‘I HAVE found your notes, Olive!’ said Miss Maynard, when she had closed the door.
The relief was so great that I burst into tears. ‘Oh, Miss Maynard,’ I said, ‘I thought mother must be dead!’
‘Poor child!’ she said. ‘I had no idea that such a thought would come into your mind. What made you think so?’
‘You looked so troubled, Miss Maynard,’ I answered; ‘and then you called for me.’
‘And you thought I must have bad news to give you. I see,’ she said. ‘No, dear; it is no bad news—at least, not for you. Look here!’
She took from her pocket a piece of paper and laid it before me. Yes, it was indeed my missing notes! The paper was crushed and crumpled, and one corner of it was burnt.
‘Where did you find it, please, Miss Maynard?’ I said, as soon as I could speak.
‘I caught it out of the fire, just as it was being burnt,’ she said sadly. ‘Can you guess the rest, Olive?’
‘No, ma’am,’ I answered, looking up in her face, for I was very much surprised indeed.
She looked more sorrowful and full of trouble than I had ever seen her look before,
‘Cannot you guess who put your notes in the fire?’
I did not like to speak the thought which flashed into my mind at that moment.
So she answered for me ‘Olive, it was Flora Morton. I came into the room just as she was doing it. She did not hear my step, and I was able to get behind her and to snatch the paper out of the fire. Oh, Olive, is it not sad?’ said Miss Maynard.
I did not speak, so she went on: ‘It seems Flora has been very anxious indeed to win a prize this term. Her father has promised her that if she takes home a prize at midsummer, he will reward her by taking her abroad, for a tour on the Continent. She quite hoped to be able to win the second science prize, but when you had more marks than she had for two weeks she thought her chance of the prize was gone, and a dreadful temptation came over her to destroy your notes, and thus to make sure of being before you again. Poor Flora, she does not love prayer, and she never asked for God’s help to withstand this wicked temptation, and so she fell.’
I felt very angry indeed with Flora Morton. What a bad, mean, wicked thing she had done! I thought I could never forgive her!
I did not speak, but I think Miss Maynard guessed my thoughts, for she went on to say—
‘I do not wonder that you feel it, Olive dear. You have been very badly treated, and much wronged. I can make no excuse for Flora; she has been guilty of a great sin both against God and against you. The discovery of it has been a terrible trouble to me, Olive. I feel very deeply grieved. I could never have thought Flora would have been guilty of such a disgraceful action. And yet, Olive,’ Miss Maynard went on, ‘badly as she has behaved to you, my dear child, you must pray for grace to forgive her. I was very much struck by the beautiful motto you have pinned over your bed: “What would Jesus do ?” Ask yourself that question, dear, and I am sure you will feel more grieved for poor Flora’s sin against God, than angry with her for her behaviour to yourself. “Father, forgive them!” Do you remember that prayer, Olive, and how they had treated Him then?’
‘Yes, Miss Maynard,’ I said, ‘I will try to “follow His steps;” mother said I was always to do that.’
‘And following His steps you cannot go wrong, dear child,’ she said, kissing me. ‘But now about Flora. I shall be obliged to send her away.’
‘Send her away, ma’am!’ I repeated.
‘Yes,’ said Miss Maynard. ‘I must not pass over such a dreadful thing as this. I must tell her tomorrow, before the whole school, that she must leave immediately.’
‘Oh, how dreadful for her!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes; but it is only right and just that she should be punished for her fault, and it would be very wrong for me to give any small punishment for such a grave offence as this.’
As Miss Maynard spoke, a wicked thought came into my mind. I thought what a good thing it was Flora was going away, for now I should be able to win several prizes, and it would be so nice to take them home with me at midsummer. But I was ashamed of that thought the next moment.
‘Oh, Miss Maynard,’ I said, ‘don’t send Flora away. Please try her again. I am sure she will never forget it, and will be very careful not to do anything like it again.’
‘I do not know what to do, Olive,’ said Miss Maynard in a very troubled voice. ‘I want to do what is right, and I feel that Flora deserves to be expelled, and yet I am very unwilling to send her home. She has no mother, poor girl, and her father is a very worldly man, and her remaining here seems her only chance of being led to think of her soul and of eternity. I do not know what to do; I hope God will give me wisdom to decide rightly!’
‘Oh, do let her stay, please, Miss Maynard’ I pleaded. ‘Please do let her stay!’
Miss Maynard was silent for some minutes, and sat looking into the fire deep in thought.
At last she said, ‘Olive, if I let Flora stay it must be for your sake, and because you have asked me. She has sinned against you, and you have suffered a great deal in consequence of her cruel conduct. You have been unjustly blamed and reproved, besides having the disappointment of losing your place in the class. As a favour to you, if you like to ask it, perhaps I might be able to let Flora have an opportunity of earning for herself a good character.’
‘I do ask it, Miss Maynard,’ I said. ‘I shall be so very grateful if you will let her stay!’
‘Very well, dear,’ she said, kissing me several times, ‘you have indeed acted out your motto. Now you may go upstairs, and tell Fiera what I have determined; she is already packing her clothes, and expects to leave Clinton toe sorrow. I wish you particularly to tell her, Olive,’ she added, as I was leaving the room, ‘that I have changed my mind simply because you have asked me to do so.’
I went upstairs, and found Flora sitting on the floor of her room, before a half-packed box, her eyes swollen with crying, and a look of utter wretchedness on her face. She turned away when she saw me, and began to cry again. I went up to her and put my arms round her neck.
But Flora drew herself away. ‘Oh, Olive, you don’t know about it,’ she said; ‘you would not kiss me if you did. I thought Miss Maynard would have told you.’
‘Yes, she has told me, Flora,’ I answered, ‘and she has sent me to tell you that you need not pack any more, for you are not going away.’
She turned round and looked at me in astonishment.
‘Not going away! Oh, Olive, can it be true?’
‘Yes, it is quite true,’ I said; ‘and Miss Maynard wished me to tell you that she has forgiven you because I asked her to do so.’
‘Oh, Olive, how could you?’ said Flora. ‘If I had been you I could never have done such a thing. Oh, Olive, how good of you!’
I have not time to write all she said, but I know that she was very grateful. And I know, too, that from that day she has been like a different girl. She was very much humbled and ashamed when she came amongst the girls again, and they have never waited on her or spoilt her since. I do not think she would have let them do so. And I also know that I have not a warmer friend in the whole school, or one who is more ready to do anything and everything she can to please me, than Flora Morton.