Chapter V: Frank's Trouble

IN a few moments, Lionel, who had been sent away by the teacher, returned with the Squire's horse; and May, assisted by her brother and Annie, passed through the school-room to the front hall.

"Drive slowly," urged Mr. Monks, "and ask your mother to give her some ammonia. You can return or not, as you please. No marks for absence will be given to either of you."

Lionel started, when he saw May looking so pale and wan. "For the first time," he reflected, "I may be mistaken. Frank certainly does not look nor act like a thief."

Poor May laid her head on her brother's shoulder with a heavy sigh. Their usual path across the field shortened the distance by one half. Now they were obliged to take the road, and for a few minutes, neither of them spoke. At last May murmured:

"Only this morning, I was so happy."

"Sis," exclaimed Frank, as if he could no longer control himself, "if it wasn't for you and mother, I'd never go near that school again. I'd run off and go to sea, or somewhere. I never can live here where they think me a thief."

"Oh, sis! and Lionel too! Why I have helped him to keep his place in the class by going over his lessons with him for a year. He knows I didn't take the chain. He does it out of envy, because; though I'm younger, I'm always above him."

He spoke bitterly, and poor May, who had been silently weeping, said softly:

"Don't, Frank; don't feel so. I'm sure it isn't right. There's mother at the window. She'll feel badly enough."

Mrs. Monks ran to the door to see what brought them home; and Ida held out her arms to Frank begging to be taken to ride.

For almost the first time in his life, he took no notice of her pleading voice. He hardened himself by thinking:

"Perhaps Mrs. Monks thinks I stole the chain."

He merely told his mother that May had fainted in the school, and the teacher sent them home. Then jumping into the buggy, he rode away.

In the mean time, Mr. Monks returned to the recitation room and shut the door.

"Shall I tell them of my own experience?" he asked himself. "Can I open again the wound? They need a warning as to the danger of thinking evil of those about them. A lesson on charity would have double force now. But I cannot; no, such a confession is not required."

"Yet how can I see that noble boy and his tender, loving, pure-hearted sister sacrificed. How bravely he bore up, till he saw her overcome! From the moment he took his seat, I observed the marks of keen suffering on his open countenance. Yes, I will; I will confess my sin, my want of charity. For their sake, and as a warning to all my scholars, I feel that I can do it."

When he returned to the school-room, the scholars started to see what a pallor had taken the place of his usual ruddy color. He made not the slightest allusion to what had passed, but called up one class after another, hearing their recitations, and giving them their marks without a smile. Only when Annie Ross stood by his side, he gazed in her face a moment, put his hand gravely on her head, and repeated, as if to himself:

"'Faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.'"

The moment school was dismissed, the pupils rushed into the yard, where they could discuss the subject which occupied their thoughts.

"What made May faint? Why didn't Frank return to his class? He had never been known to be absent before."

Little Annie was questioned over and over again, until she answered:

"The sobbing made her head ache dreadfully."

"But what was she crying for?"

"You know what made her cry, Sophy Lane. You'd cry yourself, if anybody talked about your brother. I was awfully frightened; I thought she was dead. Frank cried, too, when he saw how she looked."

"Frank cried!" exclaimed one of the large boys. "That's a good joke. I thought he was even stiffer than usual. Ha, ha! He'll have to come down off his high horse, a thief and cry baby."

"Boys!" cried out a loud, authoritative voice. "It is my request that you suspend all comment or judgment on Frank Jocelyn until to-morrow."