Her audience was delighted, and gayly their hands clapped their approval. The two in the doorway stood quite still, and gave no evidence of pleasure. Arabella was too s.p.u.n.kless to applaud; Patricia was too jealous.

Arabella, after her own dull fashion, had enjoyed the music.

Patricia surely had not.

Patricia never could bear to see or hear _any one_ do _anything_!

"Let's go up to our room," she whispered.

"P'rhaps some of the others will play or sing," ventured Arabella, who wished to remain.

"_Let_ 'em!" Patricia said, even her whisper showing that she was vexed.

"'_Let_ 'em?'" Arabella drawled. "Why I'll have to let 'em. I couldn't stop them, and I don't want to. I'd like to hear them."

"Then stay and hear them!" snapped Patricia, and she rushed out into the midst of the groups of listeners, and dashed up the stairway before Miss Fenler could stop her.

What could have been more rude and ill-bred than to leave in such haste, thereby disturbing those who were enjoying the music?

Arabella's first thought was to follow Patricia lest she be angry, but she saw Miss Fenler's effort to stay Patricia, and she dared not leave the room.

Arabella felt as if she were between two desperate people.

She feared Miss Fenler, as did every pupil at Glenmore, and by remaining where she was, she certainly was not offending her, but she could not forget Patricia. What a temper she would be in when, after the concert was over, Arabella, cautiously, would turn the latch, and enter their chamber!

Patricia was wide awake, and listening, when at last Arabella reached their door. Softly she tried to open it so carefully that if Patricia were asleep she might remain so.

Patricia had turned the key in the lock, and she fully enjoyed lying comfortably on the bed, and listening while on the other side of the door her chum was turning the k.n.o.b first one way and then the other.

There's no knowing how long she would have permitted Arabella to stand out in the hall, but suddenly she remembered that Miss Fenler strode down the corridors every night after lights were supposed to be out, just to learn if any one of the girls were defying the rule.

With a rather loud "O _dear_!" Patricia flounced out of bed, went to the door, pretended to be so sleepy that she could not at once find the key, and then, as the door opened, gave an exaggerated yawn.

For once Arabella was quick-witted.

"Miss Fenler is just coming up the stairs," she said.

Patricia forgot the scolding that she had been preparing for Arabella, and instead she said:

"Hurry! Put out the light. You can undress in the dark, but for goodness' sake, don't stumble over anything!"

CHAPTER III

MISCHIEF

A few days later, Dorothy stood at the window looking out upon a windswept road, where not even so much as a dry leaf remained to tell of the vanished Autumn.

The sky was cloud-covered, and the gaunt trees bent and swayed as if a giant arm were shaking them.

"We missed our afternoon trip down to the village," she said, "but no one would care to walk in this gale, and even--why, who--? Nancy, come here! _Isn't_ that Patricia?"

Nancy ran to the window.

"Why, no--yes,--Well, it certainly is Patricia," she said.

"And just look at the parcel she's carrying!"

"Whatever it is, she must have wanted it, to go out such day as this,"

said Nancy, "and look! Miss Fenler is out on the porch,--why, she's actually feeling of it to see what's in the parcel. Really, I don't see why it's all right for her to do that."

"It does seem queer," agreed Dorothy, "but you know it is the rule that the girls must not bring large parcels into this house, unless they're willing to show what is in them.

"There! The paper has burst open, and,--Well, did you see that?"

Miss Fenler was actually thrusting a long bony finger into the opening with the hope of learning if anything that had been forbidden, was being smuggled into the house inside the folds of gayly flowered goods that Patricia had declared was a tea-gown. After a moment, Miss Fenler nodded as if dismissing the matter, and Patricia, her chin very high, pa.s.sed into the hall. Miss Fenler turned to look after her, as if not sure if she had done wisely in permitting Patricia to enter with so large a bundle, without first compelling her to open it, and spread its contents for inspection.

Patricia's eyes had flashed when questioned about her parcel, but once inside the hall, her anger increased, and she mounted the stairs, tramping along the upper hall so noisily that several pupils looked out to learn who had arrived. Farther down the hall a door opened, and Betty Chase's laughing face looked out. She, too, had seen Patricia and Miss Fenler on the porch and, while she did not like Patricia, she detested the woman who seemed to enjoy spying, so her sympathy was, of course, with the pupil.

"Had a sc.r.a.p with the 'Fender'? I'd half a mind to say 'cow-catcher,'"

she said.

"Well, what if I did?" Patricia said, rudely, and walked on toward her room.

Betty looked after her.

"Well, of all things!" she whispered, then said, "The next time you need sympathy, try to buy some at the grocer's. Don't look to me!"

Patricia had done a rude, and foolish thing. Betty Chase was a favorite, and Patricia had longed to be one of her friends, but thus far Betty had been surrounded by her cla.s.smates, who hovered about her so persistently that the pupils from Merrivale had not yet become acquainted with her.

Betty had hailed Patricia pleasantly, and she really might have paused for a little chat, but she was one of those unpleasant persons who, when some one person has annoyed her, is vexed with the whole world. She took little heed as to where she was going, and stamped along, muttering some of the many wrathful thoughts that filled her mind.

Reaching a door that stood ajar, she pushed it open, and rushed in exclaiming:

"The horrid old thing tried to pick open my parcel, but I wouldn't let her. I guess Miss Sharp-eyes won't try again to--Why, where are you, Arabella?"

A tall, thin girl with a pale face and colorless hair emerged from the closet where she had been hanging some garments.

"Do you rush into people's rooms, and call them names?" she asked in a peculiar drawl.

Patricia for once, was too surprised to speak.

"My name is not Arabella, nor Miss Sharp-eyes," concluded the girl.

"I--I beg your pardon. I thought this was my own room," gasped Patricia, and rushing from the room, opened the next door on which her own name and Arabella's appeared. She flew in, banging the door behind her.

Arabella sprang to her feet, dropped her gla.s.ses, picked them up, and setting them upon her nose, stared through them at Patricia.