CHAPTER III.

_BAB._

THE next day being Saturday, there were no lessons to do, and Mrs.
Richardson advised Claribel to spend the morning in unpacking and
arranging her clothes.

“I shall not unpack my clothes,” said Claribel, sullenly; “I am not
going to stay here.”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Richardson, soothingly, but apparently not in the
least alarmed; “this will be your home for the present. I hope you will
find it a pleasant one, but of course that must depend very much on
yourself. I shall expect you to put your clothes in order; or if you do
not feel able, I will send some one to do it for you. Dress yourself
neatly, and be ready for dinner at one. Saturday being a holiday, we
dine earlier than on other days.”

Claribel was a little awed. She had never met any one exactly like Mrs.
Richardson. The principal was a small, delicate-looking lady, with fine
features and beautiful soft hair, which was quite gray, though she did
not look old. She spoke very gently and softly, but there was something
in her voice which commanded attention and obedience. Claribel felt
that, but she did not like to give up quite yet, so she answered
shortly again:

“I shall not go down to dinner. I don’t want to be stared at by all the
girls as if I were a gorilla. If I have got to stay here, I will stay
in my own room, whether I have anything to eat or not.”

“Listen to me, Claribel,” said Mrs. Richardson, laying her hand with a
light but firm pressure on Claribel’s arm; “you have come here to live
because it has been thought best by those who have the care of you,
and that you may acquire such an education as will make you a useful
and happy woman. If you are good and obedient, and take pains to make
yourself agreeable, you may be very happy here, as the other girls
are; if you are disobedient and sullen, you will make yourself and us
a great deal of trouble, and yet you will have to stay all the same.
There is no help for that. You need not be afraid that the girls will
stare at you or do anything else to annoy you. I don’t wonder that you
feel sadly about leaving home and coming among strangers, but you will
soon feel at home here. Come, now, make up your mind to be pleasant and
good, and all will be well. Do you like to read?”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Claribel, a little more graciously, for she was
won in spite of herself. “I like it very much, but we had hardly any
books at home. Priscilla used to buy all sorts of rubbishing novels
when she went to Lumber City, but I couldn’t bear them.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” remarked Mrs. Richardson; “we will see
if we can’t find something you will like. We have a very fine library,
and the girls read as much as they please.”

“Priscilla said you wouldn’t have anything but great, heavy, stupid
books like Josephus and Rollin,” said Claribel; “we had those books
at home, but they were in such large volumes and such fine print that
I couldn’t read them. Once I found part of a beautiful story about a
knight and some ladies who were taken prisoner by robbers and carried
to a castle, and the castle was set on fire. Oh, it was lovely,” said
Claribel, warming up—”not a bit like the rubbish Priscilla is always
reading; but I never could find any more of it.”

Mrs. Richardson smiled: “I know the book you mean, and will find it for
you in the library; it will come in nicely, for your history class are
just at that point in their English history, and they have all been
reading this book. Do you think, my dear, that you can unpack your
clothes?”

“Oh yes, ma’am.”

“Then I will leave you to yourself till dinner-time, and then send or
come for you. Good-bye for the present.”

Mrs. Richardson kissed Claribel and departed, leaving her in a curious
state of mind. She felt herself entirely conquered, and yet she was not
sorry to be conquered. Claribel was not at all deficient in strength of
mind. She was capable of respect, and she felt that she had found some
one worthy to be respected. She was delighted at the prospect of having
plenty of books to read, and not displeased at the thought of acquiring
a good education.

“I wonder if I could take drawing and painting lessons?” she said to
herself. “I am sure I could learn to draw. I don’t care so very much
about music,—only singing,—but I should like to be a great artist and
have my pictures admired all over the world. People would respect me
then. I don’t think I should dislike living here so much, only for the
girls. I know they will laugh at me. But then, if I get on with my
studies—and I can, I know—I will make them think I am somebody.”

I once heard it remarked of a very vain man that he dreamed in the
first person singular. Claribel certainly thought in the first person
singular. She had got into the “contracting chamber” of Mrs. Charles’s
pretty allegory, and of course it contracted round her more and more.
She considered everything and saw everything only as it affected
herself. She was in prison—a very small, dark, and narrow prison,
indeed—and it remained to be seen whether she was ever to get out of it.

Claribel unpacked her clothes and other possessions, feeling a certain
pleasure in their freshness and prettiness, for Mr. Steel had thought
it best that she should have an entirely new outfit of everything. She
even felt a slight twinge of mortification as she took out her pretty
writing-desk and dressing-case, and wished she had been a little more
gracious to her guardian.

Mrs. Richardson herself came up for Claribel at dinner-time, and gave
her a seat next herself. Percy and Tilly sat near her and welcomed her
with smiles, for they were not disposed to bear any malice against the
poor lame, sickly stranger. After dinner, she went to the library, and
Miss Foster, the librarian, found her the volume she wanted.

“You can sit down and read here, or anywhere else you like,” said Mrs.
Richardson, “only you must be sure not to leave your book out of place.
Carry it to your own room, and next Saturday bring it back here.”

“But suppose I haven’t finished it?” said Claribel.

“Oh, then you can take it again; but we wish to keep a register of all
the books, so as to learn where they are.”

“Don’t you want to come out on the upper verandah?” asked Percy, who
had also come for a book. “It is nice and shady, and there is such a
beautiful view.”

Claribel consented, and got through the afternoon without giving or
taking any new offence.

“Isn’t she queer?” said Percy to Flora after they had separated. “Do
you think you shall be friends with her?”

“I never saw anybody like her,” answered Flora. “She doesn’t seem to
think anybody but herself is of any consequence at all. Did you see how
she went and took Eva’s seat the minute she left it? And though Eva
came back directly, Claribel never seemed to think of giving it up to
her. If I had been Eva, I would have asked for it.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Percy; “you would have done just as Eva did.
But I suppose Claribel has been sick a good deal, and that does make
people selfish sometimes—not always, though. Mamma was sick a great
deal, and papa used to say she hadn’t any self.”

“Well, we won’t judge in too much of a hurry,” said Flora, sagely; “I
dare say she will improve. I heard Mr. Hausen say she had had very few
advantages.”

For some days, matters went on with tolerable smoothness. Claribel
was examined as to her studies, and to her own surprise was put into
the same classes as Percy and Flora. This was rather a stretch on the
part of the authorities, and Miss Reynolds warned Claribel that she
would have to study hard to keep up. But Mr. Hausen thought it better
she should do so than that she should be mortified by being classed
with girls much younger than herself. Claribel would have resented the
consideration if she had known of it, but she never thought of such a
thing. She was allowed to begin drawing lessons directly, and showed a
talent which surprised and delighted Mrs. Claxton, the teacher.

“You will make an artist if you only have perseverance enough,” said
she, “but you must make up your mind to work hard.”

“I don’t care how hard I work when the work is what I like,” answered
Claribel.

“I dare say. That is the case with most people,” said Mrs. Claxton,
smiling. “But if you mean to be an artist, you must learn to work hard
at what you don’t like.”

One pleasant morning, Claribel was sitting busily studying her history
lesson on the landing-place outside her room door. This same landing
was rather a special place of attraction for the younger girls. It was
broad and roomy. The stairs turned two different ways from it, and
there was a low, shady window with a broad seat which was just over the
outside door, which opened into the library. It chanced this morning
that the wind blew into Claribel’s window; and remembering that the
one outside had a different exposure, she betook herself thither, and
sitting down on the window-seat just mentioned, began studying once
more. She was just trying to fix in her head the date of King John’s
death, when she heard voices below.

“Was it a three-legged precious, then, and did it want to improve its
mind?” said a voice which Claribel recognized as Percy’s.

“So it should, then, and I guess nobody will look down on it when it
knows all about Anglo-Saxon and things!” added Flora, in a voice of
exaggerated sympathy. “I guess Molly won’t despise it any more, now
that it improves its mind, if it is a three-legged old dear.”

“I think it is just a shame that Mr. Hausen don’t get the poor thing a
cork leg,” said Tilly’s voice. “Let’s subscribe our own money, girls,
and buy one.”

“What’s a cork leg when one’s tenderest affections are wounded and
trampled on, and all that kind of thing?” said Percy. “Can cork legs
bring balm to a heart lacerated by a fuzzy-tailed tyrant?”

Now, there was one little word in this sentence which might have done
something toward explaining the mystery if Claribel had only attended
to it. But she did not. She jumped at once to the conclusion that the
girls meant her. When Mrs. Richardson came to her room to see why
she did not come to dinner, she found Claribel in a frenzy of rage,
sobbing, and actually screaming.

While her next-door neighbour, who had heard her cries, was trying to
quiet her, or at least to find out what was the matter.

“I can’t make anything of it,” said she, in answer to Mrs. Richardson’s
question. “She won’t do anything but scream and say she will go home.”

Mrs. Richardson had no better success. And while she was trying to
get something out of Claribel beside inarticulate shrieks, Mr. Hausen
himself came up stairs, passing through the little crowd of girls which
the noise had assembled on the landing-place. His first move was to
send every one away but Mrs. Richardson and himself. His next was to
lock the door.

“Stop crying, Claribel!” were his first words. “Be still this instant!
Do you think we shall allow such a noise as that in the house? Be
silent!”

Never had Claribel been so addressed before. Aunt Hepsey had had a
great dread of these screaming fits, or “tantrums,” as she called them,
and would give way in everything to avoid them. But it was clear that
Mr. Hausen was not the least frightened. On the contrary, after waiting
a moment, he renewed his command, with still more authority, not to
say sternness. Claribel was rather alarmed, and made such an effort to
quiet herself as she had never done before in all her life.

“Now, if you will try to speak reasonably, we will learn the cause
of all this disturbance,” said Mr. Hausen, when she had in a measure
succeeded; “but speak quietly, and let us have no screaming.”

Claribel told her story—that the girls had been insulting her and
making fun of her and calling her names under the window; that she
always knew they would, and that it was twice as mean to do it as they
had done as if they had spoken to her face.

“What girls, and how did they do it?” asked Mr. Hausen.

“It was Percy, and Tilly, and Flora, and Fanny Morey. I knew their
voices, and they meant I should.”

“Impossible!” said Mrs. Richardson. “There are no better girls in the
school.”

“Call them,” said Mr. Hausen; “let us hear what they have to say.”

The girls were called, and great was their astonishment at the
passionate accusation brought against them. Tilly bluntly denied it.

“I never thought of such a thing,” said she; “Claribel must be crazy, I
think.”

“What names did we call you, Claribel?” asked Percy.

“You—you said I was a three-legged precious,” sobbed Claribel, “and you
said I ought to have a cork log, and that I was trying to improve my
mind, so that Molly Richardson shouldn’t laugh at me.”

The girls exchanged glances. Percy smiled, and the others laughed
outright.

“Oh, Mr. Hausen, it was Bab,” exclaimed Tilly. “Miss Foster had down
that great book of English history prints and left it open on the desk,
and we found Bab sitting on the table before it looking just as wise as
if he were studying the pictures. Then somebody said he was trying to
improve his mind, so that Molly wouldn’t despise him—you know she does
despise him—and that was all. We never thought of Claribel or knew she
was there. A likely story,” added Tilly, rather indignantly, “that we
should make fun of any one for being lame.”

Mr. Hausen smiled in his turn.

“I begin to see through the mystery,” said he. “Tilly, you may go and
bring Bab here if you can find him.”

All waited in silence, the other girls glancing at each other and
trying to suppress their smiles, and Claribel feeling an uncomfortable
misgiving that she had been making herself ridiculous.

Presently, Tilly came back, carrying in her arms a big white and
brindled cat, which she set down on the floor.

Bab had once been a handsome animal of his kind, and was still plump
and in good condition, but by some unlucky accident he had lost one
forepaw and a large part of his tail, so that he presented a very
comical figure. Bab seemed no way displeased at finding himself the
object of so much attention. He limped about from one to another,
purring loudly; and at last coming to Claribel, and seeming to think
her in need of special sympathy, he jumped into her lap, and rubbed his
big head against her chin with a kind of cooing noise.

“Well, I declare! What a compliment!” said Tilly. “I never saw him go
to a stranger before. I guess he knows that Claribel likes cats; don’t
you, Claribel?”

Claribel murmured some inarticulate response as she bent her head down
and fondled the old cat. She saw through the whole mystery. Never in
all her life had she felt so ashamed of herself.

“You see how it was,” said Percy; “we always talk to Bab as though he
had sense, though I do think he has ‘less’ sense than any cat I ever
saw.”

“You always will say that, and I don’t think it is fair,” remarked
Fanny Morey; “anyhow, Claribel, we were talking to him, as Percy says,
and laughing at the notion of his reading to improve his mind. You
would have laughed too if you had seen him, he looked so wise. But it
was funny you should think we meant you.”

“Well, never mind,” said Mr. Hausen; “Claribel won’t think so again, I
am sure. There! Run away, all of you; and if Miss Van Ness can go with
you, you may take out the small boat and see how you can handle her.”

“Shall I leave Pussy?” asked Tilly.

“Yes, please,” answered Claribel. And then, making a heroic effort, she
added, “I am sorry I was so silly and made such a fuss; I won’t do it
again.”