The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “However,” she added grimly, “that will bring its own punishment. I need not trouble myself about this phase of the matter. But that distinct rules of the school have been broken cannot be ignored. Each of you who were visitors at the study of Misses Fielding and Cameron last evening after hours will have one demerit to work off by extra exercises in Latin and French.

  “Miss Cox!”

  She spoke so sharply that The Fox hopped up quickly, knowing that she was especially addressed.

  “It is reported to me by Miss Picolet that you spoke to her in a most unladylike manner. You have two demerits to work off, instead of one.”

  Mary Cox ruffled up instantly. She flounced into her seat and threw her book aside.

  “Miss Cox,” repeated the Preceptress, sharply, “I do not like your manner. Most of these girls are younger than you, and you are their leader. I believe you are all members of the Up and Doing Club. Have a care. Let your club stand for something besides infractions of the rules, I beg. And, when you deliberately insult the teacher who has charge of your dormitory, you insult me.”

  “I suppose I’m to be given no opportunity of answering Miss Picolet’s report, or accusation?” cried Mary Fox. “I don’t call it fair—”

  “Silence!” exclaimed the Preceptress. “You may come to me after session this afternoon. Miss Cameron may work off a full demerit, and before the Christmas Holidays, for being the prime mover in this orgy, I am told about,” said Mrs. Tellingham, bitingly. “I understand there are some extenuating circumstances in the case of Ruth Fielding. She will have one-half mark against her record—to be worked off, of course. And, young ladies, I hope this will be the last time I shall see you before me for such a matter. You are relieved for classes.”

  Two unexpected things happened to Ruth Fielding that morning. As they came out from breakfast she came face to face with Mary Cox, and the older girl “cut” her plainly. She swept by Ruth with her head in the air and without returning the latter’s nod, and although Ruth did not care much about Mary Cox, the unkindness troubled her. The Fox had such an influence over Helen!

  The second surprising happening was the receipt of a letter from Mercy Curtis, the lame girl. Dr. Davison’s protege wrote:

  “Dear Ruth:

  “Mrs. Kimmons, next door, is trundling her twin babies—awfully homely little mites—up and down her long piazza in my wheel-chair. To what base uses have the mighty fallen! Do you know what your Uncle Jabez—Dusty Miller—has done? He had waiting for me when I got home from the sanitarium a pair of the loveliest ebony crutches you ever saw—with silver ferrules! I use ’em when I go out for a walk. Fancy old miserable, withered, crippled me going out for a walk! Of course, it’s really a hobble yet—I hobble-gobble like a rheumatic goblin; but I may do better some day. The doctors all say so.

  “And now I’m going to surprise you, Ruth Fielding. I’m coming to see you—not for a mere ‘how-de-do-good-bye’ visit; but to stay at Briarwood Hall a while. Dr. Cranfew (he’s the surgeon who helped me so much) is at Lumberton and he says I can try school again. Public school he doesn’t approve of for me. I don’t know how they are going to ‘rig’ it for me, Ruth—such wonderful things happen to me all the time! But Dr. Davison says I am coming, and when he says a thing is going to happen, it happens. Like my going to the Red Mill that time.

  “And isn’t old Dusty Miller good to me, too? He stops to see me every Saturday when he is in town. They miss you a lot at the Red Mill, Ruthie. I have been out once behind Dr. Davison’s red and white mare, to see Aunt Alviry. We just gabbled about you all the time. Your pullets are laying. Tell Helen ‘Hullo!’ for me. I expect to see you soon, though—that is, if arrangements can be made to billet me with somebody who doesn’t mind having a Goody Two-Sticks around.

  “Now, good-bye, Ruthie,

  “From your fidgetty friend,

  “MERCY CURTIS.”

  This letter delighted Ruth, and she went in search of Helen to show it to her. The chums were due at their first recitation in a very few moments. Ruth found Helen talking with Mary Cox and Belle Tingley on the steps of the building in a recitation room in which Ruth and Helen were soon to recite. Ruth heard Belle say, earnestly:

  “I believe it, too. Miss Picolet wasn’t downstairs in her room at all. When she caught me she came from upstairs, and that’s how I didn’t give any warning. I didn’t expect her from that direction and I was looking downstairs.”

  “She had been warned, all right,” said the Fox, sharply. “It’s plain enough who played the traitor. Nasty little cat!”

  “I believe you,” said Belle. “And she only got half a demerit. They favored her, of course.”

  “But why any demerit at all, if she was a spy for Miss Picolet?” demanded Helen, in a worried tone.

  “Pshaw! that’s all for a blind,” declared the Fox.

  And then all three saw Ruth at the bottom of the steps. The Fox and Belle Tingley turned away without giving Ruth a second glance, and went into the building. But Helen smiled frankly on Ruth as her chum approached, and slipped an arm within her own:

  “What have you got there, Ruthie?” she demanded, seeing the open letter.

  “It’s from Mercy. Read it when you get a chance,” Ruth whispered, thrusting it into her chum’s hand as they went in. “It’s just as you said—Dr. Davison is going to bring it about. Mercy Curtis is coming to Briarwood, too.”

  Helen said nothing at all about The Fox and her room-mate. But Ruth saw that the Upedes—especially those who had been caught in the French teacher’s raid on Duet Number 2—whispered a good deal among themselves, and when they looked at Ruth they did not look kindly.

  After recitation, and before dinner, several of the girls deliberately cut her as Mary Cox had. But Helen said nothing, nor would Ruth speak first. She saw plainly that The Fox had started the cabal against her. It made Ruth feel very unhappy, but there was nothing she could do to defend herself.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE MYSTERY AGAIN

  The organization of the Sweetbriars had gone on apace. Two general meetings had been held. Every new-comer to the school, who had entered the Junior classes, saving Helen Cameron, had joined the new society. The committee on constitution and by-laws was now ready to report and this very afternoon Ruth and two other girls waited on Mrs. Tellingham to ask permission to hold social meetings in one of the assembly rooms on stated occasions, as the other school societies did.

  The trio of Sweetbriars had to wait a little while in the hall outside the library door, for Mrs. Tellingham was engaged. Mary Cox came out first and as she passed Ruth she tossed her head and said:

  “Well, are you here to tattle about somebody else?”

  Ruth was stricken speechless, and the girls with her asked wonderingly what the older girl had meant.

  “I—I do not know just what she means,” gasped Ruth, “only that she means to hurt me if she can.”

  “She’s mad with you,” said one, “because you started the S. B.’s and wouldn’t join her old Upede Club.

  “That’s it,” said the other. “Don’t you mind, Miss Fielding.”

  Then the maid told them they could go into the library. Mrs. Tellingham looked very grave, and sat at her desk tapping the lid thoughtfully with a pencil. This was one occasion when Dr. Tellingham was not present. The countenance of the Preceptress did not lighten at all when she saw Ruth come in.

  “What is it, Miss Fielding?” she asked in her brusque way.

  Ruth stated the desire of the new society briefly, and she was positive before Mrs. Tellingham replied at all that the mention of the Sweetbriars did not please the lady.

  “You girls will fill your time so full, with societies and leagues, and what all, that there will be little space for studies. I am half sorry now that I ever allowed any secret, or social clubs, to be formed at Briarwood. But whi
le we have the Forward Club, I cannot well deny the right of other girls to form similar societies.

  “But I am not pleased with the Up and Doing Club. I understand that every girl but one reported out of her room after retiring bell last evening, in the West Dormitory, was a member of the Up and Doings—and the other girl was you, Miss Fielding!” she added sternly. “And you are a member of this new organization— What do you call it? The ‘S. B.’s,’ is it?”

  “The Sweetbriars,” said Ruth bravely. “And I am sorry I did anything to bring any cloud upon the name of the new club. I promise you, Mrs. Tellingham, that I will do nothing in the future to make you sorry that you sanctioned the formation of our society.”

  “Very well! Very well!” said the Preceptress, hastily. “You may have the same rights, and under the same conditions, that the older clubs have. And now, Miss Fielding, stop here a moment, I have another matter to speak to you about.”

  The other girls went away and Ruth, somewhat troubled by the manner of Mrs. Tellingham, waited her pleasure. The Preceptress took up a letter from her desk and read it through again.

  “Dr. Davison you know, Ruth,” she said, quietly. “He and your uncle, Mr. Jabez Potter, have arranged to send here to school a lame girl named Curtis—”

  “My uncle!” gasped Ruth. “O, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Tellingham. But are you sure it is my uncle who is sending Mercy Curtis?”

  “With Dr. Davison—yes,” the Preceptress said, in some surprise. “They have equally charged themselves with her expenses at Briarwood—if she can remain here. You know her, of course?”

  “Helen and I have talked of her almost every day, Mrs. Tellingham,” said Ruth warmly. “She is very quick and sharp. And she is much improved in disposition from what she used to be.”

  “I hear you speak of her so kindly, with pleasure, Miss Fielding,” said the head of the school. “For it opens the way to a suggestion that Dr. Davison makes. He wishes Mercy Curtis to room with you.”

  “With Helen and me!” cried Ruth, in delight. “Of course, I slept in Mercy’s room all the time she was at the Red Mill last summer, and we got on nicely together.”

  “But you do not know how Miss Cameron will receive the suggestion of having a third girl in your small room?”

  “Oh, Helen is so kind!” Ruth cried. “I do not believe she will object. And she is sorry for Mercy.”

  “I know you have been Helen’s constant companion. Do you think you have been as good friends as you were when you came to Briarwood, Ruth?” asked Mrs. Tellingham, with sharpness.

  “Helen! Oh, I hope so, Mrs. Tellingham!” cried Ruth, in great distress. “I am sure I love her just the same—and always shall.”

  “But she evidently finds her friends among the Upedes. Why did she not join this new society that you have started?”

  “I—I did not mean to start it without her,” stammered Ruth. “It was really only my suggestion. The other Infants took it up—”

  “But you named it?”

  “I did suggest the name,” admitted Ruth.

  “And you did not join the Up and Doing Club with your chum.”

  “No, Mrs. Tellingham. Nor did I join the F. C.’s. I did not like the manner in which both societies went about making converts. I didn’t like it the very first day we came.”

  “Miss Picolet, your French teacher, told me something about Mary Cox meeting the stage and getting hold of you two girls before you had reached Briarwood at all.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “By the way,” said the Preceptress, her brow clouding again and the stern look coming back into her face that had rested on it when Ruth had first entered the room, “you had met Miss Picolet before you arrived at the school?”

  “She spoke to us in the stage—yes, ma’am.”

  “But before that—you had seen her?”

  “Ye-es, ma’am,” said Ruth, slowly, beginning to suspect that Mrs. Tellingham’s curiosity was no idle matter.

  “Where?”

  “On the Lanawaxa—the boat coming down the lake, Mrs. Tellingham.”

  “Miss Picolet was alone aboard the boat?”

  Ruth signified that she was.

  “Did you see her speaking with anybody?”

  “We saw a man speak to her. He was one of the musicians. He frightened Miss Picolet. Afterward we saw that he had followed her out upon the wharf. He was a big man who played a harp.”

  “And you told this to your school-fellows after you became acquainted here?”

  Mrs. Tellingham spoke very sternly indeed, and her gaze never left Ruth’s face. The girl from the Red Mill hesitated but an instant. She had never spoken of the man and Miss Picolet to anybody save Helen; but she knew that her chum must have told all the particulars to Mary Cox.

  “I—I believe we did mention it to some of the girls. It impressed us as peculiar—especially as we did not know who Miss Picolet was until after we were in the stage-coach with her.”

  “Then you are sure you have not been one who has circulated stories among the girls about Miss Picolet—derogatory to her, I mean?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Tellingham! Never!” cried Ruth, earnestly.

  “Do you know anything about this silly story I hear whispered that the marble harp out there on the fountain was heard to play the night you and Miss Cameron arrived here?”

  “Oh!” ejaculated Ruth.

  “I see you know about it. Did you hear the sound?”

  “Ye-es, ma’am,” admitted Ruth.

  “I will not ask you under what circumstances you heard it; but I do ask if you have any knowledge of any fact that might explain the mystery?”

  Ruth was silent for several moments. She was greatly worried; yet she could understand how this whole matter had come to Mrs. Tellingham’s knowledge. Mary Cox, angry at Miss Picolet, had tried to defame her in the mind of the Preceptress.

  Now, what Ruth knew was very little indeed. What she suspected regarding a meeting between the French teacher and the man with the harp, at the campus fountain, was an entirely different matter. But Mrs. Tellingham had put her question so that Ruth did not have to tell her suspicions.

  “I really know nothing about it, Mrs. Tellingham,” she said, finally.

  “That is all. I do not believe you—or Miss Cameron—would willingly malign an innocent person. I have known Miss Picolet some time, and I respect her. If she has a secret sorrow, I respect it. I do not think it is nice to make Miss Picolet’s private affairs a subject for remark by the school.

  “Now, we will leave that. Sound Miss Cameron about this Mercy Curtis. If you girls will take her in, she shall come on trial. It lies with you, and your roommate, Miss Fielding. Come to me after chapel tomorrow and tell me what you have decided.”

  And so Ruth was dismissed.

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE TRIUMVIRATE

  Mercy Curtis came in a week. For Helen of course was only too delighted to fall in with Mrs. Tellingham’s suggestion. Duet Number 2, West Dormitory, was amply large enough for three, and Ruth gave up her bed to the cripple and slept on a couch. Helen herself could not do too much for the comfort of the newcomer.

  Dr. Davidson and Dr. Cranfew came with her; but really the lame girl bore the journey remarkably well. And how different she looked from the thin, peaked girl that Ruth and Helen remembered!

  “Oh, you didn’t expect to see so much flesh on my bones; did you?” said Mercy, noting their surprise, and being just as sharp and choppy in her observations as ever. “But I’m getting wickedly and scandalously fat. And I don’t often have to repeat Aunt Alviry’s song of ‘Oh, my back and oh, my bones!’”

  Mercy went to bed on her arrival. But the next day she got about in the room very nicely with the aid of two canes. The handsome ebony crutches she saved for “Sunday-Best.”

  Ruth arranged
a meeting of the Sweetbriars to welcome the cripple, and Mercy seemed really to enjoy having so many girls of her own age about her. Helen did not bring in many members of the Upedes; indeed, just then they all seemed to keep away from Duet Two, and none of them spoke to Ruth. That is, none save Jennie Stone. The fat girl was altogether too good-natured—and really too kind at heart—to treat Ruth Fielding as Jennie’s roommates did.

  “They say you went and told Picolet we were going to have the party in your room,” Heavy said to Ruth, frankly, “and that’s how you got out of it so easily. But I tell them that’s all nonsense, you know. If you’d wanted to make us trouble, you would have let Helen have the party in our room, as she wanted to, and so you could have stayed home and not been in it at all.”

  “As she wanted to?” repeated Ruth, slowly. “Did Helen first plan to have the supper in your quartette?”

  “Of course she did. It was strictly a Upede affair—or would have been if you hadn’t been in it. But you’re a good little thing, Ruth Fielding, and I tell them you never in this world told Picolet.”

  “I did not indeed, Jennie,” said Ruth, sadly.

  “Well, you couldn’t make The Fox believe that. She’s sure about it, you see,” the stout girl said. “When Mary Cox wants to be mean, she can be, now I tell you!”

  Indeed, Heavy was not like the other three girls in the next room. Mary, Belle and Lluella never looked at Ruth if they could help it, and never spoke to her. Ruth was not so much hurt over losing such girls for friends, for she could not honestly say she had liked them at the start; but that they should so misjudge and injure her was another matter.

  She said nothing to Helen about all this; and Helen was as firmly convinced that Mary Cox and the other Upedes were jolly girls, as ever. Indeed, they were jolly enough; most of their larks were innocent fun, too. But it was a fact that most of those girls who received extra tasks during those first few weeks of the half belonged to the Up and Doing Club.