CHAPTER XIV.

HOW THE FIRST DAY ENDED.

The three girls walked on till, as Natalie said, their legs “felt like sticks, hopping up and down” and Aubrey was in a frenzy of fear. This was so unlike her that it had a most terrifying effect on Natalie and even Jessica was dismayed. Then, too, she suddenly remembered that she had once before been “lost” on a Los Angeles’ street and that a “station-house,” such as these girls dreaded, had been her refuge. They had come to an open lot, whereon a row of buildings was to be erected, the cellars already dug; and upon some of the stones heaped there they sat down to consult.

“I’d be afraid to go back now. I--I’m awful afraid, anyway. I guess, I guess our ‘lark’ wasn’t so nice as it seemed. I was never out in the dark like this, without grown-ups with me. Madame--I daren’t think of Madame! Nor of my father. The last time I got into disgrace he said that the next time he would punish me by making me stay at school during all the Christmas holidays. And now--the ‘next time’ has come. Madame will never overlook this runaway.”

“Aubrey, hush! Don’t!” cried frightened Natalie, more disturbed by these words of her leader than even by her present condition. Till then, though anxious, she had not had the least doubt but that they were still on that road to “somewhere” which Jessica had suggested, or that “somewhere” would not be in the immediate vicinity of their school.

“Do you mean that we’ve done wrong, real wrong, coming away without being told we might?” demanded Jessica, with sudden anger.

“Course. You didn’t think we were doing the other thing--‘right’--did you? Madame will punish us awfully if--if we ever get back. She’ll stop our pocket money and give us extra lessons and--Oh! dear! I wish I’d never--never come!” answered Aubrey, collapsing to that degree she sobbed aloud.

Natalie also began to wail, in an audible and most distressing manner. She was a girl greatly afraid of “the dark” and the dark was swiftly coming. October days are short, even when brightest, and the sky was now overclouded with signs of an approaching storm. An icy breeze swept round the open place and set them shivering, and the keen hunger of healthy schoolgirls added to their discomfort.

A policeman came along and Jessica made prompt decision; calling eagerly:

“O sir! Will you tell us how to get home? We’re lost!”

He stopped and came toward them, even though Aubrey and Natalie clutched at her frock, whispering: “Don’t! That station-house!”

“Where _is_ your home?”

Without thinking Jessica replied: “Sobrante, California.”

“Whew! Quite a distance, that! However, where are you staying here, in New York?”

Aubrey had regained her courage and drawn near and promptly gave Madame Mearsom’s address.

“Hmm. That’s a long way, too, though not so bad as California. There’s no street car-line will take you, convenient, but--have you any money?”

“Not a cent.”

This was odd. Girls wealthy enough to belong at a fashionable boarding-school, on the street alone at this time of night without any money--things began to look dubious. Besides, and here the astute officer scanned their attire, they were none of them richly dressed. They were very likely runaways from some reformatory, or public institution, and the best place for them, anyway, till their story could be sifted, was the nearest station-house. This was not far distant, and thither they were now escorted, despite their voluble protests.

At least Aubrey and Natalie were voluble, and Jessica listened, growing wise. To be shut up in a station-house meant the worst possible disgrace. It meant, probably, a prison, and though they had sometimes felt that the Adelphi, as the Mearsom establishment was called, was “as bad as a prison” they changed their minds when confronted with the real thing.

At last “Little Captain” got her own chance to speak and said:

“I’ve thought a way out. If this kind policeman--” the other girls shuddered--“if this kind policeman will either get a carriage, to take us to ‘Forty-niner’s,’ or will send for him to come to this station-house, it will be all right. My Ephraim will pay for us if there is anything to pay and will take us either to his flat or to Madame’s.”

The officer was not only willing to do this but it was his duty; but it was a very grave little group which waited in that big, bare room of the building while Ephraim was being summoned. Fortunately, the apartment he occupied was supplied with telephone fixtures, and he had been as charmed as a boy with the idea of talking over a wire with his “Little Captain,” whenever he felt inclined. So he promptly had the proper “connections” made and was now reached without difficulty or delay. Indeed, that “Hello!” was never more promptly answered than when it brought the information:

“There’s a girl in this station says you know her, Jessica Trent. She wants you to come and take her--wherever she belongs. There’s three of them.”

Ephraim sprang away from the instrument with a shriek.

“Do you hear that, Sophia Badger--Briggs? My little lass, she’s made herself into three Jessica Trents--and gone and got herself into the lock-up! Wasn’t it well I stayed behind with you? Didn’t travel back to Sobrante with the crowd? I knew it. I felt it in my bones my girl’d want me. She can’t do without her old Ephy, yet! Thank the Lord I’m here! Where’s my hat? I say, Sophia Badger, where’s my hat?”

In a state of wild excitement, the sharpshooter tore round and round the tiny rooms, into one and out of another, searching everywhere for an article he felt was necessary if he would make a respectable appearance at that dreadful police-station; but which he wouldn’t have delayed for, had not so much been at stake.

Poor Granny was equally flustered. She had learned to love Jessica almost as much as she did Sophy, and the very name of “station” held terror for her. So many, so very many of her old neighbors in Avenue A had journeyed to such a place and had not returned, having been forwarded to “the Island” for a longer stay.

It was impossible to connect innocent Jessie with any crime, yet what but crime could send a girl old enough to tell where she lived to such a place? So perturbed was she that she unconsciously thrust her spectacles up over her cap, the better to see, and thus discovered the missing object.

“Well, Ephraim Marsh! If we ain’t two old fools together! Your hat’s on your head and has been all the time. More shame to you, wearing it indoors so much, as you do.”

But he did not tarry to hear her reproof. With a disgusted “Shucks” he was off and away; hailing the first cab he saw and with a recklessness new to one of his thrift, offering the driver double pay if he would make double-quick time. Therefore, it was sooner than they had hoped when he joined the waiting girls; two of whom were rather surprised to see the third throw herself into the veteran’s arms with a cry of delight;

“O Ephy! you darling! I knew you’d come. I knew you wouldn’t fail! But, Ephraim, what shall I do? This very day, this very first day without her, I’ve done that will almost break my mother’s heart. I have--Oh! I am so unhappy!”

Now did the sharpshooter’s face take on a sternness all unknown to “Little Captain” as, putting her away from he demanded:

“Out with it! Tell the whole story from A to Izzard. What you done? It can’t be--the sky hasn’t fell yet!--it can’t be that you’ve _took what didn’t_--What you done, quick?”

She understood the horrible suspicion that his scant knowledge of station-houses had aroused and was indignant in her turn, but promptly related the not very “criminal” events of the past few hours; ending with the request:

“Will you take us back to Madame Mearsom’s in that carriage you came in? She has money of mine and--Oh! do, quick, quick!”

A gentleman approached, with notebook and pencil in hand. He was courteous and interested, and eager to serve the paper which employed him, but Jessica had been instructed by Ninian Sharp concerning reporters and their ways and her heart took instant fright. With an appealing gesture she cried:

“O sir! Please don’t write this down. Don’t let it get printed. If it did and my mother saw it, as she would, ’cause now she reads all the New York news quick, it would break her heart. If it didn’t that it would make her dreadfully ashamed because--because we are the Waldrons and mustn’t do disgraceful things. Please, don’t write about it, please.”

The man was young and anxious for “copy” and its wage, but he couldn’t withstand that petition.

“All right, then, Miss. I won’t. But it seems a pity--might make a good story--However, let it go.”

So it was due to the lessons of far-away Ninian that this escapade was kept out of the city papers and Madame Mearsom spared the chagrin of seeing it in print. How it affected her when, a half-hour later the runaways were once more safely in her presence, they were yet to learn. At present, all she did was to thank Ephraim for his escort of the girls and to offer repayment of the carriage hire.

“No, ma’am, I thank you. There’s nobody beholden. I’ve got a good job now, a-teachin’ customers to shoot in a shooting-gallery up town. My hours are from seven till ’leven and I must be goin’. About what time of day is it most convenient for you to have me visit ‘Little Captain.’”

Madame’s countenance underwent a curious change. One could not say just what this was, yet old “Forty-niner” felt that he had not pleased. Her answer was disappointing:

“Our pupils are at liberty to receive their friends once a week, on Thursday afternoons, from four till six. Good evening. Young ladies, attend me, please.”

Mr. Marsh went away a perplexed man. He had remained behind in New York simply to be near his beloved girl. If he was to be allowed to visit her but once a week and then in presence of other people, including that stately Madame--as her words seemed to imply--there wasn’t going to be much comfort for either him or Jessica.

“But I’ll stay, all the same. The idee! Only part of a day under that woman’s care an’ the care so slack ’t my little miss landed in a station-house! More’n that, though she seemed dreadful relieved to get her scholars safe back again, I ’low that schoolma’am isn’t apt to give ’em no great shakes of a supper. Wish Jessie was going home with me now to Sophia Badger’s fried oysters. Early in the season for ’em, the market man said, but I’ll relish ’em. That’s one good thing about the east and as poor in Californy--oysters is plenty here and scurce there. Heigho! What next’ll happen, I wonder.”

Left at the Adelphi Jessica felt once more forsaken. As soon as they had reached her own private sitting-room, Madame Mearsom made each pupil tell her story, that by this triple repetition she might arrive at the exact truth. When they had finished, she said:

“Aubrey, you are the one most at fault. You will retire to your room where supper will be sent you. You will be put in ‘solitude’ for a week and you will not go out of doors, except to take your exercise in the garden, during the same length of time.

“Natalie, you may go below and ask a maid to serve you, though it is long past the regular supper hour. You will then retire to your room, study the lessons for to-morrow, and remain there for the rest of the evening. During the week of Aubrey’s confinement you are to have as little to do with her as is consistent with good breeding and the duties of your form.

“Jessica, you will remain with me. I have not yet had my own supper and you may share it. I will also improve the opportunity for examining you as to your scholarship.

“Aubrey and Natalie, I wish you good night.”

Each culprit turned and made a reverent obeisance, then slowly retired; but not before Aubrey had had time to make a grimace in Jessica’s direction and, by a vivid pantomime, to declare:

“I’d a deal rather be in my own shoes than yours!”

But at that moment the Californian was pitying the other because of the “solitude” imposed; which, however, later experience proved was nothing more serious than being debarred from the general amusements and occupations of her mates. “In the school but not of the school” was their own definition of this punishment, and to lively Aubrey the most severe.

It was a very dainty supper served to Madame and her pupil; and so gentle, sympathetic, and full of understanding did that lady now seem, that Jessica was speedily talking with a freedom she had not dreamed possible.

Gradually, by skillful questions and frank answers, the schoolmistress learned all of the “Little Captain’s” life; and realized how difficult the girl would find the necessary discipline of her future. Not until the dessert was finished and the white-capped maid had carried away the trays, did the subject of the afternoon’s “runaway” come up. Even then it was lightly dismissed with the remark:

“Of course, now that you know better and understand that nothing must be done without the approval of some authorized person, you will not transgress again. Aubrey is a dear child; as warm-hearted and lovable as one could desire; and in time--in good time--she will develop into a charming woman. Only be on the watch while with her lest her ‘fun’ should lead you into mistakes. For Natalie, I may say the same, except that Natalie is a follower as naturally as Aubrey is a leader. One afternoon has made you close friends with two of your mates--a mutual ‘scrape’ seems to be a certain bond between girls--and before long you will know them all. The same sorts of persons you will meet, by and by, in the world at large. As you influence them now, or are influenced by them, will you do then.

“Now, that is a good deal of a sermon for me. I don’t often lecture my girls; for I want them, and I especially want you--Gabriella’s daughter--to look upon me as their best friend, their second mother, and to confide in me as they would in her. Now, kiss me, Jessica, and let us call the slate washed clean of this unfortunate happening. I thank you for preventing that reporter recording the episode in the public press, as I judge you did. It was very wise in you. I hope you’ll prove as wise in other matters.

“For instance, here is a real slate. I’ll write on it a real example and let me see what you know of practical arithmetic.”

Jessica’s heart sank. Already she had fallen in love, after impulsive schoolgirl fashion, with this stately woman who could yet be so gentle and so kind, and she foresaw defeat.

“Yes, Madame Mearsom, I’ll try. But--I know you’ll be dreadfully disappointed. I--I don’t know anything, seems if, after hearing those other girls talk.”

“Don’t say that. There may be a difference in the amount of knowledge and in the kinds. You have brains enough. Don’t disparage them. Remember what Goethe said: ‘What you can do, or think you can, begin it. Boldness hath genius, power, and magic in it.’ That’s only a simple example in arithmetic. Be bold and say to yourself ‘I’ll do it!’”

Madame leaned back a little in her high-backed chair and took up the evening paper, while Jessica fixed her eyes upon the written problem. Alas! the figures danced before her as if they were bewitched. Do her utmost she could not possibly tell what would be the difference in the amount of labor performed by two men, one working eight hours per day for eight days, and the other ten hours on six days.

After fifteen minutes of hopeless computation on her part and patient waiting on her examiner’s the student cried:

“I don’t know. It seems as simple as A, B, C; but I haven’t the least idea of that ‘difference,’ I don’t see an atom of sense in the whole question. I--I hate arithmetic, anyway.”

“Oh! no you don’t. Hate is too strong a word for a young gentlewoman to use, except on the extremest provocation. You simply do not know. That’s nothing. You _will_ know some day, soon. That’s why you’re here. Let us try geography. Where is Prince Edward’s Island?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea!” cried poor Jessie, with scarlet face.

“How many kings of England have been named Henry?”

“I didn’t know that any had been.”

Madame smiled. Here surely was “virgin soil” wherein to plant the seeds of learning.

“Do you know anything about the government of our country? In what it consists?”

“Course. There’s a President and--and--and other folks.”

“Perfectly correct. We will pass over the ‘other folks’ till a future day. Please spell ‘separate.’”

Mr. Ninian had drilled Jessica during the winter past on the fine art of orthography and here, at last, she felt herself secure.

“Oh! I can, easily: ‘Sepperate.’”

Madame Mearsom folded her paper and touched a bell. A maid appeared, and received the order:

“Assemble the young ladies for evening prayers. Then return and show Miss Trent to her room and see that she has everything comfortable. She is excused from further exercises on this first day.”

Then to this abashed “new-er” she said:

“There is no ‘form’ at present existing in the school which you are fitted to enter. I will arrange a special course for you and special instructors. Good night. I hope you will sleep well.”

“Sleep well!” thought poor Jessica, tossing on her white bed in the charming room assigned to her. “Why--I was never so ashamed in all my life! I--I know she knows I don’t know anything! and the ‘boys’ said I was so terr’ble smart! Sleep? I’m too mortified to sleep; ’cause though she didn’t tell me I know she knows----”

But promptly, amid this maze of “knows” and “don’t knows” and with the hot flush of mortification on her cheek, our heroine had passed into the land of dreams.