"Have it if you like, Heavy," she said. "I am not very hungry."

"Well, there isn't quite so much of you to nourish, my dear," declared Jennie Stone, more briskly. "I really _do_ feel the need of an extra piece. Thank you, Ruth! You're a good little thing."

"Miss Picolet will see you, Ruth," whispered Helen, on her other side.

"She is disgusted with Heavy's piggishness. But Miss Picolet, after all, won't say anything to you. You are her pet."

"Don't say that, Helen," replied Ruth, with some sadness. "I am sorry for Miss Picolet."

"I don't see why you need be. She seems to get along very well,"

returned her chum.

But Ruth could not forget how the little French teacher had looked--how frightened she was and how tearful--the afternoon when Ruth had told her of the incident aboard the _Minnetonka_, and of her loss of the mysterious letter sent by the harpist. The little French woman had begged her not to blame herself for the loss of the letter; she had only begged her to say nothing to a soul about either the man or the letter. And Ruth had kept the secret.

Nearly a fortnight had pa.s.sed since the occurrence, and it lacked not many days to the close of the term, when one evening, after a meeting of the S. B.'s in their usual room over the dining hall, Ruth had been delayed a bit and was hurrying out alone so as not to be caught out of the dormitory after warning bell, when old Tony Foyle hailed her.

"I was a-goin' to the West Dormitory to ax Miss Scrimp for to call ye, Miss Ruthie," said the old Irishman, who--like most of the help about the school--was fond of the girl from the Red Mill. "Ye're wanted, Miss."

"Wanted?" asked Ruth, in surprise. "Who by?"

"The Missus wants ye--Missus Tellingham. Ye're ter go straight to her study, so ye are."

Much disturbed--for she feared there might be bad news from home--Ruth ran to the main building and knocked on Mrs. Tellingham's door. At her pleasantly spoken "Come in!" the girl entered and found the Preceptress at her desk, while the old doctor, quite as blind and deaf to everything but his own work as usual, was bent over his papers at the end of the long table. But at this hour, and in the privacy of the place, he had c.o.c.ked the brown wig over one ear in the most comical way, displaying a perfectly bald, shiny patch of pate which made his naturally high forehead look fairly enormous.

"Nothing to be frightened about, Miss Fielding," said Mrs. Tellingham, instantly reading aright what she saw in Ruth's countenance. "You need not be disturbed. For I really do not believe you are at fault in this matter which has been brought to my notice."

"No, Mrs. Tellingham?" asked Ruth, curiously.

"I have only a question to ask you. Have you lost something--something that might have been entrusted to you for another person? Some letter, for instance?"

The color flashed into Ruth's face. She was always thinking about the note the harpist had given to her on the steamboat to take to Miss Picolet. She could not hide her trouble from the sharp eyes of Mrs.

Tellingham.

"You _have_ lost something?"

"I don't know whether I should tell you. I don't know that I have a right to tell you," Ruth stammered.

Mrs. Tellingham looked at her sharply for a minute or so, and then nodded. Then she said:

"I understand. You have been put on your honor not to tell?"

"Yes, Mrs. Tellingham. It is not my secret."

"But there is a letter to be recovered?"

"Ye-es."

"Is this it?" asked Mrs. Tellingham, suddenly thrusting under Ruth's eye a very much soiled and crumpled envelope. And it had been unsealed, Ruth could see. The superscription was to "Mademoiselle Picolet."

"It--it looks like it," Ruth whispered. "But it was sealed when I had it."

"I do not doubt it," said Mrs. Tellingham, with a shake of her head.

"But the letter was given to me first, and then the envelope. The--the person who claims to have found it when you dropped it, declared it to be open then."

"Oh, I do not think so!" cried Ruth.

"Well. Enough that I know its contents. You do not?"

"Indeed, no, Mrs. Tellingham. I may have done wrong to agree to deliver the letter. But I--I was so sorry for her----"

"I understand. I do not blame you in the least, child," said Mrs.

Tellingham, shortly. "This letter states that the writer expects more money from our Miss Picolet--poor thing! It states that if the money is not forthcoming to an address he gives her before to-day--to-day, mind you, is the date--he will come here for it. It is, in short, a threat to make trouble for Miss Picolet. And the person finding this letter when you dropped it has deliberately, I believe, retained it until to-day before bringing it to me, for the express purpose of letting the scoundrel come here and disturb Miss Picolet's peace of mind."

"Oh, how mean!" gasped Ruth, involuntarily.

"Mean indeed, Ruth," said the Preceptress, gravely. "And you have yourself experienced some ill-usage from the person who has played spy and informer in this matter, since you have come to Briarwood Hall. I understand--you know that little can go on about the school that does not reach my ears in one way or another--that this same person has called you a 'tattle-tale' and tried to make your friends among the girls believe that you played traitor to them on a certain occasion. I have told Miss c.o.x exactly what I think of her action in this case,"

and she tapped the letter before her. "She has shown plainly," said Mrs. Tellingham, with sternness, "that she is a most sly and mean-spirited girl. I am sorry that one of the young ladies of Briarwood Hall is possessed of so contemptible a disposition."

CHAPTER XXV

GETTING ON

It was a frosty night and snow lay smoothly upon the campus. Only the walks and the cemented place about the fountain were cleaned. Tony Foyle had made his last rounds and put out the lights; but although there was no moon the starlight on the snow made the campus silvery in spots. But the leafless trees, and the buildings about the open s.p.a.ce, cast deep shadows.

There was a light shining in a study window of the West Dormitory and that light was in the room occupied by the Triumvirate--Ruth Fielding, Helen Cameron and Mercy Curtis. The two latter were abed, but awake and wondering why Ruth had not returned, and what Miss Scrimp had meant by coming to the door and telling them to leave the light burning.

The clocks had long since struck eleven and it was close to midnight.

The night was still, for there was no wind. It was possible that very few of either the scholars, teachers, or servants at Briarwood were awake. But almost directly under the light in the Triumvirate's room another light burned--in the study of the French teacher. She seldom retired early; that is one reason why those girls who considered Miss Picolet their enemy believed she was always on the watch.

Three figures came out of the bas.e.m.e.nt door under the tower of Briarwood Hall--a lady much bundled up, a girl ditto, and the old Irishman, Tony Foyle.

"Sure, ma'am, jest as I told ye this afternoon, the big felly that sa.s.sed me last fall, tryin' ter git in ter play his harp, and with his other vagabonds, was hanging around again to-day. I hear him an' his rapscallion companions is in Lumberton. They've been playing about here and there, for a month back. And now I see him comin' along with his harp on his back--bad 'cess to him! P'raps they're walkin' across to Sivin Oaks, an' are takin' in Briarwood as a 'cross-cut'."

"Hush!" whispered the Preceptress. "Isn't that somebody over yonder--by the fountain?"

They were all three silent, keeping close in the shadow. Some object _did_ seem to be moving in the shadow of the fountain. Suddenly there sounded on the still night air the reverberating note of a harp--a crash of sound following the flourish of a practised hand across the wires.

"Bless us and save us!" muttered Tony. "'Tis the marble harp. 'Tis a banshee playin'."

"Be still!" commanded Mrs. Tellingham. "It is nothing of the kind, you very well know, Tony. Ah!"

She had looked instantly toward the illuminated window of the French teacher's study at the other side of the campus. The shade had snapped up to the top of the cas.e.m.e.nt, and the shadow of Miss Picolet appeared.

The French teacher had heard the voice of the harp.

"Oh, poor little thing," murmured Mrs. Tellingham. "This seems like spying and eavesdropping, Ruth Fielding; but I mean to stop this thing right here and now. She shall not be frightened out of her wits by this villain."