"It has happened," responded Mr. Wilson. "We finished him Friday morning--a year and six months in the workhouse."

Elizabeth looked about her in surprise. Miss Cresswell was near her. "Is Mary Wilson's father that famous Judge Wilson?" she asked.

"Yes, didn't you know it?"

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. "How should I know?" she said, sinking back into her chair as though overcome by the news. "No one told me," she continued, "and Mary herself never mentioned it."

"Why should she?" was the response. "She is so used to his honors that she thinks nothing at all about them."

"Isn't it strange," said Elizabeth, having slowly awakened to the condition of affairs in the little world about her, "that it seems to be the people who have the least and do the least that make the most fuss?"

"One thing Exeter has taught you?" said Miss Cresswell with a smile. "The little tugs must make a noise or they may be run down, but the big liners are confident of their own power and so is everyone."

But Elizabeth had not heard this last remark. She was leaning eagerly forward listening to the conversation among the others. Judge Wilson was explaining to those who were interested what Big Bill Kyler had done to justify a year and a half in jail.

"You see," the Judge said, "all the land at Italee and Gleasonton belong to Mrs. Gleason. She won't sell, and leases and rents only under certain conditions. All renters are her husband's workmen. I suppose there's seven or eight hundred in the tannery and brickyard. She won't permit a licensed hotel on her land. Big Bill drives across the country, loads his wagon with contraband goods and retails them from his house. This is all on the quiet. I reckon he's carried this on for six months. But some time in August, Mrs. Gleason had his wagon stopped with the result," with a wave of his hand, "Bill is living at the expense of the State."

"A pretty smart woman, Mrs. Gleason." This remark came from the little old man in the corner.

"Very, but she would never have discovered this if someone had not given her a pointer; for Big Bill outwardly was an advocate of temperance."

"I am out of patience with the way in which justice errs," cried Mrs.

Wilson, in the same spirited, sprightly way her daughter might have done.

"We all know that Big Bill is not accountable. He has always been the tool of anyone who would make use of him. I doubt if he made any money by this work. There was a shrewder man back of him who planned this and took the money. And that man is the one who should be punished."

"Undoubtedly," responded the Judge. "But that man is shrewd enough to keep himself out of the toils. He has a wholesale license to sell at Westport.

He does not obligate himself to question his buyers. He may ask Big Bill a trifle more than anyone else, but that is no infringement of the law. I think there was no doubt in anyone's mind who was the instigator of this 'speak-easy' business at Italee; but he was shrewd enough to keep within the letter of the law. We could not touch him, and he knew it."

"The whole business is nefarious! It is the curse of our country."

Judge Wilson smiled back at his wife. She was always so decided in her opinions, so fearless in expressing them.

"To be sure, to be sure," he responded calmly. "Most of us acknowledge that, but we have power only to interpret and judge. The people make the laws."

"I think this talk is a trifle too heavy for a boarding-school reception,"

exclaimed a young matron. "I shall return to the reception hall and listen to the chatter of schoolgirls. I haven't outgrown my taste for it." She laughed and pa.s.sed into the adjoining room.

Her remark lead to the general breaking up of the little group. "We had better go back to the younger set," was the sentiment of the elders.

"You must slip up now and see how nice our rooms look," cried Mary Wilson, clinging to her father and mother. "Elizabeth brought so many pretty things from home, our rooms look quite fine."

"Yes; do come," said Elizabeth. "We'll make you a cup of cocoa--or Mary will. I haven't reached such a high state of perfection that I make it for company."

"Well, just, for one moment then," said Mrs. Wilson. "We must not stay long enough to be missed. Mrs. Williams, will you and your husband come with us? We are going up to see the girls' rooms. They tell me that they are very fine."

Mrs. Williams gladly accepted. She was a little old Quaker lady, in Quaker garb, neat as the proverbial pin, and with the appearance of having just stepped from some old painting.

"It has been so many years since I have seen a schoolgirl's room," she said, "that I should love to see Mary's. In my day ours were plain--painted floors and wooden beds. It was not allowable to have aught else; but we were taught to be orderly--too much so, I thought."

"Dr. Morgan is particular about that. Mrs. Schuyler is preceptress, but she works under Dr. Morgan's orders," said Mrs. Wilson.

"That is well. Book knowledge means little if a woman is untidy and careless," was the response.

Elizabeth and Mary, far in the rear, acting as body-guard to the Judge, did not hear these remarks on neatness. To Mary it would have mattered little, for her conscience was clear so far as keeping her possessions in order was concerned.

"Oh, father, wait just one second," she cried. "There is Miss Watson from Muncy. I must speak with her, and ask her to go with us. She was at a German University all last year." She hurried away, and soon returned with a distinguished-looking young woman whom she introduced as Miss Watson.

"She is going up with us," explained Miss Wilson, "to have a cup of cocoa.

Oh, yes," as Miss Watson was about to demur, "we have eight cups now. Do you remember the time two years ago when I invited the girls in and forgot that I hadn't dishes enough? Yes; I have the same rooms but they're much nicer. We have so many new things that I'm sure you will not recognize them. Miss Hobart is my roommate. We have gotten along famously so far--haven't had the smallest kind of a difficulty. I'm sure we'll so continue, for I always think the first month is the hardest. We had to learn to adjust ourselves to each other. But there is no danger of a quarrel now. We have pa.s.sed our rocks."

"Knock on wood, Mary," called back her father on hearing the remark, "that will exorcise the evil spirit of a.s.surance. Knock on wood, I say, or you and Elizabeth will quarrel before the week is out."

Mary tossed her head and laughed. She thoroughly appreciated her father's witticisms.

"I shall not knock on wood--and we will not quarrel," she replied. "That is our room, mother. Yes; right there."

Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Wilson pa.s.sed into the bedroom. The others of the party followed. Elizabeth and Mary at the end of the line had stepped aside to give precedence to the elders.

They heard Judge Wilson laugh. "It has been nothing less than a cyclone,"

he said, then laughed again.

"Why, this is not at all like Mary!" began Mrs. Wilson. Mary noticed the tone of apology in her voice.

She and Elizabeth stepped inside. Elizabeth's face grew crimson. In the middle of the floor lay her school shoes which, in her haste to dress, she had kicked off and left. Her coat and hat were on one chair. Stretched out on the end of the couch was her gym suit, glaringly conspicuous with its crimson braid. Every toilet article that she had used was in evidence, and in a place never designed for its occupancy.

Miss Wilson arose to the occasion. With a characteristic toss of the head, she crossed the room and drew forward a chair. "Sit, all of you, and I'll put the kettle to boil for cocoa. Father, tell your story about the boy ill.u.s.trating 'The Old Oaken Bucket.'" She lighted the alcohol lamp while she was talking. She made no apology for the disorder of the room. One might suppose from her manner that all was as the most fastidious might desire.

Elizabeth sat quietly in the background, hoping that no one would speak to her. Her face was burning. There was a dimness about her eyes suggestive of tears.

Missing her, Mrs. Wilson turned, about. "Where is Elizabeth?" she asked.

"Did she not come with us?"

"Yes; I came," said a voice choking with tears. "I'm here--and oh, I am so ashamed. Not one of those articles scattered about are Mary's. They're all mine." At this she could no longer restrain herself, but began to cry.

Both Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Wilson would have consoled her with well chosen words of sympathy. The men laughed and declared that they were so accustomed to dropping their shoes in the middle of the floor that they had not recognized the signs of disorder; that they supposed that the floor was the legitimate place for shoes. But treating the matter lightly did not rid Elizabeth of her shame and embarra.s.sment. She was unable to control herself. Slipping into the bedroom, she threw herself face downward on the pillow and sobbed herself to sleep.

When she awakened, she found that the guests and Miss Wilson had departed.

She prepared for bed and was standing in her night clothes when Mary came back into the room, a tearful little maiden. But Miss Wilson was unmoved.

"I'm so sorry and--ashamed," began Elizabeth.

"You should be," was the unfeeling response.

"It shall never happen so again," contritely.

"I'm sure it will not, for after this I'll see to it that the room is in order after you get through dressing."

"Oh, Mary, don't be so hard. Won't you forgive me? I'm sure I'm ashamed enough."

"It is no use talking further about it," was the grim response. "The thing's done and cannot be undone by any amount of talking. You mortified me before my best friends, and I can not forget it soon. When I can, I'll tell you. But please don't mention the subject to me again."