, a growl, andsome very sharp teeth had inserted themselves into the back of hisragged jacket. Poor Moses found himself, to his horror, in the clutchesof a great mastiff. The creature held him tight, and laid one heavy pawon him to prevent him rising.
Under these circumstances, Moses thought it quite unnecessary to retainany self-control. He shrieked, he screamed, he wriggled; his piercingyells filled the air, and, fortunately for him, his being two hours toolate brought assistance to his aid. Michael, the gardener, and a strongboy who helped him, rushed to the spot, and liberated the terrified lad,who, after all, was only frightened, for Rover had satisfied himselfwith tearing his jacket to pieces, not himself.
"Give me the b-basket," sobbed Moses, "and let me g-g-go."
"You may certainly go, you little tramp," said Michael, "but Jim and mewill keep the basket. I much misdoubt me if there isn't mischief here.What's the basket put hiding here for, and who does it belong to?"
"Old B-B-Betty," gasped forth the agitated Moses.
"Well, let old Betty fetch it herself. Mrs Willis will keep it forher," said Michael. "Come along, Jim, get to your weeding, do. There,little scamp, you had better make yourself scarce."
Moses certainly look his advice, for he scuttled off like a hare.Whether he ever got his cherries or not, history does not disclose.
Michael, looking gravely at Jim, opened the basket, examined itscontents, and, shaking his head solemnly, carried it into the house.
"There's been deep work going on, Jim, and my Missis ought to know,"said Michael, who was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. Jim,however, had a soft corner in his heart for the young ladies, and hecommenced his weeding with a profound sigh.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.
A BROKEN TRUST.
The next morning Annie Forest opened her eyes with that strange feelingof indifference and want of vivacity which come so seldom to youth. Shesaw the sun shining through the closed blinds; she heard the birdstwittering and singing in the large elm-tree which nearly touched thewindows; she knew well how the world looked at this moment, for oftenand often in her old light-hearted days she had risen before the maidcame to call her, and, kneeling by the deep window-ledge, had looked outat the bright fresh, sparkling day. A new day, with all its hoursbefore it, its light vivid but not too glaring, its dress all manner oftender shades and harmonious colourings! Annie had a poetical nature,and she gloried in these glimpses which she got all by herself of thefresh, glad world.
To-day, however, she lay still, sorry to know that the brief night wasat an end, and that the day, with its coldness and suspicion, itsterrible absence of love and harmony, was about to begin.
Annie's nature was very emotional; she was intensely sensitive to hersurroundings; the greyness of her present life was absolute destructionto such a nature as hers.
The dressing-bell rang; the maid came in to draw up the blinds, and callthe girls. Annie rose languidly, and began to dress herself.
She first finished her toilet, and then approached her little bed, andstood by its side for a moment hesitating. She did not want to pray,and yet she felt impelled to go down on her knees. As she knelt withher curls falling about her face, and her bands pressed to her eyes, oneline of one of her favourite poems came flashing with swiftness andpower across; her memory--
"A soul which has sinned and is pardoned again."
The words filled her whole heart with a sudden sense of peace and ofgreat longing.
The prayer-bell rang: she rose, and, turning to Susan Drummond, saidearnestly--
"Oh, Susy, I do wish Mrs Willis could know about our going to thefairy-field; I do so want God to forgive me."
Susan stared in her usual dull, uncomprehending way; then she flushed alittle, and said brusquely--
"I think you have quite taken leave of your senses, Annie Forest."
Annie said no more, but at prayers in the chapel she was glad to findherself near gentle Cecil Temple, and the words kept repeatingthemselves to her all during the morning lessons--
"A soul which has sinned and is pardoned again."
Just before morning school, several of the girls started and lookeddistressed when they found that Mrs Willis lingered in the room. Shestood for a moment by the English teacher's desk, said something to herin a low voice, and then, walking slowly to her own post at the head ofthe great school-room, she said suddenly--
"I want to ask you a question, Miss Drummond. Will you please juststand up in your place in class and answer me without a moment'shesitation?"
Phyllis and Nora found themselves turning very pale; Mary Price and oneor two more of the rebels also began to tremble, but Susan looked doggedand indifferent enough as she turned her eyes toward her teacher.
"Yes, madam," she said, rising and dropping a curtsey.
"My friends, the Misses Bruce, came to call on me yesterday evening,Susan, and told me that they saw you running very quickly on the highroad in the direction of the village. You, of course, know that youbroke a very distinct rule when you left the grounds without leave.Tell me at once where you were going."
Susan hesitated, coloured to her dullest red, and looked down. Then,because she had no ready excuse to offer, she blurted out the truth--
"I was going to see old Betty."
"The cake-woman?"
"Yes."
"What for?"
"I--I heard she was ill."
"Indeed--you may sit down. Miss Drummond. Miss Good, will you askMichael to step for a moment into the school-room?"
Several of the girls now indeed held their breath, and more than oneheart beat with heavy, frightened bumps as a moment later Michaelfollowed Miss Good into the room, carrying the redoubtable picnic-basketon his arm.
"Michael," said Mrs Willis, "I wish you to tell the young ladiesexactly how you found the basket this morning. Stand by my side,please, and speak loud enough for them to hear." After a moment's pauseMichael related somewhat diffusely and
with an occasional break in hisnarrative the scene which had occurred between him and Moses thatmorning.
"That will do, Michael; you can now go," said the head-mistress.
She waited until the old servant had closed the door, and then sheturned to her girls--
"It is not quite a fortnight since I stood where I now stand, and askedone girl to be honourable and to save her companions. One girl wasguilty of sin and would not confess, and for her sake all her companionsare now suffering. I am tired of this sort of thing--I am tired ofstanding in this place and appealing to your honour, which is dead, toyour truth, which is nowhere. Girls, you puzzle me--you half break myheart. In this case more than one is guilty. How many of the girls inLavender House are going to tell me a lie this morning?" There was avery brief pause; then a slight cry, and a girl rose from her seat andwalked up the long