Disabled veterans -- United States -- Fiction; Social change -- Fiction
"Why do you seem to have all these writings addressed to you?"
"I didn't get any more than any other girl. But I wasn't afraid to
keep mine."
"Do you know where these verses came from, before Helen had them?"
"Yes, Miss Hill."
"Then you know who wrote them?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I won't tell," replied Rose, deliberately. She looked straight into
her teacher's eyes.
"You refuse when I've assured you I'll be lenient?" demanded Miss
Hill.
"I'm no tattletale." Rose's answer was sullen.
"Rose, I ask you again. A great deal depends on your answer. Will you
tell me?"
The girl's lip curled. Then she laughed in a way that made Miss Hill
think of her as older. But she kept silent.
"Rose, you're expelled until further notice." Miss Hill's voice
trembled with disappointment and anger. "You may go now."
Rose gathered up her books and went into the cloakroom. The door in
the outer hall opened and closed.
"Miss Hill, it wasn't fair!" exclaimed Bessy Bell, hotly. "It wasn't
fair. Rose is no worse than the other girls. She's not as bad, for she
isn't sly and deceitful. There were a dozen girls who lied when they
went out. Helen lied. Ruth lied. Gail lied. But Rose told the truth so
far as she went. And she wouldn't tell all because she wanted to
shield me."
"Why did she want to shield you?"
"Because I wrote the verses."
"You mean you copied them?"
"I composed them," Bessy replied coolly. Her blue eyes fearlessly met
Miss Hill's gaze.
"Bessy Bell!" ejaculated the teacher.
The girl stood before her desk and from the tip of her dainty boot to
the crown of her golden hair breathed forth a strange, wilful and
rebellious fire.
Miss Hill's lips framed to ask a certain question of Bessy, but she
refrained and substituted another.
"Bessy, how old are you?"
"Fifteen last April."
"Have you any intelligent idea of--do you know--Bessy, _how_ did you
write those verses?" asked Miss Hill, in bewilderment.
"I know a good deal and I've imagination," replied Bessy, candidly.
"That's evident," returned the teacher. "How long has this note-and
verse-writing been going on?"
"For a year, at least, among us."
"Then you caught the habit from girls gone higher up?"
"Certainly."
Bessy's trenchant brevity was not lost upon Miss Hill.
"We've always gotten along--you and I," said Miss Hill, feeling her
way with this strange girl.
"It's because you're kind and square, and I like you."
Something told the teacher she had never been paid a higher
compliment.
"Bessy, how much will you tell me?"
"Miss Hill, I'm in for it and I'll tell you everything, if only you
won't punish Rose," replied the girl, impulsively. "Rose's my best
friend. Her father's a mean, drunken brute. I'm afraid of what he'll
do if he finds out. Rose has a hard time."
"You say Rose is no more guilty than the other girls?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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