CHAPTER IX
A REAL ADVENTURE
When at last she stood on the stone steps of the schoolhouse, hercourage returned, and, without hesitation, she thrust the key in thelock of the door.
It turned with a harsh, grating sound, and the little girl's heart beatrapidly as she pushed open the heavy door. The hall was as black as adungeon, but by groping around she found the banister rail, and so madeher way upstairs.
Her resolution was undaunted, but the awful silence of the empty, darkplace struck a chill to her heart. She ran up the stairs, and tried tosing in order to break that oppressive silence. But her voice soundedqueer and trembly, and it made echoes that were worse than no sound atall.
She had to go up two flights of stairs, and as she reached the top ofthe second flight she was near her own classroom. As she turned thedoorknob, the street door, downstairs, which she had left open, suddenlyslammed shut with a loud bang. The sound reverberated through thebuilding, and Midget stood still, shaking with an unconquerable nervousdread. She didn't know whether the door blew shut or had been slammed toby some person. She no longer pretended to herself that she was notfrightened, for she was.
"I know I'm silly," she thought, as two big tears rolled down hercheeks, "but if I can just get that book, and get out of here, won't Irun for home!"
Feeling her way, she stumbled into the classroom. A faint light came infrom the street, but not enough to allow her to distinguish objectsclearly. Indeed, it cast such wavering, ghostly shadows that the totaldarkness was preferable.
Counting the desks as she went along, she came at last to her own, andfelt around in it for her speller.
"There you are!" she exclaimed, triumphantly, as she clutched the book.And somehow the feeling of the familiar volume took away some of theloneliness.
But her trembling fingers let her desk-cover fall with another of thoseresounding, reechoing slams that no one can appreciate who has not heardthem under similar circumstances.
By this time Marjorie was thoroughly frightened, though she herselfcould not have told what she was afraid of. Grasping the preciousspeller, she started, with but one idea in her mind,--to get downstairsand out of that awful building as quickly as possible.
She groped carefully for the newel-post, for going down was moredangerous than coming up, and she feared she might fall headlong.
Safely started, however, she almost ran downstairs, and reached theground floor, only to find the front door had a spring-lock, which hadfastened itself when the door banged shut.
Marjorie's heart sank within her when she realized that she was lockedin the schoolhouse.
She thought of the key, but she had stupidly left that on the outside ofthe door.
"But anyway," she thought, "I don't believe you have to have a key onthe inside. You don't to our front door at home. You only have to pullback a little brass knob."
The thought of home made a lump come into poor Marjorie's throat, andthe tears came plentifully as she fumbled vainly about the lock of thedoor.
"Oh, dear," she said to herself, "just s'pose I have to stay here allnight. I _won't_ go upstairs again. I'll sit on the steps and wait tillmorning."
But at last something gave way, the latch flew up, and Marjorie swungthe big door open, and felt the cool night air on her face once more.
It was very dark, but she didn't mind that, now that she was releasedfrom her prison, and, after making sure that the door was securelyfastened, she put the key safely in her pocket, and started off towardhome.
The church clock struck eight just as she reached her own door, and shecould hardly believe she had made her whole trip in less than an hour.It seemed as if she had spent a whole night alone in the schoolhouse.She rang the bell, and in a moment Sarah opened the door.
"Why, Miss Marjorie, wherever have you been?" cried the astonished maid."I thought you was up in your own room."
"I've been out on an errand, Sarah," answered Midge, with great dignity.
"An errand, is it? At this time o' night! I'm surprised at ye, MissMarjorie, cuttin' up tricks just because the folks is away."
"Hello, Mopsy!" cried Kingdon, jumping downstairs three at a time. "Whathave you been up to now, I'd like to know."
"Nothing much," said Marjorie, gaily. Her spirits had risen since shefound herself once again in her safe, warm, light home. "Don't bother menow, King; I want to study."
"Mother'll study you when she knows that you've been out walking aloneat night."
"I don't want you to tell her, King, because I want to tell her myself."
"All right, Midge. I know it's all right, only I think you might tellme."
"Well, I will," said Midget, in a sudden burst of confidence.
Sarah had left the room, so Marjorie told King all about her adventure.
The boy looked at her with mingled admiration and amazement.
"You do beat all, Mopsy!" he said. "It was right down plucky of you,but you ought not to have done it. Why didn't you wait till I came home,and I would have gone for you."
"I didn't mean to go, you know, at first. I just went all of a sudden,after I had really started to come home. I don't think Mother'll mind,when I explain it to her."
"You don't, hey? Well, just you wait and see!"
It was not easy to settle down to studying the speller, after such anexciting adventure to get it, but Marjorie determinedly set to work, andstudied diligently till nine o'clock, and then went to bed.
Next morning her father awakened her at an early hour, and a littlebefore seven father and daughter were seated at a cozy little_tete-a-tete_ breakfast.
At the table Marjorie gave her father a full description of herexperiences of the night before.
Mr. Maynard listened gravely to the whole recital.
"My dear child," he said, when she finished the tale, "you did a verywrong thing, and I must say I think you should have known better."
"But I didn't think it was wrong, Father."
"I know you didn't, dearie; but you surely know that you're not allowedout alone at night."
"Yes; but this was such a very unusual occasion, I thought you'd excuseit. And, besides King was out at night."
"But he's a boy, and he's two years older than you are, and then he hadour permission to go."
"That's just it, Father. I felt sure if you had known all about it, youwould have given me permission. I was going to telephone and ask you ifI might go to Mr. Cobb's, and then I thought it would interrupt thedinner party. And I didn't think you'd mind my running around to Mr.Cobb's. You know when I went there, I never thought of going to theschoolhouse last night."
"How did you come to think of it?"
"Why, I wanted my speller so much, and when I saw the schoolhouse roofsticking up above the trees, it made me think I could just as well runover there then, and so have my book at once."
"And you had no qualms of conscience that made you feel you were doingsomething wrong?"
"No, Father," said Marjorie, lifting her clear, honest eyes to his. "Ithought I was cowardly to be so afraid of the dark. But I knew it wasn'tmischief, and I didn't think it was wrong. Why was it wrong?"
"I'm not sure I can explain, if you don't see it for yourself. But it isnot right to go alone to a place where there may be unseen or unknowndangers."
"But, Father, in our own schoolhouse? Where we go every day? What harmcould be there?"
"My child, it is not right for any one to go into an untenantedbuilding, alone, in the dark. And especially it is not right for alittle girl of twelve. Now, whether you understand this or not, you mustremember it, and _never_ do such a thing again."
"Oh, Father, indeed I'll never forget that old speller again."
"No; next time you'll do some other ridiculous, unexpected thing, andthen say, 'I didn't know it was wrong.' Marjorie, you don't seem to havegood common-sense about these things."
"That's what grandma used to say," said Midge, cheerfully. "PerhapsI'll learn, as I grow up, Father
."
"I hope you will, my dear. And now, I'm not going to punish you for thisperformance, for I see you honestly meant no wrong, but I do positivelyforbid you to go out alone after dark without permission; no matter_what_ may be the exceptional occasion. Will you remember that?"
"Yes, indeed! That isn't hard to remember. And I've never wanted tobefore, and I don't believe I'll ever want to again, until I'm grown up.Do you?"
"You're a funny child, Midget," said her father, looking at herquizzically. "But, do you know, I rather like you; and I suppose you getyour spirit of adventure and daring from me. Your Mother is most timidand conventional. What do you s'pose she'll say to all this, Mopsymine?"
"Why, as you think it was wrong, I s'pose she'll think so, too. I just_can't_ make it seem wrong, myself, but as you say it was, why, ofcourse it must have been, and I promise never to do it again. Now, ifyou've finished your coffee, shall we begin to spell?"
"Yes, come on. Since you have the book, we must make the most of ourtime."
An hour of hard work followed. Mr. Maynard drilled Marjorie over andover on the most difficult words, and reviewed the back lessons, untilhe said he believed she could spell down Noah Webster himself.
"And you must admit, Father," said Marjorie, as they closed the book atlast, "that it's a good thing I did get my speller last night, for I hada whole hour's study on it, and besides I didn't have to go over therefor it this morning."
"It would have been a better thing, my child, if you had remembered itin the first place."
"Oh, yes, of course. But that was a mistake. I suppose everybody makesmistakes sometimes."
"I suppose they do. The proper thing is to learn by our mistakes what isright and what is wrong. Now the next time you are moved to do anythingas unusual as that, ask some one who knows, whether you'd better do itor not. Now, here's Mother, we'll put the case to her."
In a few words, Mr. Maynard told his wife about Marjorie's escapade.
"My little girl!" cried Mrs. Maynard, catching Marjorie in her arms."Why, Midget, darling, how _could_ you do such a dreadful thing? Oh,thank Heaven, I have you safe at home again!"
Marjorie stared. Here was a new view of the case. Her mother seemed tothink that she had been in danger rather than in mischief.
"Oh," went on Mrs. Maynard, still shuddering, "my precious child, alonein that great empty building!"
"Why, Mother," said Marjorie, kissing her tears away, "that was just it.An empty building couldn't hurt me! Do you think I was naughty?"
"Oh, I don't know whether you were naughty, or not; I'm so glad to haveyou safe and sound in my arms."
"I'll never do it again, Mother."
"Do it again? Well, I rather think you won't! I shall never leave youalone again. I felt all the time I oughtn't to go off and leave youchildren last night."
"Nonsense, my dear," said Mr. Maynard, "the children must be taughtself-reliance. But we'll talk this matter over some other time.Marjorie, you'll be late to school if you're not careful. And listen tome, my child. I don't want you to tell any one of what you did lastevening. It is something that it is better to keep quiet about. Do youunderstand? This is a positive command. Don't ask me why, just promiseto say nothing about it to your playmates or any one. No one knows of itat present, but your mother, Kingdon, and myself. I prefer that no oneelse should know. Will you remember this?"
"Yes, Father; can't I just tell Gladys?"
Mr. Maynard smiled.
"Marjorie, you are impossible!" he said. "Now, listen! I said tell _noone_! Is Gladys any one?"
"Yes, Father, she is."
"Very well, then don't tell her. Tell no one at all. Promise me."
"I promise," said Midget, earnestly, and then she kissed her parents andran away to school.
Kingdon had also been bidden not to tell of Marjorie's escapade, and soit was never heard of outside the family.
When it was time for the spelling-match, Marjorie put away her books,and sat waiting, with folded arms and a smiling face.
Miss Lawrence was surprised, for the child usually was worried andanxious in spelling class.
Two captains were chosen, and these two selected the pupils, one by one,to be their aids.
Marjorie was never chosen until toward the last, for though everybodyloved her, yet her inability to spell was known by all, and she was nota desirable assistant in a match.
But at last her name was called, and she demurely took her place nearthe foot of the line on one side.
Gladys was on the other side, near the head. She was a good speller, andrarely made a mistake.
Miss Lawrence began to give out the words, and the children spelled awayblithely. Now and then one would miss and another would go above.
To everybody's surprise, Marjorie began to work her way up toward thehead of her line. She spelled correctly words that the others missed,and with a happy smile went along up the line.
At last the "spelling down" began. This meant that whoever missed a wordmust go to his seat, leaving only those standing who did not miss anyword.
One by one the crestfallen unsuccessful ones went to their seats, and,to the amazement of all, Marjorie remained standing. At last, there werebut six left in the match.
"Macaroni," said Miss Lawrence.
"M-a-c-c-a-r-o-n-i," said Jack Norton, and regretfully Miss Lawrencetold him he must sit down.
Three more spelled the word wrongly, and then it was Marjorie's turn:
"M-a-c-a-r-o-n-i," said she, triumphantly, remembering her father'sremark that there were no double letters in it.
Miss Lawrence looked astounded. Now there were left only Marjorie andGladys, one on either side of the room. It was an unfortunate situation,for so fond were the girls of each other that each would almost ratherfail herself than to have her friend fail.
On they went, spelling the words as fast as Miss Lawrence couldpronounce them.
Finally she gave Gladys the word "weird."
It was a hard word, and one often misspelled by people much older andwiser than these children.
"W-i-e-r-d," said Gladys, in a confident tone.
"Next," said Miss Lawrence, with a sympathetic look at Gladys.
"W-e-i-r-d," said Marjorie, slowly. Her father had drilled her carefullyon this word, bidding her remember that it began with two pronouns: thatis, we followed by I. Often by such verbal tricks as this he fastenedthe letters in Marjorie's mind.
The match was over, and Marjorie had won, for the first time in herlife.
Gladys was truly pleased, for she would rather have lost to Marjoriethan any one else, and Miss Lawrence was delighted, though mystified.
"I won! I won!" cried Marjorie, as she ran into the house and found hermother. "Oh, Mother, I won the spelling-match! _Now_, aren't you glad Iwent after my book?"
"I'm glad you won, dearie; but hereafter I want you to stick tocivilized behavior."
"I will, Mother! I truly will. I'm so glad I won the match, I'll stickto anything you say."
"Well, my girlie, just try to do what you think Mother wants you to, andtry not to make mistakes."
Marjorie's Busy Days Page 9