It was in the midst of morning lessons at the school that an odd thing happened. The day was very hot; not a breath of wind came in at the open doors and windows-nothing but the blazing sunlight that lay in hot patches on the floor, and slowly baked blackboards, and slates, and desks.
A very small shadow fell just inside the entrance door at the far end of the room, and a timid knock sounded there. Nobody said "Come in," though a hundred and fifty pairs of eyes went in the direction with the swiftness natural to gratitude for any break in the lesson. Then there stepped over the threshold a little, slight girl-a little girl with a short holland frock, a great sun-hat, and no gloves; a little girl with a white, small face, great frightened eyes shining strangely, and soft lips very tightly closed. Up the long, long room she went, both little hands held tightly together in front of her. No one could tell from the way she walked how her poor little knees were shaking and her poor little heart was beating.
For a minute, Mr. Burnham"s frown did not disappear- not till he noticed how white her face was. " What is it, little girl?" he said, and really thought that he made his voicequite gentle, though to Poppet it sounded terrible. "I--," she said, "you--." Something rose in her throat; her face grew even whiter, and her lips, white too, twitched a little; but the words would not come.
He took her hand-the little, trembling, shut, brown hand-and held it between his own. " There is nothing to be afraid of, my child; tell me what it is you want !" He drew her closer to the desk, and sat down. " Bunty didn"t do it," she said in a whisper. "Eh? what?" he said. "He didn"t do it-Bunty didn"t do it-oh, indeed !""But who is Bunty? And who are you, my little maid?" Mr. Burnham said, with a smile that lit up his thoughtful eyes. "He"s my brother," she said, in a voice that had gained a little strength. Then it struck her Bunty was not so called at school. "His name"s John Woolcot," she added with down cast eyes; "I"m Poppet."Then Mr. Burnham remembered everything, and his eyes grew stern as he thought of the boy who had given so much trouble; but they softened as they fell again on the little white, eager face. "And his little sister is taking up his cudgels; thankless work, I"m afraid-eh?" he said.
Poppet was calm now-the worst was over, and she had actually gained the dread master"s ear; she must make the most of her time. "Won"t you believe him?" she said; " indeed, he didn"t do it- oh, indeed!" "What?" he asked; "break the window-tell a lie-anything? Why, my little child, he owned to it."" Yes," said Poppet; "he broke the glass, I know; and, yes, he did tell one story." Her face fell after the last sentence, and a little red crept into her cheek. "But he didn"t take the money-Oh no, no! Oh, Bunty wouldn"t be a thief-oh, not for anything and anything-oh, indeed !"The boys were staring at the little, white-faced girl at the master"s desk, though they could not hear what was being said. "Would you like to come and talk to me privately?" Mr. Burnham said. An "Oh!" was Poppet"s only answer; but the gratitude in her eyes was so intense that he guessed a little what the ordeal had been to her.
Away down the long room she went again, only this time her hand was being held in a firm, kindly grasp. "Oh!" she said again, when near the door a great, slouching fellow with a big head moved to help another boy with a blackboard.
"What?" said Mr. Burnham, when they were outside; he had noticed her interest. " Was that Bull-dog Hawkins-the fellow that told?" she said. He smiled somewhat; Hawkins was not a favourite of his, and the fitting name sounded odd on the little girl"s lips.
"His name is Hawkins," he said, "and, yes, he gave the information; but that has nothing to do with it, my child. Now, tell me what it is you have to say." He had taken her into the little room, the walls of which were lined with books; he drew up a chair for himself and one for her, butshe chose to stand against his knee.
Almost she convinced him, so great was the belief in her shining eyes, so utterly unshaken her trust. She told him everything; and he listened with attention even to the smallest detail, asking a question here and there, but, for the most part, letting her tell her story in her own way.
"If only he had never told a lie before," he said, "then perhaps-." Oh, if only she could have flung back her head, and said, "He has never told a lie in his life, sir; never- never!" Shame at not being able to do so made the dear, curly head droop a little; and two more tears forced their way under her eyelids, and fell sadly down her cheek.
"I"m sure he never will again," with sorrowful hopefulness. "But, oh, sir, he couldn"t be a thief! Oh, how could he?" "Well, I don"t see how he could be altogether bad with such a sister," Mr. Burnham said slowly. " What sort of boy is he at home? Is he good to you?""Oh, yes," said Poppet; "Oh, yes, indeed!"
And it is a fact that not a single act that disproved this came to the little girl"s mind. She remembered nothing but the times he had been good to her.
Such a flushed little eager face it was now-such a fluent little tongue that told of Bunty"s goodness! The child"s beautiful trust, affection, and courage had quite touched the master"s heart. He took a bunch of keys from his pocket.
"You are a dear, brave little girl, Poppet," he said. "Bythe way, haven"t you a prettier name than that?" "Oh, it"s Winifred, of course, really," said Poppet.
"Something in a name," he said, half to himself. Then aloud: "Well then, Winifred, just because you have believed in your brother, and done this for him, I am going to reward you in the way I know will gladden you most." He unlocked a tin box on the table, and counted out five sovereigns, while the surprise in Poppet"s eyes deepened every minute. "Have you a purse?" he said.
"No," she said in a very low tone. It made her feel fit to cry to think he should give her money, such a large, beautiful amount, for doing this. "Because I want you to give this to your father," he continued, "and tell him I have had reason to doubt whether John was guilty, and, until I am perfectly sure, it is not fair to the lad to take it."How Poppet"s eyes shone! How her lips smiled and quivered ! And how the glad warm colour rushed all over her little, sweet face ! Not a word of thanks she said, and he would not have had it; only she clung very tightly to his arm for a minute, and hid her face. When he saw it, he felt he had had more than thanks.
And that was not all he did. He took her back with him to the schoolroom, and walked up to the raised platform, holding her hand all the time. "Boys," he said, in his clear, far-reaching voice, "I have reason to believe that John Woolcot is not guilty of the theft that you have all heard of. Iwish you to give him the benefit of the doubt, since he is nothere to clear himself. For my part, I believe him innocent."How the boys cheered! It was not that Bunty was a general favourite, though he had his own friends; but they felt it was expected of them, and it was another break in a to be able to do so. Besides, they felt a vague pity and admiration for the little girl standing there, with such a smiling, tear-wet face.
After that, Mr. Burnham took her all the way home himself. Her elder sisters went into the drawing-room to see him, and Poppet slipped away. He told them what the child had done, and praised her high courage and simple faith. " If," he said, as he took his leave, " if all boys had such sisters as little Poppet is, my school would be a better place, and later, the world."- Ethel Turner
Author.-Ethel Turner (Mrs. H. B. Curlewis), an Australian writer, born in Yorkshire in 1872. Came to Australia in 1881; educated at the Girls" High School, Sydney. She has published many books, among the best known of which are Seven Little Australians, The Family at Misrule, The Little Larrikin, Miss Bobbie, Three Little Maids, and Little Mother Meg.
General Notes.-List the characters in this story and put a briefdescription against each. What evidences did Poppet give of trust, affection, and courage? Why did the boys cheer?
Make a play from this story.
