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Nan Sherwood at Lakeview Hall

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<h2>CHAPTER XXVII THE HUMILIATION OF LINDA</h2> Early in the morning after the Grand Guard Ball in Freeling, Nan Sherwood had an adventure. She had spent part of the previous day writing another letter to her mother, and that she finished, sealed, stamped and mailed in the school letter-bag. This time she knew that no ill-natured girl would get hold of it. But, of course, the whole school knew by this time that she was going to leave at the end of the term, and that “her folks weren’t rich at all, so there!” Not that Nan had ever talked about the Scotch legacy more than she could help; and certainly she had not boasted to the girls of her wealth. There are certain natures, however, who envy the successful, and Nan had been very successful in making friends, in finding favor with the teachers, and in standing well in her classes. So even some girls whom she had been kind to, were glad to repeat now the story of Nan Sherwood’s coming poverty as first circulated by Linda Riggs and her satellites. Nan had heard many unkind[204] whispers, and when alone she grieved over this. By reason of her fretting, she did not sleep well after the ball, and she arose long before the gong sounded and when it was still quite dark. There was a paring of silver moon low on the horizon, which looked as though it had been sewed into the black velvet robe of Night; and the robe was trimmed with sparkling silver and red stars as well. The air was keen, although there was no wind; and the hoarfrost hung from the bushes and dried grass-blades, while there was a rime of it the length of the balustrade to the beach. Nan ran down this flight to see if the ice would bear yet. Skating was in the offing, and she and Bess loved to skate. Professor Krenner had reported the day before that the strait between the lake shore where his cabin stood, and the Isle of Hope, half a mile out in the lake, was skimmed over with ice. Here, at the foot of the flight of stairs and along by the haunted boathouse, the edge of the water was fringed with a crust of thin ice. “Not much more fun for me at dear old Lakeview Hall,” Nan was thinking as she skipped lightly along the edge of this uncertain ice. “But I’ll get my skates sharpened, as Bess begged me. That will not be a great extravagance. We’ll have some good fun before the term closes and we go home for the holidays. Oh, dear!” The sigh was not because of the home-going. It[205] was for the reason that Nan felt very sure that she would never see the Hall again. Just as she was thinking this and watching idly the broken water far out in the strait toward the Isle of Hope, she put her foot upon a strip of ice and, to her amazement, it broke through and she plunged knee deep in the icy water. “Oh! Oh! OH!” she gasped, in graduated surprise. For as she strove to pull out the first foot, her other one went—slump—right through the ice, too. And it was cold! Nan was not frightened at first. She was an athletic girl, and very strong and agile. But she was amazed to find that both feet were fast in the half-frozen slime at the bottom of this hole into which she had stepped. She strove to pull her feet free, and actually could not do it! Then, as she lifted her head to look about for help, she saw a figure in black running hard toward her. It came from the rear of the big boathouse. It was a slight figure, and Nan immediately thought of “the black dog” that had chased Mrs. Cupp the night of the boathouse party. “I’ll get you! I’ll get you!” exclaimed the boy, for such in reality he was, and he threw forward a tough branch for Nan to cling to. She accepted this aid gladly. At first she almost drew him into the water. Then he braced his heels[206] in the bank and flung himself back to balance her weight. First one foot and then the other Nan pulled out of the icy mire, and in half a minute she was ashore. “Oh! how can I thank you?” she cried. “If you hadn’t been here——” “It’s all right—it’s all right, Miss,” the boy stammered, and immediately began to back away. “You needn’t thank me. I’d have done it for anybody.” Nan was eyeing the lad curiously. Many thoughts beside those of gratitude for his timely help, were passing through her mind. “Who are you?” she asked abruptly. “Do you live around here?” The boy was a pale youth, but he flushed deeply now and edged farther away, as though he really feared her. “Oh, yes! I live near here. I—I’m glad I could help you. Good-bye!” Before Nan could stop him by word or act, he turned around and ran up the shore of the lake until he was hidden from the girl’s surprised view. “Well! isn’t that the strangest thing?” demanded Nan, of nobody at all. Then she realized that she was getting very cold indeed, standing there with wet feet and ankles, and she herself started on a run for the steps to the top of the bluff, and had just time enough to get to the Hall and change her shoes and stockings before breakfast.[207] At the table she was giving to Bess an eager account of her adventure when Laura Polk said to the chums from Tillbury: “Heard the latest, girls?” “Don’t know. What is the latest?” asked Bess. “Nan’s got a yarn to tell that almost passes human belief. She seems to have interviewed a ghost and got her feet wet at the same time.” “That’s nothing,” declared Laura. “Linda’s lost that beautiful necklace.” “Goodness! you don’t mean it?” gasped Bess. “The poor girl!” exclaimed Nan, with sympathy. “How did it happen?” “The deponent knoweth not,” said Laura, tightly. “It’s a big loss—bigger than that awful maxim Miss Craven used to teach all us girls: ‘Lost! Somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever!’” “How ridiculous!” chuckled Bess. “It is no laughing matter, girls,” said Nan, with gravity. “What isn’t; the maxim?” cried Bess. “No. Linda’s loss.” “Pooh! What do I care?” scoffed Bess. “I’m wasting no tears over Linda.” “But that lovely necklace!” cried Nan. “It was a beauty,” admitted Laura. “Oh! her father won’t mind. He has more money[208] than anybody else in the world—to hear her tell it,” laughed the heartless Bess. “She can’t help being foolish, I suppose,” added Laura. “She showed how silly she was by wearing the necklace,” Bess declared. “Maybe a burglar saw it; and followed her home, and stole it.” Mrs. Cupp rang her bell sharply. “Young ladies!” she exclaimed, when there was comparative silence. “Young ladies! Attention! Miss Sherwood is wanted in Dr. Prescott’s office at once.” Many of the girls stared at Nan as she slowly arose, her breakfast partly eaten. More than one whisper went around the tables. One girl asked right out loud: “Wonder what Dr. Prescott wants her for?” “I know!” squealed the eager voice of one of the younger pupils. “I came right past Linda Riggs’ door, and I heard her say to Cora Courtney that she knew Nan stole that necklace!” “Oh!” The exclamation was general. But Amelia Boggs’ voice rose above the confusion. “You miserable infant!” she cried. “You ought to be spanked and put to bed for a week!” “Young ladies!” came in Mrs. Cupp’s stern voice, “less confusion, please!” Nan had risen in some trepidation to go to the principal’s study. But the suggestion that she was[209] wanted because Linda had lost her necklace almost bound her feet where she stood. It seemed to Nan as though she could not move. “Nan! Nan!” cried Bess, jumping up, her face ablaze. “It’s a story, a wicked story! They sha’n’t treat you so!” Her arm was over Nan’s shoulders and she was crying, frankly. Mrs. Cupp’s voice again was heard above the noise. “Elizabeth! Sit down!” The reckless Bess paid no attention to the command, but went on with Nan to the door. This flagrant disobeying of the matron’s order awed the other girls to silence. Bess left her chum in the hall and came back, her eyes streaming. “I don’t care what you do to me, Mrs. Cupp, so there!” she sobbed. “Nan is shamefully abused. You can punish me all you want to, Mrs. Cupp, only don’t tell me to keep my mouth closed for a week, for I—just—could—not—do—it!” “I believe you, Elizabeth,” said the matron, drily, preparing to follow Nan Sherwood. “I will attend to your case later.” In the principal’s office Nan found Linda in tears and Dr. Prescott looking very grave indeed. “Do you know anything about the loss of Linda’s necklace, my dear?” the preceptress said kindly to Nan.[210] “No, Dr. Prescott,” whispered Nan, her face very white and her lips fairly blue. “That is sufficient, Nancy. You are mistaken, Linda. And it is a mistake that can hardly be excused.” “You just take her word for it!” cried Linda, wildly. “And my father will about kill me when he knows grandmother’s necklace is gone. She’s a——” “That will do!” Dr. Prescott sternly warned her. “I don’t care! She’s a pauper! Nobody else in the school is poor enough to want to steal. She tried to take my bag on the train——” “No more of it!” commanded Dr. Prescott, rising angrily. “You are incorrigible, Linda. First of all, I want to know how you came to have the necklace to wear. Mrs. Cupp tells me she strictly forbade you to take it out of your trunk.” Mrs. Cupp entered at that moment. “Here’s Henry,” she said shortly to the doctor. “He has something to show you.” The man came in, wiping his snowy boots on the mat. “What is it, Henry?” asked the troubled principal. “This, Mum,” said Henry, holding out something that glittered in his hand. “I reckon ’tis some gewgaw of the young ladies. I found it under a window with some trash from a wastepaper basket,[211] and I want you to be tellin’ ’em again that I will not have ’em throwing trash out o’ window.” “My necklace!” shrieked Linda, and leaped to seize it. But Henry closed his hand, and Linda might as well have tried to open a bank-vault without the combination. “Give it to me,” said Dr. Prescott, soberly. “When did you empty your basket out of the window, Linda?” “La—last night—after we got home from the ball. I forgot it yesterday and it was—was too full,” wept Linda. “And your necklace went out of the window with it,” said Dr. Prescott, sternly. “Look at that child!” suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Cupp. The matron crossed the room quickly and caught poor Nan before she fell. “She’s just about made sick by this,” she said tartly. “Why! she’s fainted. And she’s feverish! Here’s a pretty to-do!” The principal hurried to Nan’s side and looked into her pallid face. “There is trouble here—more trouble than we know about,” she whispered. “Don’t take her to her room. In here! You may go, Henry. Thank you! And you return to your room, Linda. We will look further into this affair.” Half an hour later Mrs. Cupp came out of the principal’s suite of rooms with a troubled face, and telephoned for Dr. Larry, the school physician. <hr class="l1" /> [212] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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