As Mrs Thorne closed the door and went into the adjoining room, Hazel rose from her crouching att.i.tude, her faced lined with care-marks, and a hopeless aspect of misery in her heavy eyes.

Hazel stood gazing at the door, listening to every sound from the little adjoining room, till she heard her mother sigh and throw herself upon the bed, when she said in a low voice, "G.o.d help me!" and knelt down to pray.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

PAYING THE PIPER.

"You must ask Mr Canninge, Hazel, or else Mr Burge or Mr Lambent,"

said Mrs Thorne dictatorially. "Either you must ask one of those gentlemen, or I shall certainly feel that it is my duty to leave Plumton and seek a refuge at the home of one of my relatives."

"Mother," said Hazel decidedly, "I cannot ask one of those gentlemen.

Can you not see that it would be a degradation that I could not bear?"

"If you would think less of your own degradation, Hazel, and more of mine," said Mrs Thorne, "I think it would be far more becoming on your part."

It was breakfast-time, and, hot-eyed, feverish, and weary, Hazel was trying to force down a few morsels of dry bread as she sipped her weak tea.

She made no reply, but was working hard to find some solution of the difficulty in which she found herself, but could see none.

One thing was evident to her, and that was the fact that she must take the full blame of the pence being missing, and undertake to pay it out of her next half-year's salary. It was impossible for her to accuse her mother, and she could think of no relatives who would advance the money.

Her head ached violently, and she was suffering from a severe attack of la.s.situde that deadened her brain-power making her ready to go back to her bed and try to forget everything in sleep.

But there was the day's work to meet and at last, in a dreary, hopeless spirit, she went to the school, seeing Mr Chute on his way to the duties of the day, and meeting his eye, which was full of an ugly, malicious expression, that made her shrink and feel that she had indeed made this man her enemy.

The children were more tiresome than usual, or seemed to be, and it was only by a great effort that she was able to keep her attention to the work in hand.

At another time she would not have noticed it, but now every tap at the schoolhouse door made her start violently, and think that it was the churchwarden, Mr Piper, come for the school pence.

"A guilty conscience needs no accuser," she thought to herself, as she set to once more trying to see her way to some solution of her difficulty, but always in vain; and at last she found herself letting the trouble drift till it should find bottom in some shallow shoal or against the sh.o.r.e, for nothing she could do would help her on.

The only thing she could hit upon was to say to the churchwarden that she would bring him up the money shortly, and in the meantime she might find out some means of raising it wishing the while that the jewellery of which she once had a plentiful supply was still her own.

She could think of no other plan, and was drearily going on with her work, when there came a loud tap from one of the lower cla.s.ses, presided over at that time by Feelier Potts, and followed by a howl.

"What is that?"

"Please, teacher, Feely Potts. .h.i.t me over the head with a book."

"Please, teacher, I kep' on telling her you'd got a bad headache, teacher, and told her to be quiet, and she would keep on making a noise, and--and--and I think I did box her with the Testament, teacher."

"But you know, Ophelia how strictly I have forbidden any monitor to touch one of her cla.s.s."

"Yes, please, teacher; and I wouldn't have touched her now, only I knew you'd got such a bad headache, and she would be so tiresome I felt as if I could knock her head right off."

"Ophelia!" exclaimed Hazel, as she felt ready to smile at what was evidently a maternal expression.

"Please, teacher, I won't do so no more."

"Then go to your cla.s.s. I shall trust you, mind. You have given me your word."

"Yes, teacher," cried the girl eagerly; "and is your head better, please, teacher!"

"No, Ophelia; it is very bad," said Hazel wearily.

"Then, please, teacher, let me run home and get mother's smelling-salts.

She's got a new twopenny bottle. Such strong 'uns. Do, please, let me go and fetch 'em, teacher."

"Thank you; no, Ophelia," said Hazel, smiling at the girl, whose eyes were sparkling with eagerness. "I have a bottle here. Now, go back to your cla.s.s, and remember that you will help me most by being attentive and keeping the girls quiet, but not with blows. I do not keep you quiet and attentive, Ophelia, by striking you."

"No, please, teacher; but mother does."

"I prefer gentle means, my child. I want to rule you, if I can, by love."

Feelier looked sharply round to see if she was observed, and then bobbed down quickly, and before Hazel knew what the girl intended to do, she had kissed her hand and was gone.

It was a trifling incident, but in Hazel's depressed condition it brought the tears into her eyes, and made her think for the first time of how hard it would be to leave her girls if fate said that through this terrible defalcation she must give up the school. The toil had been hard, the work tiresome, but all the same there had been a something that had seemed to link her to the children, and she began to find out now how thoroughly her heart had been in her daily task.

There were endless little troubles to encounter; even now there was a heap of confiscations taken from the children, petted objects that they carried in imitation of their brothers--sticky pieces of well-chewed indiarubber, marbles, b.u.t.tons; one girl had a top which she persisted in bringing to school, though she could never get it to spin, and had twice been in difficulties for breaking windows with it--at times when its peg stuck to the end of the string. There were several papers of sweets, and an a.s.sortment of sweets without papers, and in that semi-glutinous state that comes over the best-made preparations of sugar after being submitted to a process of biscuiting in a warm pocket. Half-gnawed pieces of cake were there too, and fancy sc.r.a.ps of a something that would have puzzled the keenest observer, who could only have come to the conclusion that it was comestible, for it displayed teeth-marks.

Without a.n.a.lysis it would not have been safe to venture upon a more decisive opinion.

It had been imperceptible, this affection for her school, coming on by slow degrees; and as in the middle of her morning's work Hazel suddenly found herself face to face with the possibility of having to resign, she felt startled, and began to realise that in spite of the many troubles and difficulties with which she had had to contend, Plumton had really been a haven of rest and the thought of going completely unnerved her.

She started violently several times over as tap after tap came to the door; but the visitors were always in connection with the children.

"Please, may Ann Straggalls come home? Her mother wants her."

"Please I've brought Sarah Jane Filler's school money." Then there were calls from a couple of itinerant vendors of wonderfully-got-up ill.u.s.trated works, published in shilling and half-crown parts, to be continued to infinity, if the purchaser did not grow weary and give them up.

At last there came a more decided knock than any of the others, and Hazel's heart seemed to stand still. She knew, without telling, that it was the churchwarden, and she was in no wise surprised at seeing him walk in with his hat on, without waiting to have the door opened, but displaying a certain amount of proprietorship only to be expected from an official of the church.

Mr Piper was the princ.i.p.al grocer of Plumton, and in addition to the sale of what he called "grosheries," he dealt largely in cake--not the cake made with caraways or currants, but linseed oil-cake, bought by the farmers for fattening cattle and giving a help to the sheep. Mr Piper "did a little," too, in corn, buying a lot now and then when it was cheap, and keeping it till it was dear. There were many other things in which Mr Piper "did a little," but they were always bits of trading that meant making money; so that take him altogether, he was what people call "a warm man," one who b.u.t.toned up his breeches-pockets tightly, and slapped them, as much as to say, "I don't care a pin for a soul--I'm too independent for that."

This was the gentleman who, tightly b.u.t.toned up in his best coat, and looking, all the same, as if he still had his shop-ap.r.o.n tied, walked importantly into the school with his hat on, and nodded shortly as the girls began to rise and make bobs, the curtseys being addressed to the broadcloth coat more than to Mr Piper himself, a gentleman of whom all the elder girls had bought sweets, and who was a.s.sociated in their minds with the rattling and clinking of copper scales with their weights. For a goodly sum per annum was expended by the Plumton school children in delicacies, a fact due to the kindness of Mr William Forth Burge, who always went down the town with half-a-crown's worth of the cleanest halfpennies he could get, a large supply of which was always kept for him by Mr Piper's young man, who even went so far as to give them a-shake-up in a large worsted stocking with some sand and a sprinkling of vitriol, knowing full well that these halfpence were pretty sure to come to him again in the course of trade.

It was, then, to Mr Piper's best coat that the girls made their bobs, that gentleman being held in small respect. In fact as soon as he entered Feelier Potts went round her cla.s.s, insisting upon every girl accurately toeing the line; and then, whispering "Don't laugh," she began to repeat the words of the national poet who wrote those touching, interrogative lines beginning, "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers," and finishing off with, "Please, Mr Piper, I want a pen'orth of pickled peppers."

"'Morning, Miss Thorne," said Mr Piper importantly, and speaking in his best-coat voice, which was loud and bra.s.sy, and very different to his mild, insinuating, "what's-the-next-article, ma'am, yes-it-is-a-fine-morning" voice, which was used behind the counter, and went with a smile.

"She ain't ready with that money, I'll lay a crown," said Mr Piper to himself. Then aloud--"I have been getting Mr Chute's school pence, Miss Thorne, to put in my accounts. I always collect the school money once a year."

Just then the school-door opened quietly, unheard by Hazel and the churchwarden, and also unnoticed by Miss Feelier Potts, who, forgetting all promises of amendment, was delighting her cla.s.s by asking Mr Piper in a low voice for half-ounces and pen'orths of all sorts of impossible articles suggested by her active young brain, beginning with sugared soap, and on through boiled blacklead to peppermint mopsticks.

The terrible moment had come, and Hazel said, as firmly as she could--

"I am not ready with the accounts, Mr Piper; but I will see to them at once, and--"

"Oh, all right: I'm in no hurry," he replied; and Hazel's heart gave a leap of relief, but only to sink down heavily the next moment, as he continued--"I always give one morning a year to this job, so get the money and a pen and ink, and I'll soon run through it with you."