CHAPTER XVI.

LIES OF AUTHORSHIP.

SOME of the young misses had noticed Miss Salsbury's displeasure when one of the compositions was read, and wondered at the cause. They did not have to wait long for an explanation. The next morning, just before the preceptress struck the bell for school to be dismissed, she said,—

"Young ladies, I would like your attention for a few moments. Yesterday, among the compositions I noticed one which sounded strangely familiar. I at once examined the private mark by which I identify the writings of each of my pupils, and immediately after the close of the session, I took a book from my library and compared the two. They were precisely alike. Not a comma or semicolon wanting in one which was not in the other. You may imagine my surprise and displeasure when I found that I had one scholar who could thus be guilty of a lie of plagiarism, in attempting a composition on the sin of lying.

"I will not at present expose the young lady, whose punishment I have not yet decided upon. As for the rest of you, the consciousness that you have been guilty of no wrong in this respect will uphold you under the common blame which the sin of one of your number has caused you to bear. This crime is as truly a sin as any other lie. The scholar here virtually says to her teachers and schoolmates, 'These are my thoughts and opinions,' when she has been guilty of the meanness of stealing them from others.

"I remember once," added the lady, "of travelling in a stage-coach, when one of the company produced a book to while away the tedious hours of travel. It was a work which had been published anonymously, and had by its merit caused quite an excitement in the reading public.

"'Ah,' exclaimed one lady present, 'you have the new work I see. May I ask you how you like it?'

"I noticed that another lady in the corner seemed greatly confused by this remark; and when the one addressed replied that she greatly admired it, remarked,—

"'You do me too much honor.'

"This of course was as much as saying to the company that she was the author of the book; and from that moment every one of them regarded her with great interest.

"In due time, I reached the end of my journey, and found my friend had invited a large party to do honor to the author of the new work. I entertained not a doubt but I should meet my acquaintance of the stage-coach. Imagine my surprise when I was led forward by my hostess to a seat in the corner, where sat a youthful matron, blushing at the attention paid her, and begging my friend to allow the fact of her being an author to remain, at least for the present, a profound secret.

"In great distress for the truthfulness of my stage companion, I withdrew my friend to another room, and asked her what ground she had for believing Mrs. Gordon, the lady present, to be the author.

"'The very best of reasons,' she said, smiling: 'I read the work in manuscript, and subscribed for a dozen copies of the first edition, before I could persuade my modest friend that the public would regard her work with favor.'

"Now, I ask you, young ladies, what is your opinion of the traveller, who, by her manner, led her companions to believe her the author?"

"It was mean!" "I should die of shame!" "She was guilty of a wicked lie!" exclaimed one and another from different parts of the school.

"And is not that young lady equally guilty who appropriates the words and thoughts of another, and claims them as her own?"

"She is. I'm glad I didn't do it," "And I'm glad," was the echoed response.

"Young ladies," said the preceptress, "before you are dismissed, I have only to add the inspired words, 'These six things doth the Lord hate, yea seven are an abomination to him: a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief; a false witness that speaketh lies, and him that soweth discord among brethren.'"

For the next fortnight, there was great curiosity among the scholars to know who was the guilty individual referred to; but as Miss Salsbury maintained the most profound silence on the subject, nothing certain could be learned. Several times when the topic was mentioned in the presence of Alice, a contemptuous curl of the lips was her only answer. By this time, however, her sentiments on ethics were pretty well-known, and shrewd conjectures began to be whispered about as to the author of the plagiarism.

Alice found the moral atmosphere of Miss Salsbury's establishment so entirely uncongenial that she would, long ere this, have resorted to some method of leaving, had it not been for private plans which could not be carried out if she were removed to another school.

She had so far conducted herself with the strictest regard to propriety while in her own room, and Miss Farley, her room-mate, though often questioned by her aunt, answered most favorably of the new scholar. But there were methods by which she disobeyed the rules and evaded the laws which her teachers dreamed not of. Neither did they imagine what an influence for evil this heartless, deceitful girl was constantly exercising over one of her young companions.

Ella Morris was a girl of only thirteen years, warm and ardent in temperament, of generous noble impulses, but easily influenced by those she loved. When Alice first entered the school, Ella regarded her with admiration. Miss Saunders's beauty and style were her constant theme out of study hours. The least notice from the handsome stranger was reported to her companions with emotions of pride and pleasure.

Ella had a brother in Dr. Bowles's school who called upon her soon after Alice's first appearance at church. Ned Morris told his sisters to invite Miss Saunders to the parlor, as he wished to be introduced to her. He was a tall youth of eighteen years, with small, effeminate features, going among his companions by the name of "Our Dandy." He was good-natured to a proverb, with a weak mind, but entirely moral in his character. He had been dazzled by Alice's beauty, and now was just shallow enough to imagine her as intelligent as she was lovely in person. Even during that first interview, he had to put a constant constraint on himself to keep from betraying his warm admiration.

After this, Ella had no need to complain of want of attention from her brother. He was constantly sending her notes with presents of oranges, figs, or pine-apples,—all of which he directed her to share with her new friend.

The little girl was almost intoxicated with delight at the praises bestowed upon her by her new friend, until Alice, who one day heard her boasting of some favors, cautioned her not to do so, lest others of her companions should expect the same notice.

After a few weeks, a small perfumed envelope came, enclosed in Ella's letter from her brother, directed to Miss Saunders. Alice would not yet trust the sister sufficiently to confide an answer to her care, but dropped a sentimental epistle into the office with her own hand. After this, the correspondence became very frequent, sometimes Ella's letters and sometimes the mail being the medium of communication between the friends.

Alice now found the benefit of having liberty for early walks;—indeed, it was this very reason that had induced her to write her father to intercede for that privilege with the preceptress. Every morning she was up and dressed before many in the household were awake, and met by appointment Ned Morris, when they walked and talked together.

At last the frequency of Ella's letters and her brother's unusual devotion to her interests began to excite suspicion; and one of the under teachers reported to the preceptress that when Mr. Morris called, he always asked for Miss Saunders to play to him.

The same evening, Miss Salsbury summoned Ella to her private parlor, and made careful inquiries whether there was any correspondence between her brother and any of the scholars.

Alice had already anticipated this question, and bade Ella, as she valued her friendship, never to reveal anything that she knew or suspected on the subject; so that the child at once denied any knowledge of such letters.

But the evils attending wicked companionship had only just commenced. Before this, Ella, though sometimes equivocating, had not told a downright falsehood since she came to the school. Now, unless she would criminate herself, she was obliged often to repeat the sin. From being a merry, contented child, she soon became peevish and ill-tempered. Alice was obliged to employ all her arts of fascination to retain what she considered necessary influence over her.

Through other young gentlemen from Dr. Bowles's seminary, who visited their sisters, the story of Ned Morris's admiration for Miss Saunders began to be circulated through the school, and at last reached the ears of the preceptress.

Summoning Alice to her parlor, she put the question directly to her:

"Are you acquainted with young Morris?"

"Slightly," answered the young girl, in the most indifferent tone. "I was passing the hall door when Ella met me going out with her brother and introduced him; but I was in haste and did not stop long."

"And how many times have you seen him since?"

The lady gazed searchingly in her pupil's face, but could detect nothing to induce the suspicion that the young miss was trying to deceive.

"Really," said she, with a smile, "I cannot remember, as I did not consider it a circumstance of any importance. I suppose I may have seen him four or five times."

"I do not ask the questions from curiosity," added the teacher, "but because your father placed you in my care, telling me that you were a motherless child, and needed special watching. You are well aware that the rules of my school absolutely forbid all correspondence, or special attention even, between my pupils and those connected with Dr. Bowles's seminary. Have you ever violated these rules?"

"Never to my knowledge," was the unhesitating reply.

"I heard a rumor of a communication to you through his sister," said the lady.

"I have not received any such. If Ella knows of a communication, she has not delivered it to me."

"I am relieved to know that such is the fact. Both you and the young gentleman are far too young to form any attachment at present."

In recalling this interview at a later hour, Alice did not feel one qualm of conscience in regard to the dreadful untruths of which she had been guilty; but she was somewhat vexed that anything should have excited the suspicion of the teachers, as now it would be more difficult to evade them.

That very evening, she wrote a note to Mr. Morris, begging him to be more careful what he said of her, and consenting to ride with him the next afternoon which was a half-holiday.

Throwing a veil over her head, she stole softly out to the garden to a place in the hedge accessible from the street, where of late she had placed her letters.

Miss Salsbury acknowledged to her niece that she felt much easier after her interview with Alice, who appeared wholly indifferent to the admiration of Mr. Morris, if indeed any such feelings existed. She even owned that she had been prejudiced against the young lady ever since the affair of the composition; but Alice had explained that, if not to her satisfaction, at least so as to prove that she might have been guilty of such a plagiarism without understanding that it was improper.

It was true that soon after the event occurred, Alice was summoned to account for her misdemeanor. She told the preceptress that in Mrs. Lerow's school, the young ladies all made selections from favorite authors; that the teachers were not only aware of it, but often referred them to particular passages when they found it difficult to select for themselves. This, like most of her other statements, since her arrival at the seminary, was wholly false.

When the teacher explained the deception, she thanked the lady warmly and declared she would never be guilty of copying again.