The Rebel of the School | Page 3

me," said Alice, frowning; "and don't say 'Miss Tennant,'
It isn't good form in our school. I hope you will be better to-morrow. I
am sure, at least, that you will like the school very much."
"Thank you," said the girl again.
The girls parted at the next corner. When Ruth found herself alone she
paused and looked behind her. Tears rose to her eyes; she took out her
handkerchief to wipe them away. She paused as if troubled by some
thought; then her face grew bright, and she stepped along more briskly.
"I am a coward, and I ought to be ashamed of myself," she thought.

"Now, when I go in and grandfather sees me, he will think he has done
quite wrong to let me go to the Shirley School. I must not let him think
that. And granny will be still more vexed. I have had my heart's desire,
and because things are not quite so pleasant as I hoped they would have
been, it is no reason why I should be discontented."
The next moment she had lifted the latch at a small cottage and entered.
It was a little better than a workman's house, but not much; there were
two rooms downstairs and two rooms upstairs, and that was all. To the
front of the little house was the tiny parlour, at the back an equally tiny
kitchen. Upstairs was a bedroom for Ruth and a bedroom for her
grandparents. Mr. and Mrs. Craven did not keep any servants. The
moment Ruth entered now her grandmother put her head out of the
kitchen door.
"Ruthie," she said, "the butcher has disappointed us to-day. Here is a
shilling; go to the shop and bring in some sausages. Be as quick as you
can, child, or your grandfather won't have his supper in time."
Ruth took the money without a word. She went down a small lane,
turned to her right, and found herself in a mean little street full of small
shops. She entered one that she knew, and asked for a pound and a half
of pork sausages. As the woman was wrapping them up in a piece of
torn newspaper, she looked at Ruth and said:
"Is it true, Miss Craven, that you are a scholar at the Great Shirley
School?"
"I am," replied Ruth. "I went there for the first time to-day."
"So your grandparents are going to educate you, miss, as if you were a
lady."
"I am a lady, Mrs. Plowden. My grandparents cannot make me
anything but what I am."
Mrs. Plowden smiled. She handed Ruth her sausages without a word,
and the young girl left the shop. Her grandmother was waiting for her

in the porch.
"What a time you have been, child!" she said. "I do hope this new
school and the scholars and all this fuss and excitement of your new
life won't turn your head. Whatever happens, you have got to be a little
servant to me and a little messenger to your grandfather. You have got
to make yourself useful, and not to have ideas beyond your station."
"Here are the sausages, granny," answered Ruth in a gentle tone.
The old lady took them from her and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Ruth--Ruth!" said a somewhat querulous but very deep voice which
evidently issued from the parlor.
"Yes, granddad; coming in a moment or two," Ruth replied. She ran up
the tiny stairs, and entered her own little bedroom, which was so wee
that she could scarcely turn round in it, but was extremely neat.
Ruth removed her hat, brushed out her black hair, saw that her dress,
shabby as it was, was in apple-pie order, put on a neat white apron, and
ran downstairs. She first of all entered the parlor. A handsome old man,
with a decided look of Ruth herself, was seated by the fire. He was
holding out his thin, knuckly hands to the blaze. As Ruth came in he
turned and smiled at her.
"Ah, deary!" he said, "I have been missing you all day. And how did
you like your school? And how is everything?"
"I will tell you after supper, grandfather. I must go and help granny
now."
"That's right; that's a good girl. Oh! far be it from me to be impatient; I
wouldn't be for all the world. Your granny has missed you too to-day."
Ruth smiled at him and went into the kitchen. There were eager voices
and sounds of people hurrying about, and then a fragrant smell of fried
sausages. A moment later Ruth appeared, holding a brightly trimmed

lamp in her hand; she laid it on a little centre-table, drew down the
blinds, pulled the red curtains across the windows, poked up the fire,
and then proceeded