The Jolliest Term on Record: A Story of School Life
by Angela Brazil · English · Gutenberg #33910 · 427,107 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Jolliest Term on Record: A Story of School Life
Author: Angela Brazil
Illustrator: Balliol Salmon
Release date: October 20, 2010 [eBook #33910]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33910
Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JOLLIEST TERM ON RECORD: A STORY OF SCHOOL LIFE ***
Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The Jolliest Term on Record
BY ANGELA BRAZIL
"Angela Brazil has proved her undoubted talent for writing a story
of schoolgirls for other schoolgirls to read."--Bookman.
A Popular Schoolgirl.
The Princess of the School.
A Harum-Scarum Schoolgirl.
The Head Girl at the Gables.
A Patriotic Schoolgirl.
For the School Colours.
The Madcap of the School.
The Luckiest Girl in the School.
The Jolliest Term on Record.
The Girls of St. Cyprian's.
The Youngest Girl in the Fifth.
The New Girl at St. Chad's.
For the Sake of the School.
The School by the Sea.
The Leader of the Lower School.
A Pair of Schoolgirls.
A Fourth Form Friendship.
The Manor House School.
The Nicest Girl in the School.
The Third Class at Miss Kaye's.
The Fortunes of Philippa.
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
[Illustration: "LEFT ALONE, THE TWO GIRLS WERE NOT SLOW IN DISCUSSING
THE WONDERFUL NEWS"]
The Jolliest Term
on Record
A Story of School Life
BY
ANGELA BRAZIL
Author of "For the Sake of the School"
"The Girls of St. Cyprian's"
"The School by the Sea"
&c. &c.
_Illustrated by Balliol Salmon_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
Contents
CHAP. Page
I. THE NEW SCHOOL 9
II. A SCRAPE 23
III. SHAKING DOWN 36
IV. THE SCHOOL MASCOT 50
V. LILAC GRANGE 64
VI. AN AWKWARD PREDICAMENT 78
VII. THE MAD HATTERS 93
VIII. AN ADVENTURE 108
IX. THE TENNIS CHAMPIONSHIP 122
X. AN ANTIQUE PURCHASE 136
XI. WATERLOO DAY 148
XII. KATRINE'S AMBITION 162
XIII. GITHA'S SECRET 175
XIV. A MIDNIGHT ALARM 189
XV. AMATEUR ARTISTS 202
XVI. CONCERNS A LETTER 215
XVII. THE WISHING WELL 226
XVIII. A DISCOVERY 236
XIX. AN ACCIDENT 246
XX. BOB GARTLEY EXPLAINS 257
XXI. THE SPORTS 268
XXII. THE OLD OAK CUPBOARD 279
Illustrations
Page
"LEFT ALONE, THE TWO GIRLS WERE NOT SLOW IN
DISCUSSING THE WONDERFUL NEWS" _Frontispiece_ 14
"'THE GOOSE GIRL, BY ALL THAT'S WONDERFUL!'
WHISPERED GWETHYN" 28
"GWETHYN TORE OFF THE SILK HANDKERCHIEFS. SHE
SAW AT ONCE WHAT HAD HAPPENED" 102
"THE UNPLEASANT TRUTH WAS HOPELESSLY PLAIN--THEY
WERE PRISONERS IN THE EMPTY HOUSE" 118
"'I BELIEVE I'VE BROKEN MY LEG', HE MOANED" 248
"'THIS CONCERNS US VERY MUCH, GITHA. IT'S YOUR
GRANDFATHER'S LAST WILL'" 284
THE JOLLIEST TERM ON RECORD
CHAPTER I
The New School
"Katrine!" said Gwethyn, in her most impressive manner, "have you
noticed anything peculiar going on in this house the last two or three
days?"
"Why, no," replied Katrine abstractedly, taking a fresh squeeze of
cobalt blue, and mixing it carefully with the rose madder and the yellow
ochre already on her palette. "Nothing at all unusual. Gwethyn, be
careful! You nearly sat down on my brigand, and his head's still wet!"
"Peccavi! I didn't see he was there," apologized Gwethyn, rescuing the
canvas in question, and placing it in a position of greater safety on
the mantelpiece. "Considering you've got absolutely every single chair
littered with books, paints, and turpentine bottles, there really
doesn't seem a spot left to sit upon," she continued in an injured
tone.
"Except the table," returned Katrine, hastily moving a box of pastels
and a pile of loose drawings to make room. "Please don't disturb my
things. I've been sorting them out, and I don't want to get them mixed
up again. Squat here, if you're tired, and leave the bottles alone."
"I am tired. I'm nearly dead. I bicycled all the way to Lindley Park and
back with Mona Taylor on the step. She _would_ make me take her! And
she's no light weight, the young Jumbo!"
"Poor martyr! would you like a drink of turpentine to revive you? Sorry
the chocs are finished."
"Don't mock me! Mona's a decent kid, but she really was the limit
to-day. I'll see myself at Jericho before I let her climb on my step
again. But Kattie, to go back to what I was saying before you
interrupted me--haven't you noticed there's a something, a most decided
something in the wind?"
"Your imagination, my dear child, is one of your brightest talents.
You're particularly clever at noticing what isn't there."
"And you're as blind as a bat! Can't you see for yourself that Father
and Mother have got some secret they're keeping from us? Why are we
having our summer dresses made in April? Why are all our underclothes
being overhauled and counted? Why did two new trunks arrive yesterday,
with K. H. M. and G. C. M. painted on them in red letters? Why did
Father just begin to say something last night, and Mother shut him up in
a hurry, and he look conscience-stricken, and murmur: 'I'd forgotten
they don't know yet'? Girl alive! if you're blind I'm not. There's
something exciting on foot. I'm wild to find out what. Why doesn't
Mother tell us? It's too bad."
"She's just going to now," said a voice from the door, and a small,
bright-eyed little lady walked in, laughing. "You shan't be kept in the
dark any longer, poor injured creatures! I'll make a clean breast of it
at last."
"Mumsie!" cried both girls, jumping up, and sweeping away the books and
painting materials that encumbered the one arm-chair. "Sit here, you
darling! It isn't turpentiny, really! Here's the cushion. Are you comfy
now? Well, do please begin and tell. We're all in a dither to know."
"Brace your nerves then, chicks! First and foremost, Father has been
asked in a hurry to go out to the Scientific Conference at Sydney, and
give the lectures on Geology in place of Professor Baillie, who has been
taken ill, and can't keep his engagement. He has accepted, and must
start by the 28th. He wants me to go with him. We shall probably be away
for three months."
"And leave us!" Gwethyn's voice was reproachful. "Are we to be two sort
of half orphans for three whole months? Oh, Mumsie!"
"It can't be helped," replied Mrs. Marsden, stroking the brown head
apologetically. "What a Mummie's baby you are still! Remember, it's a
great honour for Father to be asked to take the Geology chair at the
Conference. He's ever so pleased about it. And of course I must go too,
because----"
The girls smiled simultaneously, and with complete understanding.
"If you weren't there to remind him, Mumsie, Daddie'd forget which days
his lectures were on!" twinkled Katrine. "Yes, and I verily believe he'd
put his coat on inside out, or wear two hats, or do something horrible,
if he were thinking very hard of the Pleistocene period. He'd be utterly
lost without you. No, you couldn't let him go alone!"
"It's not to be thought of," agreed Mrs. Marsden hastily.
"Pack Kattie and me inside your trunk," urged Gwethyn's beseeching
voice. "I'd like to see Australia."
"Too expensive a business for four. No, we've made other plans for you.
Get up, Baby! You're too heavy to nurse. Go and sit somewhere else--yes,
on the table, if you like. Well, Father and I have talked the matter
thoroughly over, and we've decided to send you both for a term to a
boarding-school we know of in Redlandshire."
"To school!" shrieked Katrine. "But, Mumsie, I left school last
Christmas! Why, I've almost turned my hair up! I can't go back and be a
kid again--it's quite impossible!"
"No one wants you to do that. I have made special arrangements for you
with Mrs. Franklin. You are to join some of the classes, and spend the
rest of your time studying painting. Mrs. Franklin's sister, Miss
Aubrey, is a very good artist, and will take you out sketching. Isn't
that a cheering prospect? You've wanted so much to have lessons in
landscape."
"Not so bad--but I'm suffering still from shock!" returned Katrine.
"School's school, anyhow you like to put it. And when I thought I'd left
for good!"
"And where do I come in?" wailed a melancholy voice from the table.
"You're Katrine, and I'm only Gwethyn. I'm too mi-ser-able for words,
Mumsie, you've betrayed us shamefully. I didn't think it of you. Or
Daddie either. Do please change your minds!"
"No; for once we're hard-hearted parents," laughed Mrs. Marsden. "I
wrote last night and arranged definitely and finally for you to go to
Aireyholme on the 21st."
"I suppose I can take Tony with me?" asked Gwethyn anxiously, quitting
her seat on the table to catch up a small Pekinese spaniel and press a
kiss on his snub nose. "He'd break his little heart with fretting, bless
him, if I left him behind. Wouldn't you, Tootitums?"
"I'm afraid that's impossible. We must board Tony out while we're away.
I dare say Mrs. Wilson at the market gardens would look after him, or
Mary might take him home with her. Now, Gwethyn, don't make a fuss, for
I can't help it. I'm doing the best I can for everybody. You don't
realize what a business it is to start for Australia at such a short
notice, and have to shut up one's house, and dispose of one's family,
all in three weeks' time. I'm nearly distracted with making so many
arrangements."
"Poor darling little Mumsie!" said Katrine, squatting down by the
arm-chair, and cuddling her mother's hand. "You'll be glad when it's
over and you're safe on board ship. Which way do people sail for
Australia? I don't know any geography."
"We go through the Suez Canal----"
"Oh, Mumsie! Hereward!" interrupted both the girls eagerly.
Mrs. Marsden's eyes were shining.
"I'm not counting on seeing him," she protested. "It's wildly improbable
he'd get leave, and we only have a few hours, I believe, at Port Said.
Still, of course, there's always just the possibility."
"Now I understand why you're so keen to go to Australia," said Gwethyn.
"You darling humbug! You'd have made Daddie accept a lectureship on the
top of Chimborazo, or at the North Pole, if there were a chance of
seeing Hereward for ten seconds on the way. Confess you would!"
"I suppose I'm as weak-minded as most mothers who have an only son in
the army," said Mrs. Marsden, rising from her basket-chair. "One can't
keep one's bairns babies for ever. They grow up only too fast, and fly
from the nest. Well, I've told you the great secret, so I'll leave you
to digest it at your leisure, chicks. Aireyholme is a delightful school.
I'm sure you'll enjoy being there. Perhaps you're going to have the time
of your lives!"
Left alone, the two girls were not slow in discussing the wonderful
news. The room where they were sitting was a large attic, which had been
converted into a studio. The drab walls were covered with sketches in
oils, water-colours, pencil or chalk; a couple of easels, paint-boxes,
palettes, drawing-paper, and canvases, and a litter of small
articles--india-rubbers, mediums, pastels, and stumps--gave a very
artistic general effect, and suggested plenty of work on the part of the
owners. Both the sisters were fond of painting, and Katrine, at any
rate, spent much of her spare time here. With her blue eyes, regular
features, clear pale complexion, and plentiful red-gold hair, Katrine
looked artistic to her finger-tips. She was just seventeen, and, owing
to her extreme predilection for painting, had persuaded her parents to
take her from the High School, and let her attend the School of Art,
where she could devote all her energies to her pet subject. On the
strength of this promotion she regarded herself as almost, if not quite,
grown up--a view that was certainly not shared by her mother, and was
perhaps a determining influence in Mrs. Marsden's decision to send her
to a boarding-school.
Gwethyn, two years younger, was a bright, merry, jolly, independent
damsel, with twinkling hazel eyes and ripply brown hair, a pair of
beguiling dimples at the corners of her mouth, and a nose which, as
Tennyson kindly expresses it, was inclined to be tip-tilted. Unromantic
Gwethyn did not care a toss about "High Art", though in her way she was
rather clever at painting, and inclined to follow Katrine's lead. She
liked drawing animals, or niggers, or copying funny pictures from comic
papers; and sometimes, I fear, she was guilty of caricaturing the
mistresses at school, to the immense edification of the rest of the
form. While Katrine painted fairies, Gwethyn would be drawing grinning
gargoyles or goblins, with a spirited dash about the lines, and much
humour in the expression of the faces. Sometimes these artistic efforts,
produced at inopportune moments in school, got her into trouble, but
wrath from head-quarters had little permanent effect upon Gwethyn. Her
irrepressible spirits bobbed cheerily up again when the scoldings were
over, and her eyes, instead of being filled with penitential tears,
would be twinkling with suppressed fun.
Just now she was sitting on the table in the studio, hugging Tony, and
trying to adjust her mental vision to the new prospect which opened
before her.
"It's hard luck to have to leave the 'High' when I'd really a chance for
the tennis championship," she mourned. "I suppose they'll play tennis at
this new school? I hope to goodness they won't be very prim. I guess
I'll wake them up a little if they are. Katrine, do you hear? I'm going
to have high jinks somehow."
"Jink if you like!" returned Katrine dolefully. "It's all very well for
you--you're only changing schools. But I'd left! And I'd quite made up
my mind to turn up my hair this term. Of course I'll like the
landscape-painting. I can do lots of things for the sketching club while
I'm away, but--it's certainly a venture! Perhaps an adventure!"
"It'll be a surprise packet, at any rate," laughed Gwethyn. "We don't
know the place, or the people we're going to meet, or anything at all
about it. Kattie, I felt serious a minute ago, but the sight of your
lugubrious face makes me cackle. I want to sketch you for a gargoyle--a
melancholy one this time. That's better! Now you're laughing! Look here,
we'll have some fun out of this business, somehow. I'm going to enjoy
myself, and if you don't play up and follow suit, you're no sister of
mine."
* * * * *
A fortnight later, the two girls were waving good-bye from the window of
a train that steamed slowly out of Hartfield station. Even Gwethyn
looked a trifle serious as a railway arch hid the last glimpse of Mumsie
standing on the platform, and Katrine conveniently got something in her
eye, which required the vigorous application of her pocket-handkerchief.
They cheered up, however, when the city was passed, and suburban villas
began to give place to fields and hawthorn hedges. After all, novelty
was delightful, and for town-bred girls three months of country life,
even at school, held out attractions. It was a four hours' journey to
Carford, where they changed. The express was late, and, somewhat to
their dismay, they found they had missed the local train, and would have
to wait three hours for the next. As it was only eight miles to
Heathwell, the village where the school was situated, they decided to
ride there on their bicycles, leaving their luggage to follow by rail.
The prospect of a cycling jaunt seemed far pleasanter than waiting at an
uninteresting junction; it would be fun to explore the country, and they
would probably arrive at school earlier by carrying out this plan.
Through the sweet, fresh-scented lanes, therefore, they started, where
the young leaves were lovely with the tender green of late April, and
the banks gay with celandine stars and white stitchwort, and the
thrushes and blackbirds were chanting rival choruses in the hedgerow,
and the larks were rising up from the fields with their little brown
throats bubbling over with the message of spring. On and on, mile after
mile of softly undulating country, where red-roofed farms lay among
orchards full of blossom, and a river wandered between banks of osiers
and pollard willows, and the sleek white-faced cattle grazed in meadows
flowery as gardens. It seemed a fitting way to Eden; but the girls had
not quite anticipated the little Paradise that burst upon their view
when a bend of the road brought them suddenly into the heart of
Heathwell. Surely they must have left the present century, and by some
strange jugglery of fate have turned back the clock, and found
themselves transported to mediaeval times. The broad village street ran
from the old market hall at one end to the ancient church at the other,
flanked on either side by black-and-white houses so quaint in design,
and so picturesque in effect, that they might have stepped from a
painting of the seventeenth century. The cobble-stoned cause-way, the
irregular flights of steps, the creepers climbing to the very chimneys,
the latticed windows, the swinging inn-sign with its heraldic dragon,
all combined to make up a scene which was typically representative of
Merrie England.
"Are we awake, or are we in an Elizabethan dream?" asked Katrine,
dismounting from her bicycle to stand and survey the prospect.
"I don't know. I feel as if I were on the stage of a Shakespearian play.
A crowd of peasants with May garlands ought to come running out of that
archway and perform a morris dance, then the principal characters should
walk on by the side wings."
"It's too fascinating for words. I wonder where Aireyholme is?"
"We shall have to ask our way. Ought one to say: 'Prithee, good knave,
canst inform me?' or 'Hold, gentle swain, I have need of thy counsel'?"
"We shall start with a reputation for lunacy, if you do!"
The school proved to be not very far away from the village. Aireyholme,
as it was aptly called, was a large, comfortable, rather old-fashioned
house that stood on a small hill overlooking the river. Orchards, in the
glory of their spring bloom, made a pink background for the white
chimneys and the grey-slated roof; a smooth tennis lawn with four courts
faced the front, and in a field adjoining the river were some hockey
goals.
"Not so utterly benighted!" commented Gwethyn, as she and Katrine
wheeled their bicycles up the drive. "There's more room for games here
than we had at the 'High'. I'm glad I bought that new racket. Wonder
what their play's like? I say, these are ripping courts!"
To judge by the soft thud of balls behind the bushes, and the cries that
registered the scoring, several sets of tennis were in progress, and as
the girls turned the corner of the shrubbery, and came out on to the
carriage sweep before the front door, they had an excellent view of the
lawn. Their sudden appearance, however, stopped the games. The players
had evidently been expecting them, and, running up, greeted them in
characteristic schoolgirl fashion.
"Hello! Are you Katrine and Gwethyn Marsden?"
"So you've turned up at last!"
"Did you miss your train?"
"Miss Spencer was in an awful state of mind when you weren't at the
station. She went to meet you."
"Have you biked all the way from Carford?"
"Yes, and we're tired, and as hungry as hunters," returned Katrine. "Our
luggage is coming by the 5.30. We missed the 2.15, so we thought we'd
rather ride on than wait. Where can we put our bikes?"
"I'll show you," said a tall girl, who seemed to assume the lead. "At
least, Jess and Novie can put them away for you now, and I'll take you
straight to Mrs. Franklin. She'll be most fearfully relieved to see you;
she gets herself into such stews over anybody who doesn't arrive on the
nail. I'm Viola Webster. I'll introduce the others afterwards. You'll
soon get to know us all, I expect. There are thirty-six here this term,
counting yourselves. Did you bring rackets? Oh, good! We're awfully keen
on tennis. So are you? Dorrie Vernon will be glad to hear that. She's
our games secretary. I wonder if Mrs. Franklin is in the study, or in
the drawing-room? Perhaps you'd better wait here while I find her. Oh,
there she is after all, coming down the stairs!"
* * * * *
The new world into which Katrine and Gwethyn were speedily introduced,
was a very different affair from the High School which they had
previously attended. The smaller number of pupils, and the fact that it
was a boarding-school, made the girls on far more intimate terms with
one another than is possible in a large day-school. Mrs. Franklin, the
Principal, was a woman of strong character. She had been a lecturer at
college before her marriage, and after her husband's death had begun her
work at Aireyholme in order to find some outlet for her energies. Her
two sons were both at the front, one in the Territorials, and the other
as a naval chaplain. Her only daughter, Ermengarde, had lately been
married to a clergyman. Tall, massive, perhaps even a trifle masculine
in appearance, Mrs. Franklin hid a really kind heart under a rather
uncompromising and masterful manner. She was a clever manager, an
admirable housekeeper, and ruled her little kingdom well and wisely.
Both in features and personality she resembled an ancient Roman matron,
and among the girls she was often known as "the mother of the Gracchi".
Mrs. Franklin's sister, Miss Aubrey, who lived at the school, was an
artist of considerable talent. She superintended the art teaching, and
gave the rest of her time to landscape-painting, in both oil and water
colours. It was largely the fact that Katrine might have sketching
lessons from Miss Aubrey which had influenced Mr. and Mrs. Marsden in
their choice of Aireyholme. The art department was a very important
feature of that school. Any talent shown among the pupils was carefully
fostered. The general atmosphere of the place was artistic; the girls
were familiar with reproductions of pictures from famous galleries, they
took in _The Art Magazine_ and _The Studio_, they revelled in
illustrated catalogues of the Salon or the Royal Academy, and dabbled in
many mediums--oil, water colour, pastel, crayon, and tempera. The big
studio was perhaps the pet room of the house; it was Liberty Hall, where
anybody might pursue her favourite project, and though some of the
attempts were certainly rather crude, they were all helpful in training
eye and hand to work together.
Of the other mistresses, Miss Spencer was bookish, and Miss Andrews
athletic. The former was rather cold and dignified, an excellent and
painstaking, though not very inspiring teacher. She spoke slowly and
precisely, and there was a smack of college about her, a scholastic
officialism of manner that raised a barrier of reserve between herself
and her pupils, difficult to cross. Very different was Miss Andrews,
whose hearty, breezy ways were more those of a monitress than of a
mistress. She laughed and joked with the girls almost like one of
themselves, though she could assert her authority emphatically when she
wished. Needless to say she was highly popular, and although she had
only been a year at Aireyholme, she was already regarded as an
indispensable feature of the establishment. Into this busy and highly
organized little community Katrine and Gwethyn, as new-comers, must
shake themselves down.
CHAPTER II
A Scrape
Katrine and Gwethyn had been given a bedroom over the porch, a dear
little room with roses and jasmine clustering round the windows, and
with an excellent view of the tennis lawn. They arranged their
possessions there after tea, and when their photos, books, work-baskets,
and writing-cases had found suitable niches the place began to have
quite a home-like appearance.
"It's not so bad, considering it's school," commented Gwethyn; "I
believe I'm going to like one or two of those girls."
"I don't know whether I'm going to like Mrs. Franklin," objected
Katrine. "She's inclined to boss as if one were a kid. I hope Mother
made her quite understand that I'm past seventeen, and not an 'ordinary
schoolgirl'."
"You're younger than Viola Webster, though, or that other girl--what's
her name?--Dorrie Vernon," returned Gwethyn. "What have you got there?
Oh, Katrine! A box of hairpins! Now you promised Mumsie you wouldn't
turn up your hair!"
"I was only just going to try it sometimes, for fun. When a girl is as
tall as I am, it's ridiculous to see her with a plait flapping down her
back. I'm sure I look older than either Viola or Dorrie. Most people
would take me for eighteen." Katrine was staring anxiously at herself in
the glass. "I'm not going to be treated here like a junior. They needn't
begin it."
"Oh, you'll settle them all right, I dare say!" answered Gwethyn
abstractedly. She was calculating the capacities of the top drawer, and,
moreover, she was accustomed to these outbursts on the part of her
sister.
Katrine put the hairpins, not on the dressing-table, but in a handy spot
of her right-hand drawer, where she could easily get at them. It was
absurd of Gwethyn to make such a fuss, so she reflected. A girl of only
fifteen cannot possibly enter into the feelings of one who is nearly
grown up.
She preserved a rather distant manner at supper. It would not be
dignified to unbend all at once to strangers. Gwethyn, always too
hail-fellow-well-met with everybody, was talking to her next neighbour,
and evidently eliciting much information; an unrestrained chuckle on her
part caused Mrs. Franklin to cast a glance of surprise at that
particular portion of the table. By bedtime both the new-comers were
feeling serious; they would not for the world have confessed to
home-sickness, but Katrine observed that she hoped vessels bound for
Australia never blundered into German mines, and Gwethyn said she had
seen in one of the papers that there was an outbreak of enteric among
the troops in Egypt, and she wondered if it were in Hereward's regiment;
neither of which remarks was calculated to raise their spirits.
The beds had spring mattresses, and were quite as comfortable as those
at home. By all ordinary natural laws the girls, tired with their
journey, ought to have slept the slumbers of the just immediately their
heads touched their pillows. Instead of doing anything so sensible, they
lay talking until they were both so excited and so thoroughly wideawake
that sleep refused to be wooed. Hour after hour they tossed and turned,
counting imaginary sheep jumping over gates, repeating pieces of poetry,
and trying the hundred-and-one expedients that are supposed to be
infallible brain lullers, but all with no effect. Outside, owls were
hooting a continual dismal concert of "twoo-hoo-hoo!"
"I like owls from a natural history point of view," groaned Katrine,
"and I've no doubt they're only telling one another about fat mice and
sparrows; but I wish they'd be quiet and not talk! They're far more
disturbing than trams and taxis."
"Talk of the peace of the country! I should like to know where it is!"
agreed Gwethyn, turning her pillow for the fourteenth time. "There's a
cock crowing now, and a dog barking!"
"It's impossible to sleep a wink," declared Katrine, jumping out of bed
in desperation, and drawing aside the window curtain. "I believe it's
getting light."
There was a stirring of dawn in the air. All the world seemed wrapped in
a transparent grey veil, just thin enough for objects to loom dimly
through the dusk. She could see the heavy outlines of the trees at the
farther side of the lawn. A thrush was already giving a preliminary
note, and sparrows were beginning to twitter under the eaves.
"What's the use of stopping in bed when one can't sleep?" exclaimed
Katrine. "Let us dress, find our machines, and go for a spin."
"What! Go out now?"
"Why not? People are supposed to get up early in the country."
"All right! If you're game, I am."
The two girls had not been accustomed to much discipline at home, and
their notions of school rules were rudimentary. The idea of getting up
so early and going out to explore struck them both as delightfully
enterprising and adventurous. They made a hurried toilet, crept
cautiously downstairs, and found the passage at the back of the house,
where their bicycles had been temporarily placed the night before. It
was an easy matter to unbolt a side door, and make their way through the
garden and down the drive. Before the day was much older, they were
riding along the quiet dim road in that calm silence that precedes the
dawn. The air was most fresh and exhilarating. As their machines sped
through the grey morning mist, they felt almost as if they were on
aeroplanes, rushing among the clouds. At first all was dark and vague
and mysterious, but every minute the light was growing stronger, and
presently they could distinguish the gossamer, hung like a tangled magic
web upon the hedges, in dainty shimmering masses, as if the pixies had
been spinning and weaving in the night, and had not yet had time to
carry off the result of their labours.
"It's just like a fairy tale," said Gwethyn. "Do you remember the boy
who sat on the fox's tail, and they went on and on till his hair
whistled in the wind? Those rabbits ought to stop and talk, and tell us
about Brer Terrapin and the Tar Baby. I'm sure Uncle Remus is squatting
at the foot of that tree. We shall meet the goose-girl presently, I
expect."
"What a baby you are! But it is lovely, I agree with you. Oh, Gwethyn,
look at the sky over there! That's a fairy tale, if you like. Let's stop
and watch it."
It was indeed a glorious sight. The colour, which at first had been
pearly-grey, had changed to transparent opal; then, blushing with a
warmer hue, grew slowly to pink, amber, and violet. Great streamers of
rosy orange began to stretch like ethereal fingers upwards from the
horizon. The fields were in shadow, and a quiet stillness reigned, as if
the world paused, waiting in hope and expectancy for that fresh and ever
wonderful vision, the miracle of the returning dawn. Then the great
shimmering, glowing sun lifted himself up from among the mists in the
meadows, gaining in brilliance with every foot he ascended till the
light burst out, a flood of brightness, and all the landscape was
radiant. At that, Mother Earth seemed to bestir herself. With the new
day came the fresh pulse of life, and the reawakening of myriads of
nature's children. The first lark went soaring into the purply-blue
overhead; the chaffinches began to tweet in the elms; a white butterfly
fluttered over the hedge; and a marvellous busy throng of insect life
seemed suddenly astir and ahum. It was a different world from that of
an hour before--a living, breathing, working, rejoicing world; the
shadows and the mystery had fled, and left it as fair as if just
created.
"It was worth getting up for this!" said Katrine. "I've never seen such
a transformation scene in my life. I wish I could paint it. But what
colours could one use? Nothing but stained glass could give that
glowing, glorious, pinky violet!"
"I haven't the least idea where we are, or how far away from the
school," said Gwethyn. "We rode along quite 'on spec.', and we may have
come two miles or five, for anything I know. Yes, it has been lovely,
and I see you're still wrapt in a sort of rapturous dream, and up among
rosy clouds, but I've come down to earth, and I'm most unromantically
hungry. It seems years since we had supper last night. I wonder if we
couldn't find a farm, and buy some milk."
"Rose madder mixed with violet lake, and a touch of aureolin and Italian
pink might do it!" murmured Katrine.
"No, it wouldn't! They'd want current coin of the realm. Have you any
pennies left in your coat pocket?"
"You mundane creature! I was talking of the sunrise, and not of mere
milk. Yes, I have five pennies and a halfpenny, which ought to buy
enough to take a bath in."
"I don't want a bath, only a glassful. But it's a case of 'first catch
your farm'. I don't see the very ghost of a chimney anywhere, nothing
but fields and trees."
"Better go on till we find one, then," said Katrine, mounting her
machine again.
They rode at least half a mile without passing any human habitation;
then at last the welcome sight of a gate and barns greeted them.
"It looks like the back of a farm," decided Gwethyn. "Let us leave our
bikes here, and explore."
Up a short lane, and across a stack-yard, they penetrated into an
orchard. Here, under a maze of pink blossom, a girl of perhaps twelve or
thirteen, with a carriage whip in one hand and a bowl in the other, was
throwing grain to a large flock of poultry--ducks, geese, and hens--that
were collected round her.
"The goose-girl, by all that's wonderful! I told you it was a fairy-tale
morning!" whispered Gwethyn. "Now for it! I'll go and demand milk. How
ought one to greet a goose-girl?"
She stepped forward, but at that moment a large collie dog that had been
lying unnoticed at the foot of an apple tree, sprang up suddenly, and
faced her snarling.
"Good dog! Poor old fellow! Come here, then!" said Gwethyn in a
wheedling voice, hoping to propitiate it, for she was fond of dogs.
Instead of being pacified by her blandishments, however, it showed its
teeth savagely, and darting behind her, seized her by the skirt. Gwethyn
was not strong-minded. She shrieked as if she were being murdered.
"Help! Help!" yelled Katrine distractedly.
The goose-girl was already calling off the dog, and with a well-directed
lash of her long whip sent him howling away. She walked leisurely up to
the visitors.
"You're more frightened than hurt," she remarked, with a
half-contemptuous glance at Gwethyn. "What do you want here?"
"We came to ask if we could buy some milk," stammered Katrine. "I
suppose this is a farm?"
"No, it isn't a farm, and we don't sell milk."
The girl's tone was ungracious; her appearance also was the reverse of
attractive. Her sharp features and sallow complexion had an unwholesome
look, her hair was lank and lustreless, and the bright, dark eyes did
not hold a pleasant expression. She wore a blue gingham overall pinafore
that hid her dress.
"Where are you from? And what are you doing here so early?" she
continued, gazing curiously at Katrine and Gwethyn.
"We've bicycled from Aireyholme----" began Gwethyn.
"You're never the new girls? Oh, I say! Who gave you leave to go out?
Nobody? Well, I shouldn't care to be you when you get back, that's all!
Mrs. Franklin will have something to say!"
"Do you know her, then?" gasped Gwethyn.
"Know her? I should think I do--just a little! If you'll take my advice,
you'll ride back as quick as you can. Ta-ta! I must go and feed my
chickens now. Oh, you will catch it!"
She walked away, chuckling to herself as if she rather enjoyed the
prospect of their discomfiture; as she turned into the garden she looked
round, and laughed outright.
"What an odious girl! Who is she?" exclaimed Katrine indignantly. "She
never apologized for her hateful dog catching hold of you. What does
she mean by laughing at us? I should like to teach her manners."
"Perhaps we'd better be riding back," said Gwethyn uneasily. "They said
breakfast was at eight o'clock. I haven't an idea what the time is. I
wish we'd brought our watches."
They had cycled farther than they imagined, and in retracing their road
they took a wrong turning, consequently going several miles out of their
way. They were beginning to be rather tired by the time they reached
Aireyholme. The excitement and romance of the spring dawn had faded.
Life seemed quite ordinary and prosaic with the sun high in the heavens.
Perhaps they both felt a little doubtful of their reception, though
neither was prepared to admit it. As they wheeled their machines past
the lower schoolroom window, where the girls were at early morning
preparation, a dozen excited heads bobbed up to look at them. They took
the bicycles through the side door, and left them in the passage. In the
hall they met Coralie Nelson, going to practice, with a pile of music in
her hand.
"Hello! Is it you?" she exclaimed. "So you've turned up again, after
all! There's been a pretty hullabaloo, I can tell you! Were you trying
to run away?"
"Of course not," declared Katrine airily. "We were only taking a little
run on our bikes before breakfast. It was delicious riding so early."
"Was it, indeed! Well, you are the limit for coolness, I must say! You'd
better go and explain to Mrs. Franklin. She's in the study, and
particularly anxious to have the pleasure of seeing you. Hope you'll
have a pleasant interview!"
"Hope we shall, thanks!" returned Katrine, bluffing the matter off as
well as she could. "I can't see what there is to make such a fuss about!
We're not late for breakfast, I suppose?"
"Oh dear me, no! You're in excellent time!" Coralie's tone was
sarcastic. "Punctuality is considered a great virtue at Aireyholme.
Perhaps you may be congratulated upon it! I won't prophesy! On the whole
I wouldn't change into your shoes, though!"
"We don't want you to," retorted Gwethyn.
The two girls tapped at the study door, and entered with well-assumed
nonchalance. Katrine, in particular, was determined to show her
superiority to the conventions which might hedge in ordinary pupils. A
girl of seventeen, who had left school last Christmas, must not allow
herself to be treated as the rest of the rank and file. At the sight of
the Principal's calm, determined face, however, her courage began to
slip away. Somehow she did not feel quite so grown-up as she had
expected. Mrs. Franklin had not kept school for fifteen years for
nothing. Her keen, grey eyes could quell the most unruly spirit.
"Katrine and Gwethyn Marsden, what is the meaning of this?" she began
peremptorily. "Who gave you leave of absence before breakfast?"
"We saw no reason to ask," replied Katrine. "We couldn't sleep, so we
thought we'd get up early, and take a spin on our machines."
"Please to understand for the future that such escapades are strictly
forbidden. There are certain free hours during the day, and there are
definite school bounds, which one of the monitresses will explain to you
later on. No girl is allowed to exceed these limits without special
permission."
[Illustration: "'THE GOOSE GIRL, BY ALL THAT'S WONDERFUL!' WHISPERED
GWETHYN"]
"But I thought Mother said I wasn't to be in the ordinary school," urged
Katrine.
"Your mother has placed you in my charge," frowned Mrs. Franklin, "and
my decision upon every question must be final. While you are at
Aireyholme you will follow our usual rules. I make exceptions for
nobody. Don't let me have to remind you of this again."
The Principal's manner was authoritative; her large presence and
handsome Roman features seemed to give extra weight to her words. She
was evidently not accustomed to argue with her pupils. Katrine, with
those steely blue eyes fixed upon her, had the wisdom to desist from
further excuses. She left the room outwardly submissive, though inwardly
raging. At seventeen to be treated like a kindergarten infant, indeed!
Katrine's dignity was severely wounded. "I don't believe I'm going to
like this place," she remarked to Gwethyn as they went upstairs.
The rest of the morning until dinner-time seemed a confused whirl to the
Marsdens. Last night they had been let alone, but now they were
initiated into the many and manifold ways of the school. They were
placed respectively in the Sixth and Fifth Form; desks and lockers were
apportioned to them; they were given new books, and allotted certain
times for practising on the piano. At the eleven-o'clock interval they
made the more intimate acquaintance of at least half of their
school-fellows.
"Did you get into a scrape with Mother Franklin?" asked Coralie. "The
idea of your going gallivanting off on your own this morning! By the
by, your bikes have been put in the shed with the others. It's locked up
at night. We get special exeats sometimes to go long rides, so don't
look so doleful. Shall I tell you who some of the girls are? You know
Viola Webster, our captain, and Dorrie Vernon, our tennis champion? That
fair one, talking to them, is Diana Bennett. They're our monitresses.
Those inseparables are Jill Barton and Ivy Parkins. The one with two
pig-tails is Rose Randall; and those round-faced kids are Belgian
refugees--Yvonne and Melanie de Boeck. They're supposed to be improving
our French, but as a matter of fact they talk English--of a sort--most
of the time. That's Laura Browne playing tennis left-handed. I warn you
that she's sure to take you up hotly for a day or two, while you're new,
but she'll drop you again afterwards. Anyone else you'd like to ask
about? I'll act school directory!"
Coralie rattled on in a half good-natured, half quizzical fashion,
giving brief biographical sketches of her companions, introducing some,
and indicating others. Most of the girls were collected round the tennis
lawn watching the sets. A group of juniors seated on a bench attracted
Katrine's attention. Standing near them, though somewhat apart, was one
whose thin angular figure and sharp pale face seemed familiar; even
without the blue overall pinafore it was easy enough to recognize her.
Katrine nudged Gwethyn, and both simultaneously exclaimed: "The
goose-girl!"
"Who is that dreadful child?" asked Katrine. "We met her while we were
out this morning, and she wasn't civil. Her face is just the colour of
a fungus!"
Coralie laughed.
"Oh! that's Githa Hamilton. She's not exactly celebrated for her sweet
temper."
"So I should imagine. What was she doing out of bounds before seven
o'clock?"
"She's not a boarder. She lives with an uncle and aunt, and comes to
school on her bicycle. She's the only day-girl we have. I'd hate to be a
day-girl--you're out of everything."
"I shouldn't think such an extraordinary little toadstool would be in
anything, even if she were a boarder," commented Gwethyn, who had not
forgiven the savage assault of the collie, and the contemptuous "You're
more frightened than hurt!" of its mistress.
"You're about right there. Githa's no particular favourite, even in her
own form."
"If I'd straight lank hair like that, I'd friz it every night," declared
Gwethyn emphatically. "She's the plainest girl in the school! That's my
opinion of her!"
CHAPTER III
Shaking Down
If Katrine and Gwethyn had taken a dislike to the "Toadstool", as they
nicknamed Githa Hamilton, that elfish damsel seemed ready to return the
sentiment with interest. She divined their weak points with horrible
intuition, and her sharp little tongue was always armed with caustic
remarks. She would stand watching them like a malign imp when they
played tennis, sneering if they made bad strokes, and rejoicing over
their opponents' scores with ostentatious triumph. At Katrine's airs
of dignity she scoffed openly, and she would call in question Gwethyn's
really quite harmless little exaggerations with ruthless punctiliousness.
The new-comers tried to preserve an airy calm, and treat this offensive
junior as beneath their notice; but she was a determined enemy, returning
constantly to the assault, and the skirmishes continued.
A complete contrast to Githa's spirit of opposition was the behaviour of
Laura Browne. As Coralie had predicted, she took up the new girls hotly.
She walked with them or sat next to them on every possible occasion,
asked for their autographs, obtained snapshots of them with her Brownie
camera, and gushed over their home photos and private possessions.
"It's so nice to have someone at the school with whom I really feel I
can become friends," she assured Gwethyn. "The moment I saw you both, I
fell in love with you. I believe strongly in first impressions--don't
you? Something seems to tell me there's to be a link between our lives.
How romantic to have a brother at the front! I think his portrait in
uniform is simply perfect. I shall ask you to lend it to me sometimes,
when you can spare it. It does one good to look at a hero like that. I
wish my brothers were old enough to join. They're at the mischievous age
at present. I envy you your luck."
And Laura sighed dramatically. Katrine, mindful of Coralie's hint,
received these advances with caution, but Gwethyn, who was not a very
discriminating little person, felt rather flattered. After all, it is
highly pleasant to be openly admired, your friendship courted, your
wishes consulted, and your opinions treated with deference. In the first
flush of her enthusiasm she readily drew a sketch in Laura's album,
embroidered a handkerchief for her, and proffered peppermint creams as
long as the box lasted. She submitted peaceably to lend penknife,
scissors, pencils, or any other unconsidered trifles, and when she was
obliged to ask for them back, her new friend was so ready with apologies
for their non-return that she felt almost ashamed of having mentioned
the matter.
Between Githa's evident dislike and Laura's fawning sycophancy was a
wide gap. These two had openly declared themselves "for" or "against";
the solid block of the school stood aloof. During their first week, at
least, the new girls must be on approval before they settled into the
places which they would eventually occupy. Their sayings and doings were
closely noted, but public opinion reserved itself. The monitresses were
kind, but slightly cool. They did not altogether like Katrine's
attitude. She had given them to understand that she had come to
Aireyholme as an art student, and not as a pupil, and they resented the
assumption of superiority implied.
"We're all art students here," Diana Bennett had replied stiffly.
"But you're not taking special private lessons from Miss Aubrey?" asked
Katrine, feeling that she scored by this point.
"Viola and Dorrie and I are going in for the matric., so we haven't much
time for painting. It's a jolly grind getting up all our subjects, I can
tell you!"
In the privacy of their own study, the three monitresses discussed the
matter at some length.
"I rather like them both," said Dorrie. "Katrine's quite an interesting
sort of girl, only she has at present far too high an idea of her own
importance."
"She's inclined to be a little patronizing," commented Viola. "Of course
that won't do. I'm Captain here, and she'll have quite to realize that.
We can't let a girl come into the school at seventeen and begin to boss
the whole show."
"Rather not! There ought to be a rule to admit no one over fifteen."
"Thirteen would be better."
"Well, at any rate when they're juniors, and have time to get used to
Aireyholme ways. I've been here six years, and if anyone knows the
school traditions, I ought to. No, Miss Katrine Marsden mustn't be
allowed to give herself airs. That I've quite made up my mind about."
"What do you think of Gwethyn?"
"She's a harum-scarum, but I like her the better of the two."
"She's inseparables with Laura Browne."
"Well, you know Laura! She goes for every new girl, and toadies till
she's got all she can, or grows tired of it. Gwethyn will find her out
in course of time, I suppose."
"The real gist of the matter," said Dorrie, wrinkling her brows
anxiously, "is whether I'm to put them in the tennis list. They play
uncommonly well."
"Oh, it wouldn't be fair to let new girls represent the school!"
"You think so? On the other hand, the school must win by hook or by
crook."
"Well, I don't think it would do to make either of them a champion,
putting them above the heads of those who have been here for years."
"It's a difficult question, certainly."
"Difficult? Not at all; I think it's conclusive!" snapped Viola rather
sharply. "Those who are trained in Aireyholme methods are best fitted to
represent Aireyholme. There can't be two opinions about it."
There was certainly some occasion for the rather jealous attitude which
the monitresses were inclined to adopt towards Katrine. By the
arrangement which her mother had made with Mrs. Franklin, she was
really more in the position of the old-fashioned "parlour boarder" than
of an ordinary pupil. She had been placed in the Sixth Form, but took
less than half the classes, the rest of her time being devoted to art
lessons. While others were drudging away at Latin translation, or
racking their brains over mathematical problems, she was seated in the
studio, blissfully painting flowers; or, greater luck still, sallying
forth with paint-box and easel to sketch from nature. As the studio was
the favourite haunt of most of the seniors, these special privileges
were the envy of the school. Nan Bethell and Gladwin Riley, in
particular, hitherto the Aireyholme art stars, felt their noses much put
out of joint, and were injured that their mothers had not made a like
arrangement on their behalf. They went so far as to petition Mrs.
Franklin for a similar exemption from certain lessons in favour of
painting. But the Principal was adamant; the Sixth was her own
particular form, she was jealous of its reputation, and by no means
disposed to excuse members, whom she had been coaching for months, the
credit which they ought to gain for the school in the examination lists.
Though art was a pet hobby at Aireyholme, it must not be allowed to
usurp the chief place, to the detriment of Mrs. Franklin's own subjects.
In the meantime Katrine, quite unaware of these difficulties, wore her
picturesque painting apron for several hours daily, and revelled both in
her work and in the companionship of her new teacher. Miss Aubrey was
the greatest possible contrast to her sister, Mrs. Franklin. Instead of
being tall, imposing, and masterful, she was small, slight, and gentle
in manner. "A ducky little thing", most of the girls called her, and
Katrine endorsed the general opinion. Miss Aubrey certainly would not
have made a good head of the establishment; she was absent-minded,
dreamy, and made no attempt to uphold discipline; but in her own
department she was delightful. The pupils talked with impunity in her
classes, but they nevertheless worked with an enthusiasm that many a
stricter teacher might have failed to inspire. There was an artistic
atmosphere about Miss Aubrey; she always seemed slightly in the clouds,
as if she were busier observing the general picturesque effect of life
than its particular details. In appearance she was pleasing, with soft
grey eyes and smooth brown hair. It was the fashion at the school to
call her pretty. The girls set her down as many years younger than Mrs.
Franklin. The studio was, of course, her special domain at Aireyholme;
she worked much there herself, and quite a collection of her pictures
adorned the walls. The crisp, bold style of painting aroused Katrine's
admiration, and made her long to try her skill at landscape-sketching.
Miss Aubrey had kept her at a study of flowers until she could judge her
capabilities; but at the end of the first week the mistress declared her
ready for more advanced work.
"I am going into the village this morning to finish a picture of my
own," she announced. "You and your sister may come with me, and I will
start you both at a pretty little subject."
Gwethyn, whose time-table had been left to the entire discretion of
Mrs. Franklin, was highly elated to find that she was to share some of
Katrine's art privileges. She had never expected such luck, and rejoiced
accordingly. The fact was that Miss Aubrey wished to continue her own
sketch, and to settle Katrine at an easier subject a hundred yards
farther down the street. She thought it might be unpleasant for the girl
to sit alone, and that the sisters would be company for each other. She
would be near enough to keep an eye on them, and to come and correct
their drawings from time to time. Much encumbered, therefore, with
camp-stools, easels, boards, paint-boxes, and other impedimenta, but
feeling almost equal to full-blown artists, the Marsdens, to the wild
envy of their less fortunate school-fellows, sallied forth with Miss
Aubrey down to the village. Their teacher had chosen a very picturesque
little bit for their first attempt--a charming black-and-white cottage,
with an uneven red-tiled roof and an irregular, tumble-down chimney. She
superintended them while they opened their camp-stools and fixed their
easels, then showed them where the principal lines in their sketches
ought to be placed.
"You mustn't mind if people come and stare at you a little," she
remarked cheerfully. "It's what all artists have to put up with. You'll
get used to it. Now I'm going to my own subject. I shall come back very
soon to see how you're getting on."
With great satisfaction the girls began blocking in their cottage,
feeling almost like professional artists as they marked roof, angles,
and points of perspective with the aid of a plumb-line.
"What a lovely little village it is!" exulted Katrine. "And so
delightfully peaceful and quiet. There's nobody about."
"Yes, it's heavenly! One couldn't sit out sketching in the street at
home," agreed Gwethyn enthusiastically.
Alas! their bliss was shortlived. They had scarcely been five minutes at
work when they were espied by half a dozen children, who ran up promptly
and joyfully to stare at their proceedings. The group of spectators
seemed to consider them an attraction, for they rushed off to spread the
gleeful news among their fellows, with the result that in a few moments
half the youth of the neighbourhood were swarming round Katrine and
Gwethyn like flies round a honey-pot. Evidently the inhabitants of the
village regarded artists as a free show; not only did the small fry
flock round the girls' easels, but a certain proportion of grown-ups,
who apparently had nothing better to do, strolled up and made an outside
ring to the increasing and interested audience.
"Do they imagine we're the vanguard of a circus, or that it's an
ingenious form of advertisement?" whispered Gwethyn. "I believe they
expect me to write 'Sanger's Menagerie is Coming' in big letters on my
drawing-board, or perhaps 'Buy Purple Pills'!"
"I should feel more inclined to write 'Don't come within ten yards!'"
groaned Katrine. "I wish they'd go away! They make me so nervous. It's
horrible to feel your every stroke is being watched. I've put in my
chimney quite crooked. Are they troubling Miss Aubrey, I wonder?"
Gwethyn stood up to command a full view of the street. Yes, Miss Aubrey
was also surrounded by a small crowd, but she took no notice of the
spectators, and was painting away as if oblivious of their presence.
"She doesn't seem to mind," commented Gwethyn. "I wish I'd her nerve."
"They seem to find us as attractive as a dancing bear," groaned Katrine.
"That fat old man in the blue flannel shirt is gazing at us with the
most insinuating smile. Don't look at him. Oh, why did you? You've
encouraged him so much, he's coming to speak to us."
The wearer of the blue shirt appeared to think he was doing a kind
action in patronizing the strangers; his smile broadened, he forced his
way forward among the pushing children, and opened the conversation with
a preliminary cough.
"Be you a-drawin' that old house across there?" he began
consequentially. "Why, it be full o' cracks and stains, and 'ave wanted
pullin' down these ten year or more!"
"It's beautiful!" replied Katrine briefly.
"Beautiful! With the tiles all cracked and the wall bulgin'? Now if you
was wantin' a house to draw, you should 'a done mine. It's a new red
brick, with bow windows and a slated roof, and there's a row o' nice
tidy iron railings round the garden, too. You must come and take a look
at it."
"We like the old cottages better, thank you," said Gwethyn, as politely
as she could. "Would you please mind moving a little to the left? You're
standing just exactly in my light."
"He's a picturesque figure," whispered Katrine, as their new
acquaintance heaved himself heavily from the kerb-stone; then she added
aloud: "I wonder if you'd mind standing still a minute or two, and
letting me put you into my picture? Yes, just there, please."
"You wants to take I?" he guffawed. "Well, I never did! Best let me go
home and tidy up a bit first."
"No, no! I like you as you are. Don't move! Only keep still for three
minutes," implored Katrine, sketching with frantic haste.
"I don't know what my missis would say at I being took in my corduroys,"
remonstrated the model, who appeared half bashful and half flattered at
the honour thrust upon him. "I'd change to my Sunday clothes if ye'd
wait a bit, missie! Well, it be queer taste, for sure! I'd 'a thought a
suit o' broadcloth would 'a looked a sight better in a picture."
"See the lady! She's a-puttin' in Abel Barnes!" gasped the children,
crowding yet nearer, and almost upsetting the pair of easels in their
excitement. "There's his head! There be his arm! Oh, and his legs too!
It be just like him--so it be!"
"Keep back and let the ladies alone!" commanded Abel in a stentorian
voice. "Where are your manners got to? If you've finished, missie,
you'll maybe not object to my takin' a look. Well, for sure, there I be
to the life!"
"Wherever that picture goes in all the world, Abel Barnes will go with
it!" piped a small awestruck voice in the background.
"Yes, she'll take me away with her," replied Abel, in a tone that
implied some gratification--perhaps a touch of vanity lingered under
the blue flannel shirt. "If I'd but a-been in my Sunday clothes!" he
continued regretfully. "Still, you've only to say the word, and I'll put
'em on for you any day you've a mind to take I again, and you could draw
the missis too, and the house, if you like. I were goin' to give the
railings a fresh coat o' paint anyways, so I may as well do it afore you
begins."
Finding that Katrine would not commit herself to any rash promises, he
finally strolled away, possibly to buy a tin of paint, or to review his
Sunday garments in anticipation of the hoped-for portrait. The children,
filled with envy at his distinction, were all eager to volunteer as
models, and began posing in the road in various stiff and photographic
attitudes.
"Put in I! Put in I!" implored each and all.
"I shan't put in anybody if you don't behave yourselves," replied
Katrine severely. "How can I see anything when you're standing exactly
in front of me? Go away at once, and leave us quiet!"
To remove themselves from the vicinity of the interesting strangers was,
however, not at all in the children's calculations. They only backed,
and formed a close ring again round the exasperated girls, breathing
heavily, and keeping up a chorus of whispered comments. Katrine and
Gwethyn sighed ruefully, but judged it better to follow Miss Aubrey's
example and take no notice, hoping that their tormentors might presently
tire, and run off to play marbles or hop-scotch. The cottage proved by
no means an easy subject to sketch; it needed very careful spacing and
drawing before they could secure a correct outline. It would have been
hard enough if they had been alone and undisturbed, but to be obliged to
work in full view of a frank and critical audience was particularly
trying. Every time they rubbed anything out, a small voice would cry:
"Missed again! She can't do it!"
"I never realized before how often I used my india-rubber," murmured
poor Gwethyn. "They seem to think I'm making a series of very bad
shots."
"I wonder if I dare begin my sky, or if I ought to show the drawing to
Miss Aubrey first," said Katrine. "I believe I shall venture. How I wish
a motor-car would come along and scatter these wretched infants, or that
their mothers would call them in for a meal!"
There was no such luck. The sight of the mixing of cobalt blue and
Naples yellow on Katrine's palette only caused the children to press yet
closer.
"Oh, look! This lady be doing it in colours!" they shouted. "She be
cleverer than the other lady."
"Katrine, we must get rid of them!" exclaimed the outraged Gwethyn;
then, turning to the crowd of shock heads behind, she inquired
frowningly: "How is it you're not in school?"
"It's a holiday to-day!" came in prompt chorus.
"There's the Board of Guardians' meeting at the schoolhouse," explained
an urchin, poking a chubby face in such close proximity to Katrine's
paint-box that in self-defence she gave him a dab of blue on his
freckled nose.
"It be luck for us when they have their meetings," volunteered another
gleefully.
"But not for us," groaned Gwethyn. "Katrine, I wonder if the Church
Catechism would rout them. I declare I'll try! It's my last weapon!"
Vain hope, alas! If Gwethyn had expected to thin the throng by acting
catechist, she was much mistaken. The children had been well grounded at
Sunday school, and so far from quailing at the questions were anxious to
air their knowledge, and show off before visitors.
"Ask I! I can say it all from 'N. or M.' to 'charity with all men'!"
piped a too willing voice. "Be you a-going to give I sweets for saying
it?" inquired another, with an eye to business.
"Katrine, I shall have to beat a retreat," murmured Gwethyn. "It's
impossible to paint a stroke with this sticky little crew buzzing round
like flies. I don't like being a public character. I've had enough
notoriety this morning to last for the rest of my life. Now then, you
young rascal, if you lay a finger on that paint-box I shall call on the
schoolmaster and ask him to spank you!"
At this juncture, much to the girls' relief, Miss Aubrey came to
criticize their sketches. She pointed out the mistakes in their
drawings, and waited while they corrected them.
"It's no use beginning the painting to-day," she remarked in a low tone.
"The children are too great a nuisance. I did not know about the Board
of Guardians' meeting, or I would not have brought you this morning. We
must come another time, when these small folk are safely in school, and
we can work undisturbed. I'm afraid you must have found them very
troublesome."
"The ten plagues of Egypt weren't in it!" replied Gwethyn, joyfully
closing her paint-box, and beginning to pack up her traps. "You had a
crowd, too."
"Oh! I'm more accustomed to it, though I admit I'd rather dispense with
an audience. If you want to be an artist, you have to learn to put up
with this kind of thing. Never mind! I promise our next subject shall be
in an absolutely retired spot, where no one can find us out."
CHAPTER IV
The School Mascot
Although Katrine had come to Aireyholme primarily to study art, she did
not escape scot-free with respect to other lessons. Mrs. Franklin was a
martinet where work was concerned. She often remarked that she did not
approve of young people wasting their time, and she certainly
endeavoured to put her principles into practice. She taught the Sixth
Form herself. Some of the girls were preparing for their matriculation,
and received special private coaching from a professor who came twice a
week from Carford; but all, whether they were going in for the
examination or not, were taking the same general course. Katrine had
pursued her studies at Hartfield High School with very languid interest,
and had joyfully abandoned them in favour of the Art School. She was not
at all enthusiastic at being obliged to continue her ordinary education,
and, indeed, considered the classes in the light of a grievance. It was
humiliating to find herself behind the rest of the form in mathematics,
to stumble in the French translation, and make bad shots at botany;
particularly so before Viola Webster, who listened to her mistakes and
halting recitations with a superior smile, or an amused glance at Diana
Bennett.
"If we had had you at Aireyholme the last year or two, you would have
reached a much higher standard by now," said Mrs. Franklin. "You must do
your best to make up for lost time. An extra half-hour's preparation
every day would do you no harm. You might get up a little earlier in the
mornings."
Katrine, whose object was not so much to repair the gaps left in her
education by the Hartfield High School as to amble through the present
term with the least possible exertion of her brains, received the
suggestion coldly, and forbore to act upon it.
"It's all very well for the matric. girls to get up at six and swat, but
you won't find me trying it on!" she assured Gwethyn in private. "What
does it matter whether I can work a rubbishy problem, or patter off a
page of French poetry? I've got to take the classes, worse luck, but all
the Mrs. Franklins in the world shan't make me grind."
Between Katrine and the Principal there existed a kind of armed
neutrality. Mrs. Franklin persisted in regarding her as an ordinary
pupil, while Katrine considered that she had come to school on a totally
different footing. Neither would yield an inch. Mrs. Franklin was
masterful, but Katrine was gently stubborn. It is impossible to make a
girl work who is determined to idle. At art Katrine was prepared to
slave, and she had already begun to worship Miss Aubrey, but as a member
of the Sixth Form she was the champion slacker. The Principal by turns
tried severity, cajoling, and sarcasm.
"A most talented essay!" she remarked one day, handing back an untidy
manuscript. "One might regard it as a study in tautology. The word
'very' occurs seven times in a single page. It is scarcely usual for a
girl of seventeen to make twelve mistakes in spelling."
"I never could spell," answered Katrine serenely.
"Then it's time you learnt. Your writing also is sprawling and careless,
and you have no idea of punctuation. I wish you could have seen the
neat, beautifully expressed essays that Ermengarde used to write. They
were models of composition and tidiness."
A suppressed smile passed round the form. The subject of Ermengarde was
a perennial joke among the girls. Mrs. Franklin did not approve of
holding up present pupils as patterns, for fear of fostering their
vanity, so she generally quoted her daughter as an epitome of all the
virtues. It was common knowledge in the school that Ermengarde's
achievements had acquired an after-reputation which at the time they
certainly did not justify. So far from being a shining ornament of
Aireyholme, she had generally lagged in the wake of her form. She had
bitterly disappointed her mother by barely scraping through her
matriculation, and failing to win a scholarship for college. Poor
Ermengarde had no gift for study; she was not particularly talented in
any direction, and, shirking the various careers which Mrs. Franklin
urged upon her, had taken fate into her own hands by marrying a curate,
albeit he was impecunious, and "not at all clever, thank goodness!", as
she confided to her intimate friends. When matrimony had debarred
Ermengarde from any possibility of a college degree, her mother took it
for granted that she would have obtained honours if she had only tried
for them, and always spoke of her with regretful admiration as one who
had laid aside the laurels of the muses for the duster of domesticity.
"Saint Ermengarde", so the girls called her in mockery, lived therefore
as a kind of school tradition, and she would have been very much
surprised, indeed, had she known the extent to which her modest efforts
had been magnified.
Gwethyn, who had been placed in the Fifth Form, found her level more
quickly than did Katrine in the Sixth. Her high spirits and harum-scarum
ways commended her to most of her new companions. She had a racy method
of speech and a humorous habit of exaggeration that were rather amusing.
Fresh from V.B. at the Hartfield High School, she fell easily into the
work of the form, and if she did not particularly distinguish herself,
gave no special trouble. The spirited sketch which she made of Miss
Spencer, pince-nez on nose and book in hand, was considered "to the
life", and she was good-natured enough to make no less than five copies
of it, at the earnest request of Prissie Yorke, Susie Parker, Rose
Randall, Beatrix Bates, and Dona Matthews. Her drawings of imps and
goblins, with which she speedily decorated the fly-leaves of her new
text-books, were immensely admired. General feeling inclined to the
opinion that while Katrine gave herself airs, Gwethyn was the right
sort, and might be adopted, with due caution, into the heart of the
form. It would, of course, be unwise to make too much fuss of her in the
beginning; every new girl must go through her novitiate of snubbing,
but such a jolly, happy-go-lucky specimen as this would not be long in
settling into Aireyholme ways.
The new-comers had arrived on 21st April: they had therefore been a
little more than a week at the school when the 1st of May ushered in the
summer. May Day was kept with great ceremony at Heathwell. The old
festival, abandoned for more than a hundred years, had been revived
lately in the village, largely at the instance of Miss Aubrey, whose
artistic spirit revelled in such picturesque scenes. She had persuaded
Mr. Boswell, the local squire, to place a may-pole on a small green near
the market hall, and she had herself taught the children of the Council
school a number of charming folk dances. The schoolmaster and the vicar
both approved of the movement, and gave every facility and
encouragement, and the children themselves were highly enthusiastic.
This year it was proposed to have a more than usually elaborate
performance, and to take a collection in the streets in aid of the
Prince of Wales's Fund. May Day fortunately fell on a Saturday, so, as
the festival had been well advertised, it was hoped that visitors would
come over from Carford and other places in the neighbourhood. Though the
actual pageant was to be given by the Council school children, the girls
at Aireyholme rendered very valuable help. They made some of the
dresses, plaited garlands, stitched knots of coloured ribbons, and last,
but not least, were responsible for the collecting. Fifteen of the
seniors, wearing Union Jack badges on their hats, and broad bands of
tricolour ribbon tied under one arm and across the shoulder, were set
apart for the task, each carrying a wooden box labelled: "Prince of
Wales's Fund".
The festivities were to begin at three o'clock, to fit in with the times
of the local railway trains. The morning was a busy whirl of
preparation. Miss Aubrey, with the monitresses as special helpers,
flitted backwards and forwards between Aireyholme and the village,
making last arrangements and putting finishing touches. Katrine and
Gwethyn had never before had the opportunity of witnessing such a
spectacle, so they were full of excitement at the prospect. At half-past
two, Mrs. Franklin, mistresses, and girls sallied forth to the scene of
action, and secured an admirable position on the steps of the market
hall, whence they could have a good view of the proceedings.
It was a balmy, sunny day, and the lovely weather, combined with the
quaint programme, had tempted many visitors from various places in the
district. The trains arrived full, and Heathwell for once was
overflowing. Not only had people made use of the railway, but many had
come on bicycles, and motor-cars added to the crush. The local shops,
and even the cottages, had taken advantage of the occasion to sell
lemonade and ginger beer, and had hung out home-written signs announcing
their willingness to provide teas and store cycles. The village was _en
fete_, and the general atmosphere was one of jollity and enjoyment.
The children were waiting in the school play-ground, under the
superintendence of their teachers and Miss Aubrey. Precisely as the
church clock struck three, the procession started. It was led by the
band of the local corps of boy scouts, the drummer very proud indeed in
the possession of the orthodox leopard skin, which had been presented
only the week before by a local magnate. After the scouts came a number
of children, dressed in Kate Greenaway costumes, and carrying May
knots--sticks surmounted with wreaths of flowers and green leaves. A
band of little ones, representing fairies, heralded the approach of the
May Queen, who drove in great state in a tiny carriage drawn by a very
small Shetland pony, led by a page resplendent in ribbons and buckles.
The carriage was so covered with flowers that it well resembled the car
of Friga, the spring goddess of Scandinavian mythology, who gave her
name to Friday. No deity, classic or Teutonic, could have been prettier
than the flaxen-haired little maiden, who sat up stiffly, trying with
great dignity to support her regal honours. Her courtiers walked behind
her, and after came a band of morris dancers, jingling their bells as
they went. The pageant paraded down the High Street, made a circuit
round the market hall, and drew up round the may-pole on the strip of
green. A platform had been erected here, with a throne for the Queen, so
her little majesty was duly handed out of her carriage, and installed in
the post of honour. Amid ringing cheers the crown was placed on her
curly head, and the sceptre delivered to her, while small courtiers
bowed with a very excellent imitation of mediaeval grace.
"What an absolute darling the Queen is!" remarked Gwethyn, who, with
Katrine, was an ecstatic spectator.
"It's little Mary Gartley," replied Coralie Nelson. "They're the
best-looking family in the village--six children, and all have those
lovely flaxen curls. I never saw such beautiful hair. Look at that tiny
wee chap who's standing just by the pony. That's Hugh Gartley. Isn't he
an absolute cherub? We've had him for a model at the studio. We call him
'The School Mascot', because he's brought us such luck. Miss Aubrey's
picture of him has got into the Academy, and Gladwin Riley's sketch won
first prize in a magazine competition, and Hilda Smart's photo of him
also took a prize in a paper. He scored three successes for Aireyholme.
He's the sweetest little rascal. Even Mrs. Franklin can't resist patting
him on the head, and giving him biscuits."
"He's an absolute angel!" agreed the Marsdens enthusiastically.
When the coronation of the May Queen was duly accomplished, the sports
began. A band of dainty damsels, holding coloured ribbons, plaited and
unplaited the may-pole, much to the admiration of the crowd, who encored
the performance. The fairies gave a pretty exhibition, waving garlands
of flowers as they trod their fantastic measure; the morris dancers
capered their best, and the Boy Scouts' band did its utmost in providing
the music. It was a very charming scene; so quaint amid the old-world
setting of the picturesque village that the spectators clapped and
cheered with heartiest approval. The little actors, excited by the
applause, began to go beyond control, and to run about helter-skelter,
waving their garlands and shouting "hurrah!" The crowd also was breaking
up. A train was nearly due, and some of the visitors made a rush for the
station. A char-a-banc with three horses started from the "Bell and
Dragon". At that identical moment little Hugh Gartley, seeing some
attraction on the opposite pavement, threw discipline to the winds and
dashed suddenly across the road, in front of the very wheels of the
passing char-a-banc. Katrine happened to be watching him. With a leap
and a run she was down the steps of the market hall and in the street.
Before the child, or anyone else, realized his danger, she had snatched
him from the front of the horses, and had dragged him on to the
pavement. The driver pulled up in considerable alarm.
"It's not my fault," he protested. "Kids shouldn't bolt across like
that."
Finding there was no harm done, he drove on. The incident was over so
quickly that it was hardly noticed by the general public. Little Hugh
Gartley, much scared, clung crying to Katrine's hand. She took him in
her arms and comforted him with chocolates. He made friends readily, and
instead of rejoining the May dancers, insisted upon staying with her for
the rest of the performance. Katrine was fond of children, and enjoyed
petting the pretty little fellow. She kept him by her until the
procession passed on its return to the schoolhouse, then she made him
slip in amongst the other masqueraders.
The fifteen collectors had been busy all the afternoon handing round
their boxes, and anticipated quite a good harvest.
"I shouldn't be surprised if we'd taken seven or eight pounds; many
people put in silver," said Diana Bennett. "It will be grand when the
boxes are opened."
"You missed the excitement near the market hall," volunteered Coralie.
"Katrine Marsden rescued Hugh Gartley from being run over. She snatched
him back just in the nick of time."
"Oh, it was nothing!" protested Katrine.
"Indeed it was splendid presence of mind! He might have been killed if
you hadn't dashed down so promptly and snatched him."
Katrine's action in saving the school mascot was soon noised abroad
among the girls, and brought her a quite unexpected spell of popularity,
chiefly with the juniors and the Fifth Form, however. The Sixth, led by
the monitresses, still hung back, jealous of their privileges, and
unwilling to tolerate one who persisted in considering herself a
"parlour boarder", and, as they expressed it, "putting on side!" It was
really mostly Katrine's own fault: her previous acquaintance with school
life ought to have taught her wisdom; but seventeen is a crude age, and
not given to profiting by past experience. Some of the pin-pricks she
sustained were well deserved.
On the evening of May Day, being a Saturday as well as a special
festival, the monitresses decided to give a cocoa party in their study,
and invite the rest of the form.
"We got eight pounds, fifteen and twopence halfpenny in the collecting
boxes this afternoon," announced Viola, "and we ought to drink the
health of the Prince of Wales's Fund in cocoa. We'll have a little
rag-time fun, too, just among ourselves."
"All serene!" agreed Diana. "This child's always ready for sport. What
about biscuits?"
"We may send out for what we like. I interviewed the Great Panjandrum,
and she was affability itself."
"Good! Cocoanut fingers for me. And perhaps a few Savoys."
"Right-o! Make your list. Tomlinson is to go and fetch them."
"We shall have to borrow cups from the kitchen," said Dorrie, who had
been investigating inside the cupboard. "Since that last smash we're
rather low down in our china--only four cups left intact."
"Go and ask the cook for five more, then."
"Five? That'll only make nine."
"Quite enough."
"Aren't you going to invite Katrine Marsden?"
Viola pulled a long face.
"Is it necessary? She doesn't consider herself one of the Sixth."
"But she is, really. It seems rather marked to leave her out."
"Oh, well!" rather icily. "Ask her if you like, of course. I'm sure I
don't want to keep her out of things if she cares to join in."
Dorrie accordingly ran up to the studio, where Katrine was sitting
putting a few finishing touches to the study of tulips upon which she
had been engaged during the last week.
"We're having a cocoa party at eight in our study. Awfully pleased to
see you. Just our own form," announced Dorrie heartily.
"Thanks very much," returned Katrine casually, "but I really don't think
I shall have time to come. I want to finish these tulips."
"Isn't it getting too dark for painting?"
"Oh, no! The light's good for some time yet, and Miss Aubrey's probably
coming upstairs to go on with her still-life study. I love sitting with
her. She's most inspiring."
"Comme vous voulez, mademoiselle!" answered Dorrie, retiring in high
dudgeon to report to her fellow-monitresses. They were most indignant at
the slight.
"Cheek!"
"Turns up her nose at our invitation, does she?"
"She can please herself, I'm sure."
"She's no loss, at any rate."
"Look here!" said Dorrie. "I've got an idea. We'll pay her out for this.
She's counting on Miss Aubrey going to sit with her in the studio, and
having a delightful _tete a tete_. Let's ask Miss Aubrey to our cocoa
party."
"Splendiferous!"
"Girl alive, you're a genius! Go instanter!"
Dorrie hurried off to deliver her second invitation. It was more
graciously received than the first.
"Oh! I'm only too flattered! I shall be delighted to turn up. May I
bring a contribution to the feast?" beamed Miss Aubrey.
"Done Katrine Marsden for once!" chuckled Dorrie, communicating the good
tidings in the study. "She'll be fearfully sick when she finds her idol
has deserted her for us."
"I sincerely hope she will."
At eight o'clock an extremely jolly party assembled in the little room
underneath the studio, all prepared to abandon themselves to enjoyment,
to crack jokes, sing catches, ask riddles, or indulge in anything that
savoured of fun. There were not chairs for all, but nobody minded
sitting on the floor. Viola's spirit-lamp was on the table, and the
kettle steamed cheerily; tins of cocoa and condensed milk and packets of
biscuits were spread forth with the row of cups and saucers. Miss
Aubrey, throned in a basket-chair, with girls quarrelling for the
privilege of sitting near her, held a kind of impromptu court.
"It's been a ripping May Day. Everybody was saying how well you'd
engineered the whole thing," Viola assured her. "The folk dances were
just too sweet! Those Americans who came in that big car were in
raptures. They dropped half a sovereign into my box. They said the May
Queen was the prettiest child they'd ever seen."
"Mary Gartley is only second to Hugh," replied Miss Aubrey. "I hear the
little chap nearly got run over this afternoon, and Katrine Marsden
rescued him. Where is Katrine, by the by?"
For a moment an awkward silence reigned.
"She's in the studio. We invited her, but she wouldn't come,"
volunteered Dorrie at last.
"Oh!" said Miss Aubrey, with a gleam of comprehension.
Upstairs, Katrine was painting away rather half-heartedly. She wondered
why her beloved art-mistress did not arrive. It would be delightful to
have her all to herself, without those schoolgirls. The door burst open,
and Gwethyn came rushing tumultuously in.
"Kattie! The Fifth are giving a Mad Hatter's party! We're going to have
the most screaming fun! They've asked you, so do come, quick!"
"Oh, I don't care about it, child! I'm waiting here for Miss Aubrey."
"Miss Aubrey? Why, she's gone to the Sixth Form party! I saw her walking
into their study with a box of chocolates and a bag of something in her
hand. They're at it hard!"
A glimpse of Katrine's face at that moment might have soothed the
injured feelings of the monitresses. From below rose unmistakable sounds
of mirth to confirm Gwethyn's words.
"Aren't you coming? Do hurry up!" urged Gwethyn impatiently.
But to join in the festivities of the Fifth Form after declining those
of the Sixth was too great a come-down for Katrine's dignity.
"Run along, Baby! I don't care for nonsense parties. I'd rather stay and
paint," she replied, with an air of sang-froid that was perhaps slightly
overdone.
"Tantrums? Well, you're a jolly silly, that's all I can say; for we're
going to have ripping fun!" chirruped Gwethyn, shutting the door with a
slam.
CHAPTER V
Lilac Grange
So far Gwethyn's impression of Aireyholme had been largely tinged by the
prevailing presence of Laura Browne. Laura took her up the very evening
she arrived, and had since gushed over her without intermission,
monopolizing her almost entirely. It was Laura who explained the school
rules, and offered advice on the subject of preparation or practising;
Laura who walked with her round the garden, introduced her to the
library, and showed her the Senior museum. The temperature of the
friendship might be described--on Laura's side at any rate--as
white-hot. She took complete possession of Gwethyn, driving off the
other girls gently but firmly.
"I'll tell her all about the lessons!" she would declare, waving Rose or
Susie away. "Come with me, dearest! Of course I know our work's nothing
to you, after your other school, but any help that I can give you,
you're more than welcome to. It's so refreshing to have a girl like you
here, after these others. Oh, anyone could see the difference! I fell in
love with you at first sight. Look at Rose Randall, now; it would be
impossible to be friends with her. I couldn't do it. And Beatrix and
Marian are unspeakable. No, darling, until you came, I hadn't a chum in
the whole school."
As the rest of the form held slightly aloof, Gwethyn found herself flung
into the arms of Laura Browne. She had not Katrine's reserve, and would
rather be friends with anybody than nobody. She did not altogether care
for Laura's fawning manners, but as the intimacy was forced upon her,
she accepted it. For ten days they had been dubbed "the lovers", and
were constantly in each other's company.
"I hear you've brought your violin, sweetest," said Laura at recreation
one morning, as the pair stood watching a set of tennis. "How is it you
didn't tell me? I'm dying to hear you play it."
"Oh, I'm only a beginner! I brought it just in case I found time to
practise a little. I'm not taking lessons on it here."
"But you will play for me?"
"If you like; but it won't be a treat. I break about a dozen strings
every time I tune it."
"A violin has four strings, so you must snip them with a pair of
scissors, I should think, if you break twelve each time you tune up,"
remarked a sarcastic voice from behind.
Gwethyn turned round, and met the scornful eyes of Githa Hamilton.
"That horrid child! Why can't she let me alone?" she whispered to Laura.
"She's the image of a toadstool, with her khaki complexion and lank
hair."
But Githa's sharp ears overheard.
"Thanks for the compliment! Khaki's a nice patriotic colour. I like my
hair straight--I haven't the least desire to friz it out or curl it. If
you're going to break a dozen strings tuning your fiddle to-day, perhaps
you'll save me the pieces; they make splendid lashes for whips."
"To drive geese with?" retorted Gwethyn.
"Exactly. How clever of you to guess! There are a great many geese in
this neighbourhood. I come in contact with them every day."
"Don't mind the snarly little thing!" said Laura, walking Gwethyn away.
"Now tell me when I'm to hear your violin. Shall we say a quarter-past
two this afternoon in the practising-room? I'll play your piano
accompaniment."
"And I'll be there for the surplus strings!" piped Githa, following
behind.
"Githa Hamilton, take yourself off!" commanded Laura, routing the enemy
at last.
Gwethyn had not opened her violin-case since coming to Aireyholme. She
had taken lessons for about a year, and her mother had urged her to try
and find time to practise, so that she should not forget all she had
learned; but so far there had been so many other things to occupy her,
that the violin had been entirely thrust on one side. True to her
promise to Laura, she brought it out of its retirement this afternoon,
and going to the music-room began to tune it by the piano. Not a string
snapped in the process, and the instrument was soon in order. Gwethyn
laid it down on the table, and waited. Surely Laura could not be long.
She had made the appointment for 2.15, and had expressed herself at
dinner as impatient for the time to arrive. The minutes rolled by,
however, and no Laura appeared. Presently a smooth dark head peeped
round the door.
"Any strings on hand?" inquired Githa, with an elfish grin. "I've come
for that odd dozen you've got to spare!"
"I didn't break any," returned Gwethyn shortly.
"Bad news for me! Well, now, I suppose you're at the trysting-place,
waiting for the beloved?"
"Laura'll be turning up soon," grunted Gwethyn.
"Sorry to break your heart instead of your strings! I'm afraid she won't
turn up. It's a case of 'he cometh not, she said'. The fair one is false
and fickle, and loves another! If you're going to have hysterics, or
faint, please give me warning. Poor lone heart!"
"What nonsense you're talking! What do you mean?" asked Gwethyn,
laughing in spite of herself.
"It's the sad and solemn truth. Laura Browne, regardless of her
appointment with you, is now walking round the kitchen-garden arm-in-arm
with another love, and gazing admiringly into her eyes. Your image is
wiped from her memory; you are a broken idol, a faded flower, a past
episode, a thing of yesterday!"
"For goodness' sake, stop ragging!"
"Well, if you prefer it in plain prose, you're superseded by Phyllis
Lowman. She's Mrs. Franklin's niece, and comes occasionally to spend a
few days here. She arrived just after dinner. We're not keen on her in
the school, but Laura truckles to her to curry favour with Mother
Franklin. During her visit the pair will be inseparable, and your poor
plaintive nose will be absolutely out of joint."
"I don't believe you!" flared Gwethyn.
"Oh, all right! Go and see for yourself! It isn't I who exaggerate!" and
with a malicious little laugh the Toadstool beat a retreat.
There were a few minutes left before afternoon school, so Gwethyn, tired
of waiting, took a run round the garden. Alas! Githa had spoken the
truth. Wandering amongst the gooseberry bushes she met her missing
friend, in company with a stranger. They were linked arm-in-arm, and
their heads were pressed closely together. As they passed Gwethyn,
Laura's eyes showed not a trace even of recognition, much less apology
or regret.
"I've been simply vegetating till you came here again, Phyllis darling!
I'm living to-day! You sweetest!"
The words, in Laura's most honied tones, were wafted back as the pair
walked towards the house. Gwethyn looked after them and stamped.
"So that's Laura Browne and her fine friendship! Well, I've done with
her from to-day. She won't catch me having anything more to say to her.
I really think this is the limit! I couldn't have believed it of her if
I hadn't seen it. The utter sneak!"
Phyllis Lowman spent three days at Aireyholme, during which period Laura
was her slave and bond-servant. When she returned home, the latter
turned her attention again to her first love. But Gwethyn would have
none of her, and received her advances in so cavalier a fashion that she
gave up the futile attempt at reconciliation. The other members of the
Fifth enjoyed the little comedy. It was what they had expected.
"Gwethyn was bound to be 'Laura-ridden' at first," laughed Susie Parker.
"It's the inevitable. Laura's new friendships have to run their course
like measles. This has only been a short business, and now we may
consider Gwethyn disinfected!"
No longer monopolized by Laura, Gwethyn began to make friends with other
girls, and was soon a favourite in the Fifth. Her love of fun, and
readiness to give and take, commended her to the form, and on her side
she much preferred to be ordinary chums with her comrades, than to be
offered a slavish and rather ridiculous worship, such as Laura had
tendered.
* * * * *
Since their very trying experiences in the High Street, the Marsdens had
begged Miss Aubrey to allow them to abandon that particular subject, and
begin another sketch in some more retired place, where spectators would
not come to look over their shoulders. Miss Aubrey herself disliked
working in the midst of a crowd, so she readily agreed, and at their
next painting lesson announced that she had found the very spot to suit
them. Nan Bethell, Gladwin Riley, and Coralie Nelson were to join the
class that afternoon. Viola, Dorrie, and Diana were also extremely
anxious to go, but Mrs. Franklin would not spare her best matriculation
students, and sternly set them to work at mathematics instead, much to
their disgust. Tita Gray, Hilda Smart, and Ellaline Dickens, the
remaining members of the Sixth, were detained by music lessons with a
master who came over weekly from Carford. Only five fortunate ones
sallied forth, therefore, with Miss Aubrey. The subject which their
teacher had chosen was not far off, though rather out of the way.
Standing back from the village, at the end of a long lane, was a
rambling old house known as "The Grange". It lay low, in a somewhat damp
spot close to the river, faced north, and had no particular view. Owing,
no doubt, to these drawbacks, and to its inconvenient situation, it had
been unlet for several years, and as the owner did not seem inclined to
spend money on repairs, its dilapidated condition held out little
promise of a new tenant. To anyone anxious for seclusion no more
suitable retreat could be found: the long leafy lane which led to its
rusty iron gate, the thickness of its surrounding plantation, the tall
shrubs in the garden, which almost touched the windows, all seemed so
many barriers to discourage the public, and to keep the lonely dwelling
apart from the outside world. To the girls it looked mysterious, and it
was with almost a creepy feeling that they opened the creaking gate, and
made their way through the tangled garden. Everything seemed as
overgrown and as quiet as in the palace of the Sleeping Beauty; not a
face to be seen at the windows, nor a footstep to be heard in the
grounds; the flower-beds were a mass of rank weeds, the paths were
covered with grass, and the lawn was a hayfield. In the prime of their
beauty, however, were the lilac bushes; they had thriven with neglect,
and were covered with masses of exquisite blossom, scenting the whole
air, and making the garden a purple Paradise.
"The place ought to be called 'Lilac Grange'!" said Katrine admiringly.
"It's a perfect show at present. Are we to paint them?"
"I'm afraid they would prove rather difficult. I have an easier subject
for you round at the back," said Miss Aubrey, leading the way to the
rear of the house, where a timbered dovecote stood in the old paved
courtyard. With its black beams and carved doorway, it seemed of much
greater antiquity than the Grange itself, which had probably been
rebuilt on the site of an older structure. Miss Aubrey found a
favourable view where the afternoon sunshine cast warm shadows upon the
lichen-stained plaster, and she at once set her pupils to work, to catch
the effect before the light changed.
"What a harbour of refuge this is!" declared Gwethyn, haunted by
memories of the High Street. "There isn't a single child to come and
disturb us. I call this absolute bliss."
"And a ripping subject!" agreed Katrine.
For a long time the girls worked away quietly, passing an occasional
remark, but too busy to talk. At last the Marsdens, who drew more
quickly than their comrades, had reached a stage at which it was
impossible to continue without advice. Miss Aubrey was sketching the
lilac round the corner, so leaving their easels they went in search of
her. Not sorry to stretch their limbs for a few minutes, they decided
first to take a run round the garden. It would be fun to explore, and
Katrine would get rid of the pins and needles in her foot. Under the
lanky laurel bushes and overgrown rose arches, along a swampy little
path by the river, through a broken green-house, and back across a
nettle-covered terrace. Not a soul to be seen about the whole place. It
was peaceful as a palace of dreams.
Stop! What was that rustling among the leaves? There was a movement
under the lilac bushes, and a slight figure stepped out into the
sunshine.
"Githa Hamilton! Whatever are you doing here?" exclaimed the girls.
The pale little Toadstool looked more surprised than pleased at the
meeting.
"I may return the compliment, and ask what you are doing here?" she
parried.
"We're sketching with Miss Aubrey."
"And I'm--amusing myself! My time's my own after school is over."
She spoke aggressively, almost belligerently. To judge from her
appearance, no one would have imagined that she had been amusing
herself. The redness of her eyes suggested crying.
"I'm going home now for tea," she snapped. "I left my bicycle by the
gate."
When Katrine's and Gwethyn's drawings had been duly corrected by their
teacher, and they had settled down again for the final half-hour's work,
they mentioned this meeting with Githa to Coralie, who was sitting close
by.
"What was the queer child doing?" asked Katrine. "I thought she seemed
rather caught. She glared at us as if she wished us at Timbuctoo."
"Oh! was Githa here? Well, you see, it used to be her old home. Her
grandfather owned the Grange. She and her brother were orphans, and
lived with him; then, when he died, they had to go to an uncle, and the
house was to let. Everybody thinks they were treated very hardly. Old
Mr. Ledbury had promised to provide for them (they were his daughter's
children), but when the will was read there was no mention of them. No
one could understand how it was that he had left them without a penny.
He had always seemed so fond of them. Their uncle, Mr. Wilfred Ledbury,
who inherited everything, took them to live with him, rather on
sufferance. The boy is at a boarding-school, but I don't think Githa has
a particularly nice time at The Gables."
"What an atrocious shame!" exploded Gwethyn.
"Oh! don't misunderstand me. They're not exactly unkind to her. She's
sent to school at Aireyholme, and she's always quite nicely dressed; she
has her bicycle, and she may keep her pets in the stable. Only her uncle
just ignores her, and her aunt isn't sympathetic, or interested in her.
With being a day-girl she's out of all the fun we boarders get. I fancy
she's most fearfully lonely."
"Oh! the poor little Toadstool! If I'd only known that, I wouldn't have
been so rude to her. I was a brute!" (Gwethyn's self-reproach was really
genuine.) "I'll be nice to her now. I will indeed!"
"Don't start pitying her, for goodness' sake! It's the one thing Githa
can't stand. She's as proud as Lucifer, and if she suspects you're the
least atom sorry for her, it makes her as hard as nails. She never lets
us know she's not happy; she always makes out she's better off than we
are, going home every day. But I'm sure she's miserable."
"Yes, you can see that in her face," agreed Katrine.
Impulsive Gwethyn, having learnt Githa's story, was anxious to atone for
several lively passages of arms, and to make friends. But the conquest
of the Toadstool was harder than she expected. Githa's proud little
heart resented anything savouring of patronage, and she repelled all
advances. No hedgehog could have been more prickly. She refused to play
tennis, declined the loan of books, and even said "No, thank you," to
proffered chocolates. Instead of appearing grateful for the notice of a
girl in a higher form, she seemed to stiffen herself into an attitude of
haughty reserve. Finding all attempts at kindness useless, Gwethyn
simply let her alone, taking no notice whatever of her, and just
ignoring pointed remarks and sarcasms, instead of returning them with
compound interest as formerly. Baffled by this new attitude, the
Toadstool, after trying her most aggravating sallies, and failing to
draw any sparks, relapsed into neutrality. Her dark eyes often followed
Gwethyn with an inscrutable gaze, but she steadfastly avoided speaking
to her.
Gwethyn did not greatly concern herself, for she had found three most
congenial chums. Rose Randall, Beatrix Bates, and Dona Matthews were
kindred spirits where fun was concerned, and in their society she spent
all her spare time. As for Katrine, she was not likely to trouble about
a Fourth Form girl. She just realized Githa as a plain and very
objectionable junior, but never gave a thought to her or her affairs. At
present Katrine's mind was devoted to art, and had no corner to spare
for minor interests. Under Miss Aubrey's tuition she was making strides,
and was beginning to put on her colours in a far more professional
manner. She really had a decided talent for painting, as well as a love
for it, and she had come prepared to work. Her teacher, glad to find
such enthusiasm, gave her every encouragement. She took her out
sketching daily, allowed her to watch while she herself painted, and
took infinite trouble to set her in the way of real art progress.
Katrine's easel had never before had so much exercise. She planted it in
a variety of situations, at the instance of Miss Aubrey, whose trained
eye could at once pick out suitable subjects for the brush. Heathwell
was a very Paradise for artists, with its deep lanes, its hedges a
tangle of honeysuckle, wild rose, and white briony, its quiet timbered
farmsteads set in the midst of lush meadows, its flowery gardens, and
its slow-flowing river with reedy, willowy banks. Those were halcyon
days to Katrine, whether she sat in the sunshine among the pinks and
pansies of a cottage garden, sketching the subtle varied stones of a
weather-worn gable against the rich brown of a thatched roof, the bees
humming in and out of the flowers, and the pigeons cooing gently in the
dovecote close by; or whether Miss Aubrey took her to the shelter of
thick woods, where the warm light, shimmering through the leaves, cast
flickering shadows on the soft grass below. There were glorious mornings
when Nature seemed to have washed her children's faces, and turned the
world out in clean clothes; golden noons when all was a-quiver in a haze
of heat, and the sky a blue dome from horizon to zenith; and still,
quiet evenings, when the elms were a blot of purple-grey against a pale
yellow afterglow, and the uncut hayfield such a soft, delicate, blurred
mass of indefinite colour that she gave up the vain effort to depict it,
and simply sat to gaze and wonder and enjoy. Down by the river the calm
pools would catch the carmine of the sky, till one could fancy that one
of the ten plagues had returned to earth, and that the waters were
turned into blood. Each leaf of the willows seemed to reflect a shade of
warmer hue, till all was bathed in a glow of ruddy light, and looking
over the gently quivering reed tops to the splendour across the horizon,
one could almost see angels between the cloud bars.
Miss Aubrey, who had lived many years at Heathwell, had a score of
rustic acquaintances. The cottage folk often sat to her as models. Their
quaint ways and ingenuous remarks opened out a new phase of the world to
Katrine. She became immensely interested in the villagers, from Abel
Barnes, who still urged the claims of his bow-windowed red-brick villa
as a subject for her brush, to bonny little Hugh Gartley, whose cherubic
beauty she vainly tried to transfer to canvas.
She found the Gartleys a fascinating family. There were so many of them,
and they were all so fair and flaxen-haired, with such ready smiles and
winning manners. How they contrived to fit into their very small cottage
Katrine could never imagine. She had spoken once or twice to the mother,
a good-natured, untidy, slatternly young woman, whose income never
seemed to run to soap; but she avoided the father, an idle ne'er-do-weel
with a reputation for poaching.
"It is very difficult to help the Gartleys," said Miss Aubrey. "The
children are most attractive, but it is simply encouraging pauperism to
give to them while Bob Gartley stays at home drinking and refusing to
work. I hope you haven't given them any money?"
"Only a few pennies to Hugh and Mary--they looked so pretty," admitted
Katrine guiltily.
CHAPTER VI
An Awkward Predicament
For some days Katrine had been convinced that there was another artist
in the neighbourhood. She had caught a glimpse of an easel fixed in a
field, she had found a tube of paint lying in the road, and had noticed
upon a paling the scrapings of a palette. She had not yet, however, been
vouchsafed a sight of the stranger, against whom she had conceived a
violent prejudice. She had come to regard Heathwell as the private
sketching property of herself and Miss Aubrey, and regarded the
new-comer in the light of a poacher on their art preserves. He or
she--she did not even know the sex of the intruder--might very well have
chosen some other village, in her opinion, instead of fixing upon this
particular Paradise. All the same, she was inquisitive, and would have
liked very much to see the unknown artist's work. One afternoon Miss
Aubrey took the Marsdens to a little subject in a meadow on the road to
the river. She watched them begin to draw in a picturesque railing and
hawthorn stump, then went herself to another position in the field. Left
alone, the girls worked for some time in silence, Katrine with
whole-hearted absorption, and Gwethyn in a more dilettante fashion. The
latter did not care to stick at things too long. She soon grew tired,
and threw down her brush.
"Ugh! It makes me stiff to sit so still. I'm going to walk round the
pasture. Do come, Katrine! Oh, how you swat! You might take two minutes'
rest. We're just above the road here, and I believe somebody's sitting
down below. I can smell tobacco. I'm going to investigate."
Gwethyn came back in a few moments with her eyes dancing.
"It's an artist!" she whispered. "He's painting in the road exactly
below us. I can see his picture through the hedge. Come and look!"
Such exciting information broke the spell of Katrine's work. She put
down her palette at once, and followed Gwethyn. It was impossible to
resist taking a peep at the interesting stranger's sketch.
"You must promise not even to breathe. I should be most annoyed if he
happened to see us," she declared.
"All right! I'll be mum as a mouse, and walk as softly as a pussy-cat.
I'll undertake it won't be my fault if he divines our existence."
Very gently the two girls crept along the edge of the pasture, trying
not to rustle the grass, and heroically refraining from conversation.
"Here we are!" signalled Gwethyn at last, pausing at a thin place in the
hedge, which might have been made on purpose for a peep-hole. Through a
frame of sycamore leaves they could peer into the road exactly at the
spot where the rival easel was pitched. The artist's back was towards
them; they could see nothing but his tweed suit, his grey hair under a
brown hat, and the skilful right hand which kept dabbing subtle
combinations of half-tones upon his canvas. He seemed utterly
unconscious of their presence, and worked away in sublime ignorance that
two pairs of eyes were following every stroke of his brush. He was no
amateur, that was plain. The girls were sufficient judges of painting to
recognize that though the sketch was still at an elementary stage he had
made a masterly beginning. Katrine watched quite fascinated, trying to
decide what colours he was using, and in what proportion he had mixed
them. If she could only see his palette, she might perhaps discover the
secret of that particularly warm shadow he was in the act of placing
under the near tree. She craned her head a little forward through the
hedge. Gwethyn, equally anxious to see everything possible, pressed
closely behind her. Whether it was the heat of the sun, or whether a
sycamore leaf tickled the end of her nose, I cannot tell. The cause is
immaterial, but the awful and tangible result was that Katrine--Katrine,
who prided herself upon prunes and prism--burst without warning into a
violent and uncontrollable sneeze! Naturally the artist turned at the
unwonted sound, to catch an astonishing vision of two dismayed faces
peeping like dryads from the greenery behind him.
Katrine dashed off like a thief detected red-handed, but she had hardly
gone a yard when Gwethyn seized her by the arm.
"Katrine! Stop! There's no need to run in that silly way. Can't you see
it's Mr. Freeman?"
"What's the matter, girls?" asked Miss Aubrey, who had walked up to
correct their drawings.
Katrine felt caught on both sides, but there seemed nothing for it but
to pass off the affair as well as she could.
"We've met an old friend of my father's," she explained. "I suppose we
may say 'How do you do?' to him over the hedge?"
If the girls were surprised to see Mr. Freeman, he was equally
astonished to find them at Heathwell.
"Didn't know you were at school here. It's a grand part of the world for
sketching. Never saw so many paintable bits in my life. My diggings are
in the village. Yes, come down and look at my picture, if you like."
Mr. Freeman had often been a guest at the Marsdens'. The girls knew him
well. He had criticized Katrine's earliest art efforts, and had painted
a portrait of Gwethyn when she was about seven years old. He seemed to
have grasped the humour of the present situation, for he gazed up the
bank with twinkling eyes. Katrine hastily introduced Miss Aubrey over
the top of the hedge, not a very dignified method of presenting a
friend, but the only one available. Fortunately Miss Aubrey was not Mrs.
Franklin! An invitation to make a nearer acquaintance with the picture
was irresistible. Katrine took her teacher by the arm, and pulled her
gently in the direction of the gate. She offered no objection.
"I was most extremely glad for Mr. Freeman to meet Miss Aubrey," Katrine
confided to Gwethyn afterwards. "Two such good artists positively ought
to know each other. They've each got a picture in the Academy,
and--isn't it funny?--in the very same room--numbers 402 and 437!"
"They seemed to find plenty to talk about," returned Gwethyn. "I hope
Mr. Freeman really will look us up at school."
Not only did their artist friend take an early opportunity of calling on
them at Aireyholme, but he asked Miss Aubrey to bring them to see his
sketches in the little studio he had rigged up in the village. It was a
treat to be shown his charming interpretations of Heathwell and its
inhabitants. He had already requisitioned some of the Gartley children
as models, and was in ecstasies over their picturesque appearance. His
study of the High Street at sunset was a poem on canvas.
"This beats every other place I've ever stayed at for painting," he
announced. "Now I've found this studio, I shall stop here for the
summer. There's any amount to be done."
"You'll certainly find plenty of subjects round about," agreed Miss
Aubrey.
"I wonder if the painting is altogether the whole of the attraction,"
mused Gwethyn, who in some respects was wise beyond her years.
* * * * *
Miss Aubrey was an immense favourite at Aireyholme, but among all the
girls she had no stancher and more whole-hearted admirer than Githa
Hamilton. Githa was not demonstrative--she never said much; but whenever
possible she haunted her idol like a drab little shadow, watching her
with adoring eyes, and hanging upon her words. Miss Aubrey had a very
shrewd suspicion that Githa was lonely at home and left out at school.
Realizing her peculiar disposition, she made no great fuss over her, but
every now and then managed unobtrusively to include the girl in some
special expedition or particular treat. At an early date in June she
arranged to take a few members of the painting class on a Saturday
excursion to Chiplow, where a fine old abbey would provide a capital
subject for an afternoon's sketching.
Chiplow was on a different line of railway from Carford, therefore the
Heathwell local trains were of little use in getting there. The quickest
route was to bicycle to Chorlton Lacy, a station on the South Midland
line, seven miles away, whence they could book excursion tickets to
Chiplow. Only girls possessing bicycles were available for the jaunt,
and as for one reason or another several of these were obliged to be
excluded, Miss Aubrey invited Githa to accompany them and make up the
dozen required for the issue of the special cheap holiday bookings. The
poor little Toadstool turned up radiant with delight, and looking really
almost pretty in her khaki-coloured cycle costume, scarlet tie, and
poppy-trimmed Panama. A Union Jack fluttered from her newly-polished
machine, and in the basket which hung from the handle-bars she had a
store of home-made toffee as well as her sketch-book.
In first-rate spirits the party set off along the road, riding in style
through the village, with much ringing of bells to scare away children.
They free-wheeled for nearly a mile downhill, and then had a splendid
level stretch of road beside the river bank.
"We're getting along capitally," said Miss Aubrey. "At this rate we
shall be at the station half an hour too soon."
"Unless we meet with some excitement!" ventured Gwethyn hopefully.
If Gwethyn craved for excitement, she was soon to find it. They had not
gone half a mile farther before their way was barred by an enormous
bull, which, to judge by a gap in the hedge, must have broken out of a
neighbouring field. There it stood, in a dip of the road, right in their
path, tossing its great head, pawing the ground, and bellowing lustily.
The cyclists jumped off their machines, decidedly scared by the
apparition that faced them.
"Oh, but doesn't it look a splendid subject?" gasped Katrine, whose
artistic instincts were uppermost even at such a crisis. "If we could
only draw it!"
"Don't be idiotic!" cried Nan Bethell. "It would be like taking a
snapshot of a lion when it's rushing at you with open jaws!"
"I'm sure Rosa Bonheur or Lucy Kemp-Welch would have sketched it."
"Then they'd have been impaled, one on each horn, and serve them right
for tempting Providence. Look at the dust the creature's raising in the
road!"
All the party were in consternation. Miss Aubrey, who felt the
responsibility of her charge, and moreover had a natural fear of bulls,
for once almost lost her presence of mind.
"What are we to do? It would be madness to try and ride past it. I
suppose we shall have to turn back home," she fluttered.
"Can't we call for help? Halloo!" shouted some of the girls.
"There's nobody about."
"I see a hat in that field!"
"It's only a scarecrow!"
Then Githa, who had been standing silently by her bicycle, suddenly
assumed direction of the situation.
"Stop shouting! You'll excite the bull!" she commanded. "Now let us
stack our machines in the ditch, and climb over this fence into the
field. Come along, quick! This way!"
It seemed such excellent advice that even Miss Aubrey obeyed quite
meekly. Leaving their bicycles below, they all scrambled hastily up the
bank and over some hurdles into a field.
"We're safe, but we shall lose our train!" lamented Gladwin Riley.
"Not a bit of it! We'll turn up in time at the station, you'll see!"
replied Githa. "Just leave it to me!"
She broke a stick from the hedge, picked up several large stones, and
then ran along the meadow for some distance and climbed another fence.
All at once the girls realized her intention. She was descending into
the road in the rear of the bull.
"Stop her! Stop her!" shrieked Miss Aubrey.
By that time, however, Githa was half-way down the bank. Before the bull
had time to realize her presence and turn round, she began a vigorous
onslaught with stones upon his hind quarters, shouting at the pitch of
her lungs. Her sudden attack had exactly the effect she hoped. The
bull, enraged by the noise and the stones, rushed blindly forward along
the road, passing the bicycles without notice, and stampeding in the
direction of Heathwell.
"Someone will stop him before he gets into the village," murmured Miss
Aubrey at the top of the bank.
The brave little Toadstool received an ovation as the rest of the party
climbed down from the post of vantage. She took her honours
ungraciously.
"What's the use of making a fuss? Anyone with two grains of sense would
have thought of it. For goodness' sake, let me get on my machine! We
haven't overmuch time, and we don't want to miss our train standing
palavering."
"How just exactly like Githa Hamilton!" commented Hilda Smart, as the
girls resumed their interrupted ride.
After all, they arrived at the station with five minutes to spare, just
long enough to book their excursion tickets and to leave their bicycles
in the left-luggage office. They were fortunate enough to find an empty
carriage, and crammed themselves in somehow; it was rather a tight fit
for a dozen, but it felt so much jollier to be all together. Chiplow was
an hour's journey away; a few of the party had been there before, but to
most it was a new experience. The abbey was one of the show places of
the county, and the old town had a historic reputation. There was plenty
to be seen in the streets alone: the houses were of the sixteenth
century, and very picturesque--many of them with carved wooden pillars,
and with dates and coats-of-arms over the doorways. Miss Aubrey took
her charges into the church, a dim, ancient edifice with a leper window,
a sounding-board over the pulpit, and, almost hidden away in the
transept, a "ducking-stool for scolds". The girls looked at the curious
old instrument of punishment with great curiosity; and Githa, who had
brought her camera, took a time exposure of it.
"Poor old souls!" said Katrine. "It was too bad to souse them in the
pond just because they waxed too eloquent. I've no doubt the husbands
deserved it. If everybody who talks too much nowadays were treated to
the cold-water cure, we should be a taciturn set."
"It might be a wholesome warning in some cases," laughed Miss Aubrey.
"It's really very trying when people babble on all about nothing, and
insist upon one's listening to them."
After lunch at a cafe in the town, the party adjourned to the abbey, a
most romantic ruin, standing among woods by the side of a river. The
monks of old must have been true artists to choose such unrivalled sites
on which to rear their glorious architecture. It was an exquisite jewel
in a perfect setting, and Miss Aubrey was soon in ecstasies over
delicate pieces of tracery and perpendicular windows. She set her class
to work on an arched gateway overhung by a graceful silver-birch tree.
It was not a particularly easy subject, and most of them did not
accomplish more than the drawing, though Katrine and Nan managed to put
on a little colour during the last half-hour. Everyone was very loath to
leave when Miss Aubrey at last declared it was time to close the
sketch-books. Their train was due at six, and they must have tea before
starting, so it was impossible to linger any longer.
Katrine had bought a guide-book at the abbey, and studied it over the
tea-table at the cafe. She was dismayed to find how many objects of
interest in the town they had missed.
"I should like to see the old house where Mary Queen of Scots stayed,"
she exclaimed. "It's only just down the street here. Miss Aubrey,
Gwethyn and I have finished tea; may we go and look at it? We'll be ever
so quick."
"You can if you like, but don't miss the train. If you turn up Cliff
Street, exactly opposite the hospital, it will bring you straight to the
station, and save your walking back here. Six o'clock, remember!"
"Oh, thank you! There's heaps of time. Come, Gwethyn!"
The Marsdens marched off with their guide-book, and easily found the old
house in question, which was now used as an Alms Hospital for
superannuated and disabled soldiers. They so dutifully curtailed their
inspection of it, that Katrine declared they might safely go and look at
the ruins of the city gate, which, according to her guide, must be quite
close by. Whether the book was unreliable, or whether Katrine, in her
haste, missed the right turning, is uncertain, but after wandering
vainly round several streets the girls found themselves down by the bank
of the river.
"You said we had plenty of time, but you didn't look at your watch,"
panted Gwethyn. "If that clock over there is right, we shall never catch
our train. Oh, you are a genius to-day! A prince of path-finders!"
Katrine came to a sudden halt. Gwethyn's remarks were unpalatable, but
strictly true. There were exactly ten minutes to spare. To go back to
the station would require at least twenty.
"It's the only train available by our excursion tickets," wailed
Gwethyn. "I believe there's a later one about nine or ten o'clock, but
they'll make us pay the difference between cheap bookings and ordinary
fare."
"I can see the glass roof of the station across the river, and there's a
bridge in front of us. It's probably a short cut, and will save half the
distance," announced Katrine hopefully. "Come along! Perhaps we can just
do it!"
The girls scurried forward in frantic haste. What convenient things
bridges were! Why, of course, there was the railway quite close on the
other side. They tore across the creaking planks in triumph, feeling
that every step brought them nearer to the station. But alas! for the
vanity of human wishes! The farther side of the bridge was closed by a
turnstile, and a fiend in human form was basely and mercenarily
demanding the one thing in the world which at present they could not
muster--a penny toll! It seemed absurd to be in the depths of
destitution, but it was the fact. They had given the money for the day's
excursion to Miss Aubrey, who acted as paymaster for the whole party,
and the few pence they had kept they had spent on the guide-book and
some chocolates. To be at one's last penny is a proverbial expression,
but Katrine and Gwethyn had never before realized the dire extremity of
being absolutely without a single specimen of that useful coin of the
realm. They rummaged in their pockets, hoping against hope that some
stray copper might have slipped into an obscure corner, and have been
overlooked. Gwethyn even felt the bottom of her coat, in case a
threepenny-bit could have strayed between the material and the lining.
In the meantime the keeper of the bridge stood with outstretched hand,
awaiting his dues, casting an impatient eye back into his toll-house,
where his tea was rapidly cooling upon the table.
"We find we haven't any money with us," faltered Katrine at last. "Would
you please let us through without, and we'd send you stamps to-morrow?"
"Couldn't do it," responded the man surlily. "This bridge is a cash
concern, and I never give credit."
"But we want to catch a train," pleaded Gwethyn, "and there isn't time
to go back through the town."
"Our tickets are only available by this train, and our friends are
waiting for us at the station," added Katrine.
"I've heard tales like this before! Don't you try to come over me! You
either pays your pennies, or you won't go through this gate!"
"If we left something as a pledge?" cried Katrine in despair. "Here's my
paint-box, or my coat, or--yes, even my watch!"
"You must let us pass!" declared Gwethyn tragically.
"Must, indeed! I'm put here in charge of the bridge, and a pretty thing
it would be if I was to let everyone through scot-free! I've my orders,
and I'll do my duty," said the toll-keeper officiously, waving away the
articles which Katrine was vainly trying to press upon him.
The poor girls were waxing hysterical. The precious moments were
hurrying by, and already a suggestive whistle in the distance gave
ominous warning of the approaching train. To be left behind in Chiplow
was a prospect too appalling even to contemplate. They had serious
thoughts of either attempting to push past the official, or to make a
dash and climb the railings, both of which proceedings would be equally
undignified and illegal.
At this desperate and critical moment a little figure suddenly rushed up
from behind--a gasping, panting figure, with hair flying in wild elf
locks, and pale cheeks scarlet for once.
"Open the gate quick!" it commanded. "Threepence? Here you are! Come on!
We'll just do it!"
There was no time even to greet their deliverer. The three girls simply
tore along the road that led to the station, with their eyes fixed on
the signal, which was already down. The Toadstool was swift of foot, and
had indomitable pluck, or, winded already, she could never have managed
that last wild spurt.
"Caught it by the skin of our teeth!" exclaimed Katrine a minute and a
half later, as, nearly exhausted, the girls were hustled into a
compartment by the distracted Miss Aubrey, just the moment before the
train started. "Oh, dear! I've never had such a scramble in all my life!
I'm half dead!"
"Githa Hamilton, you're an absolute trump!" whispered Gwethyn, when she
recovered sufficient breath for speech. "That horrid man wouldn't let us
through. We should have had to stop in Chiplow. It was good of you to
come after us!"
"No, it wasn't!" snapped the Toadstool rather gaspily. "I did it to
please Miss Aubrey; I didn't care twopence about you two. She was
getting anxious, so I said I'd follow you and round you up somehow. A
precious job I had, asking people if they'd seen two girls in Panama
hats! Whatever induced you to go down by the river? You pair of sillies!
It would have just served you jolly well right if you'd been left in
Chiplow after all!"
CHAPTER VII
The Mad Hatters
If Katrine was determined that her career at Aireyholme should be "Art
before all", Gwethyn's school motto might be described as "Fun at any
price". Her high spirits were continually at effervescing point, and she
was fast acquiring the reputation of "champion ragger" of the Fifth.
There were rollicking times in the form, jokes and chaff to an even
greater extent than had obtained before her advent. Half a dozen of the
girls had always been lively, but now, under Gwethyn's sway, their
escapades earned them the title of the "Mad Hatters". The influence
spread downwards and infected the juniors. Eight members of the Fourth
formed themselves into a league dubbed "The March Hares", and by the
wildness of their pranks sought to outdo their seniors. There was a
rivalry of jokes between them, and whichever scored the most points for
the time held the palm. Needless to say, their efforts were scarcely
appreciated at head-quarters. Things considered intensely diverting by
the form were viewed very differently by mistresses and monitresses, and
both Hatters and Hares were liable to find themselves in trouble.
I have mentioned that Katrine and Gwethyn slept in a little room over
the porch. The door was in the middle of a long passage leading to other
bedrooms, occupied by the Fourth and Fifth. The Aireyholme dormitory
discipline was tolerably strict, and usually the girls were a
well-conducted crew.
One morning some unlucky star caused Gwethyn to open her eyes before the
usual 6.30 bell, and aroused in her a spirit of mischief. Taking her
pillow, she stole along the passage to No. 9, and awoke Marian, Susie,
and Megan.
"Come along!" she proclaimed. "Let's find Dona and Beatrix, and go and
rout up the March Hares. There's time for a little artillery practice
before the bell rings. Bolsters are heavy ammunition, and pillows light.
You can take your choice! Anyone refusing to do battle will be
proclaimed coward. All the fallen will be buried with the honours of
war. Get up, you soft Sybarites!"
Finding their bedclothes on the floor, and severe tickling the penalty
of a love for slumber, the occupants of the various dormitories on the
landing turned out and followed their leader.
"Hares versus Hatters!" commanded Gwethyn. "You may duck and dodge, but
anyone fairly hit is to be considered fallen. The bedrooms are trenches.
Remember, mum's the word, though!"
The battle began, and waged fiercely. The missiles flew hither and
thither. Some of the girls were good shots, but others had the
proverbial feminine incapacity for a true aim. There were wildly
thrilling encounters, frantic chasings, and wholesale routs. In their
excitement the combatants completely forgot the necessity for silence;
they chuckled, groaned, hooted, and even squealed. Small wonder that,
long before the fight was fought to a finish, an avenging deity in a
dressing-gown appeared upon the scene and proclaimed a compulsory peace.
"Girls! Whatever are you doing?" demanded Viola. "You ought to be
thoroughly ashamed of yourselves. Go back to your rooms at once! You
know this kind of thing is not allowed."
The delinquents seized their missiles and beat a hurried retreat, while
Viola, who was wise in her generation, sounded the bell as a signal for
the rest of the school to rise and dress.
"They'll get into mischief again if I leave them larking about in their
rooms, and it won't do anybody any harm to be up a quarter of an hour
earlier for once," she decided. "But I'll see they put in the extra time
at preparation. The young wretches!"
The head girl was as good as her word. She kept a stern eye on the
sinners directly they appeared downstairs.
"The morning's a good time to work," she announced grimly. "If you're
fond of early rising, I'll call you all every day at six, and arrange
for prep. at half-past instead of at seven. No doubt you'd benefit by
it."
The jokers, who had not calculated upon an increased allowance of school
hours, sought their desks glumly. But there was a further trial in store
for them. When they were seated at breakfast, Mrs. Franklin took her
place at the table with an air of long-suffering and injured patience.
"Girls!" she began, in a martyred voice, "I have been most hurt, most
pained, at what occurred this morning. Anything more thoughtless and
inconsiderate I could not have imagined. I had passed a bad night, and I
was snatching a short sleep, when I was awakened by an uproar that is
without all precedent. When Ermengarde was here, such a thing never
occurred. There was a different spirit abroad in the school. Every girl,
even the youngest junior, was careful for my comfort, and would not have
dreamed of disturbing me. I fear now an entirely selfish feeling
prevails in the Fifth and Fourth Forms. I am grieved to see it. Our
traditions at Aireyholme have been very high. I beg the standard may
never be lowered."
No names were mentioned, but Hares and Hatters were conscious that the
eyes of the rest of the school were fixed upon them with scornful
reproach. They ate their breakfast in a state of dejection.
"I never dreamed Mrs. Franklin would take it that way!" mourned Rose
afterwards to her fellow-delinquents.
"Diana Bennett says we are a set of brutes," sighed Beatrix ruefully.
She admired Diana, and winced under her scorn.
"The others were wild at getting extra prep. this morning. They're ready
to take it out of us," remarked Susie.
"Look here," said Gwethyn, "I think the best way to settle the whole
business will be to go and apologize to Mrs. Franklin. Say we didn't
know she had a headache, and we're sorry. That ought to square things."
"Right-o! Then Diana may stop nagging."
At the eleven-o'clock interval a dozen girls reported themselves at the
Principal's study, and with Rose as spokeswoman, tendered an embarrassed
apology. Mrs. Franklin was not inclined to treat the matter too lightly;
she considered herself justly offended; but after listening with due
gravity, she solemnly and majestically forgave them.
"I suppose I cannot expect all to be as naturally thoughtful and
kind-hearted as Ermengarde," she added, "but I try to stand in the place
of a mother to you here, and I hope to meet with some response."
I am afraid Mrs. Franklin would have been grieved again if she had heard
the laughter that ensued when the girls were out of ear-shot of the
study. They were really sorry to have hurt her feelings, but the mention
of the impeccable Ermengarde was always a subject for mirth.
"I have it on absolute authority that Ermengarde once made another girl
an apple-pie bed!" tittered Susie. "It was Nell Stokes who told me. She
was at Aireyholme then, and slept in the same dormitory."
"What happened?"
"History doesn't relate. I should say Saint Ermie got disciplined and
did penance. She wasn't canonized then!"
Although Mrs. Franklin was apt to be a little pompous and over stately,
she was very good to the pupils on the whole, and they thoroughly
respected her. They sympathized deeply with her anxiety for news from
the war, where her two sons were serving their country. Many of the
girls had brothers or cousins in the Army, and each morning an
enthusiastic crowd collected to hear the items which Mrs. Franklin read
out to them. They were not allowed to look at the daily papers for
themselves, as Mrs. Franklin considered many of the details unsuitable
for their perusal; but she gave them a carefully-edited summary of the
course of events, with special particulars, if possible, of regiments in
which they were interested. The occasional letters received by girls
from relatives at the front were subjects for great rejoicing. They
compared notes keenly over the experiences related. Katrine and Gwethyn
scored considerably, for their brother Hereward was a fairly regular
correspondent, and gave vivid accounts of his campaigning. It was at
Gwethyn's suggestion that the school held what they called a "Heroes'
Exhibition". Every girl with a relative engaged in the war was requested
to lend his photograph, any chance snapshots she might have of him, any
newspaper cuttings narrating his achievements, and any of his regimental
buttons, if she were lucky enough to possess them. These contributions
were arranged on a table with an appropriate background of flags and
sprigs of laurel. A penny each was charged for admission, and catalogues
of the exhibits were sold at one halfpenny. As all the girls, the
mistresses, and three of the servants patronized the show, the sum of
five shillings and twopence halfpenny was cleared, and put in the
Belgian Relief Fund Box. Gwethyn had wished to add a competition with
votes for the handsomest hero, but Mrs. Franklin sternly vetoed the
idea.
"It would have been ever such fun, and the girls would have loved it!"
Gwethyn assured her chums in private, "but of course I see the reason.
Mrs. Franklin's sons may be very estimable, but they're both plain, and
of course Hereward's photo would have won the most votes; he's by far
the best-looking!"
"You utter goose! That wasn't the reason," snubbed Rose Randall.
"Besides which, if it comes to a question of looks, your brother isn't
in the running with my cousin Everard."
* * * * *
Gwethyn's fertile brain was continually at work. In spite of the madness
of some of her propositions, she was really an acquisition to the Fifth.
She could always be counted upon for new suggestions, and on wet days
she would invent games, get up charades, or engineer impromptu
entertainments with the ingenuity of a variety manager. One afternoon
the heavy rain prevented the girls from taking their usual outdoor
exercise between dinner and school. Very disconsolately they hung about,
grumbling at the downpour. Only the Sixth Form were privileged to use
the studio on such occasions; the younger ones, flung on their own
resources, killed time as best they could. The Fourth suffered more
particularly, as it was their afternoon for the tennis courts, and they
had had bad luck lately in the matter of weather on their special tennis
days.
"I declare, I'm sorry for those poor kids!" said Gwethyn. "This is the
third Wednesday their sets have been stopped. They are standing in the
corridor, looking like a funeral. Can't we liven them up somehow?"
"All serene! Let's ask them into our form room and play games," agreed
Rose. "Where are the rest of us? Jill, go and hunt up Susie and
Beatrix. It's far more fun when there are plenty. I say, you kiddies
there, come along and have some jinks! Pass the word on."
The juniors responded promptly to the invitation. They flocked into the
Fifth room, and settled themselves anywhere, on desks or floor.
"What's the game?" they asked hopefully.
"It's quite a new one," explained Gwethyn, who had had a hasty private
conference with some of her chums. "It's called 'The Oracle of Fortune'.
I'm to be blindfolded so that I can't see the least peep; then you're
all to march round me in a circle. When I tap with this stick, you stop,
and I point at somebody who comes forward."
"Oh, I know! French blind-man's-buff. That's nothing new!" exclaimed
Madge Carter.
"No, it's not French blind-man's-buff," returned Gwethyn, so crushingly
that Madge was sorry she had spoken. "I don't feel your faces while you
giggle--it's something quite different. I tell your characters. If
they're correct, you walk on. If I make a mistake, you may take my place
as oracle."
"Who's to judge if they're right?"
"The general opinion!" frowned Gwethyn.
"But suppose----"
"Oh, suppress that dormouse!" exclaimed some of the March Hares. "Where
is there a big handkerchief to bind your eyes? You mustn't have the
least little teeny weeny scrap of a peep-hole left. We'll take care of
that."
Bandaged to the entire satisfaction of all spectators, Gwethyn took her
place in the centre of the room, and the girls commenced to circle round
her. At a rap from her stick they halted. She pointed blindly to an
unknown figure, who stepped silently forward.
"List to the Oracle!" proclaimed Gwethyn dramatically. "Sweet temper,
kindness, and modesty here go hand in hand. Pass on, gentle maiden, thou
art worthy!"
Bertha Grant, a small and inoffensive junior, retired into the ring amid
the applause of the audience, and the march continued. At the next halt
Myrtle Goodwin, a particularly turbulent and mischievous member of the
Fourth, responded to the rap.
"Whom have we here?" murmured the Oracle. "Alas! my inner sense tells me
this is imp, not angel. Go and amend thy misdeeds. I feel the darkness
of thy shadow."
Again a round of clapping certified to the correctness of the character
given. The girls began to think the game rather fun. Laura Browne
happened to be the next chosen.
"Fair on the surface, but false below," was the verdict. "The professed
friend of everybody, but the chum of nobody. Full of promises, but shy
of performance."
"She can see! She must be able to see!" shouted the girls, much struck
by the aptness of the remarks.
"No, I can't. Not one hair-breadth. Look at my bandages for yourselves,"
declared Gwethyn emphatically (though she murmured "Done you, Laura
Browne!" under her breath). "Does anybody imagine I can see through two
silk handkerchiefs? I haven't Roentgen-ray eyes!"
The real fact was that Gwethyn and Rose had arranged beforehand a code
of signals. The characters were to be of three classes--good, moderate,
and bad. When the march stopped and a girl stepped forward, Rose was to
give her confederate the required information by means of a cough, a tap
on the floor, or a laugh. For certain of the girls, special signals of
identification had been arranged. Laura was one of these, and as luck
would have it, the lot had fallen to her early in the game.
"Go on and try me again," commanded Gwethyn. "Anyone who likes may
consult the gipsy."
At the next halt Rose signalled as usual, and the Oracle responded.
"Whom have we here? A junior remarkable for her charm of disposition, a
girl with many friends, a favourite in her form----"
Here Gwethyn was interrupted by an outburst of giggles.
"Wrong for once!"
"This doesn't fit!"
"The Oracle's not working!"
Gwethyn tore off the silk handkerchiefs that bandaged her eyes. She saw
at once what had happened. Amid the noise of the tramping she had
misinterpreted Rose's signal "junior bad" for "junior good". Instead of
addressing one of the pattern members of the Fourth, she had been
eulogizing Githa Hamilton. The poor little Toadstool stood with a very
curious expression in her dark eyes. Keen delight was just fading into
bitter disappointment. She looked round the circle of tittering girls.
Not one endorsed the good character, or had a kind word to say for
her--all were clamouring against the falseness of this description. Her
face hardened. Gwethyn perceived it in a flash. "Does she really care
what they think of her?" she speculated. Gwethyn's instinct was always
to fight on behalf of the losing side, and at this moment Githa seemed
to stand alone against the whole room. Moreover, the Oracle was not
disposed to own up that she had made a mistake. She stuck, therefore, to
her guns.
"If Githa's not a favourite, she ought to be. It's your own lack of
appreciation. Where are your eyes? She's a jewel, if you'd the sense to
see it. There, I'm sick of the whole business. If anybody likes to take
my place, I'll resign. Or shall we play something else instead?"
Perhaps the girls thought the game was growing rather too personal.
Nobody offered to act gipsy, and someone hurriedly suggested "Clumps".
In less than a minute the crowd had divided into two close circles, and
the catechism of "animal", "vegetable", or "mineral" began briskly.
Githa took no open notice of Gwethyn's unexpected championship, but from
that afternoon her attitude changed. Instead of continually snapping, or
exercising her wit in sharp little remarks, she was unusually quiet. She
would watch Gwethyn without speaking, and often followed her about the
school, though always at a short distance and with no apparent
intention.
It was at this crisis that Gwethyn one morning received bad news. Tony,
her Pekinese spaniel, and the idol of her heart, had been put out to
board when the Marsdens left home. His foster-mistress, a respectable
working woman, wrote occasionally to record his progress. Hitherto her
letters had been satisfactory, but to-day her report was serious.
Katrine found Gwethyn weeping violently in the sanctum of their bedroom.
"What's the matter?" she asked in some anxiety.
"Matter! Oh! whatever am I to do? Read this."
"DEAR MISS MARSDEN,
"I did not answer your inquiries before about the poor
little dog, hoping he might pick up a bit, but indeed he frets
like to break his heart. The children next door worries him,
and he won't eat, and he has gone that thin it is pitiful to
see him. I do my best, but he does not like being here. He is
getting just a bag of bones, and my husband says it is nothing
but home-sickness. Will you please tell me what I am to do
about him?
"Your obedient servant,
"MARY CARTER."
"The darling! The poor darling! Breaking his little heart for his
missis!" sobbed Gwethyn. "I knew he'd never be happy at the Carters'
cottage. A bag of bones! Oh, my Tony! Katrine, have you got a penny
stamp?"
The girls at Aireyholme were not supposed to send letters without
submitting them first to a mistress, but the rule was not very strictly
enforced, and Gwethyn had no difficulty in answering by return of post.
What she said to Mrs. Carter she did not reveal even to Katrine. Through
the whole of that day and the next, she went about with a look of
mingled anxiety and triumph on her face.
[Illustration: "GWETHYN TORE OFF THE SILK HANDKERCHIEFS. SHE SAW AT ONCE
WHAT HAD HAPPENED"]
At four o'clock on the following afternoon, just when the girls were
coming from their classes, there was a bustle at the side door. A porter
with a hand-cart from the railway station was delivering a large hamper.
Mrs. Franklin chanced to be passing at the moment, and stopped to make
inquiries.
"A hamper? For whom? Miss G. Marsden! And labelled 'Live Stock, with
Care'! What does this mean?"
Gwethyn, coming out of the Fifth Form room, caught sight of the
hand-cart, and with a cry of ecstasy made a rush for the hamper.
"It's Tony! My darling Tony! Oh, my pretty boy! where are you?"
Pulling her penknife from her pocket, she cut the cords in a trice, and
opening the lid, clutched her whimpering pet in her arms. A crowd of
girls collected to see what was happening. Mrs. Franklin thought it high
time to interfere.
"Gwethyn Marsden, whose dog is this?" she asked sharply.
"He's mine! We left him at a cottage when we shut up our house, but he
fretted, so I told Mrs. Carter to send him here. He wanted his missis."
"You sent for this dog on your own authority? And without asking my
permission?"
"He was breaking his heart!"
"You have taken the most unwarrantable liberty!" Mrs. Franklin was
bridling with indignation. "I cannot allow you to keep this dog. It must
be sent back."
"Oh no, please, please!" implored Gwethyn. "He'll die if he has to go
back. I won't let him be one scrap of trouble. He'd sleep on my bed."
"Impossible!" said the Principal firmly. "Do you think I am going to
relax all the rules of the school in your favour? You have been indulged
too much already. There are thirty-six pupils here, and if each one
wished to keep a pet the place would be a menagerie. I cannot make an
exception in your case. It was most impertinent of you to write and
arrange for the animal to be sent."
Matters had reached the point of tragedy. Mrs. Franklin for once was
really angry. She considered that the Marsdens were not sufficiently
amenable to school discipline at any time, but this breach was beyond
all bounds. Gwethyn hugged Tony tightly, and wept stubborn tears. Then
Githa Hamilton stepped to the rescue.
"Please, Mrs. Franklin, instead of sending the little dog back, might I
take him home with me until the end of the term? My own fox-terrier died
two months ago, and my uncle said I could have another dog."
It was such a splendid solution of the difficulty that even the
Principal's face cleared. Gwethyn wiped her eyes, and beamed
encouragement.
"Are you sure your uncle and aunt would consent?" asked Mrs. Franklin,
hopefully but doubtfully.
"Oh, yes! They said I might take the first nice puppy that was offered
me; so I know it's all right."
"Then I shall be very much obliged if you will accept the charge of this
dog."
"I'll be only too glad."
"Githa, you absolute angel!" murmured Gwethyn, pressing her treasure
into the Toadstool's hospitable arms as Mrs. Franklin, mollified at
last, turned into the house.
"Angels don't have khaki-coloured complexions!"
"Yes, they do--the nicest sort! I don't care for the golden-headed kind.
At this moment you're my beau-ideal of blessedness."
"Toadstools savour of elves, not angels!" Githa was well aware of her
nickname. "But look here! I'll take good care of the little chap, and
make him happy. I'll smuggle him to school sometimes, so that you can
see him. I could shut him up in the tool-house, if I square Fuller."
"Your collie won't devour him?" Gwethyn asked, with a sudden burst of
anxiety.
"Rolf never touches small dogs. He's a gentleman in that. Don't you
worry. Tony'll be quite safe, and he'll soon fatten up with plenty of
milk, and a garden to run about in. Bless him! He's taking to his new
missis already. There, precious one!"
"I want him back at the holidays," cried Gwethyn jealously. "He's not to
forget me."
"Right you are! Hold him while I get my hat and my bike. I don't think I
can carry him and ride--he'd wriggle. I'll have to wheel my machine
home. There, kiss his nose just once more, and let him go!"
CHAPTER VIII
An Adventure
The transference of Tony cemented the friendship between Gwethyn and
Githa. With such a precious bond to unite them, intimacy followed as a
matter of course. On closer acquaintance the little Toadstool proved
quite an interesting companion; she was humorous and amusing, and though
not demonstrative, seemed to have a store of affection hidden behind the
barrier of her reserve. She was seldom confidential, but every now and
then she would open her heart the least little bit, and give Gwethyn a
peep at her real feelings.
"Why did you take such a spite against me when first I came?" asked the
latter in one of these rare moments.
"I don't know! I liked you and yet I hated you! I think it was because
you and Katrine sprung yourselves so suddenly on me that morning in the
orchard. You caught me in my old pinafore feeding the fowls. You both
looked so smart, and you marched up so confidently asking for milk, and
evidently taking me for a farm girl. I could have thrown stones at you!
I thought you were conceited, and I'd try and take you down a peg."
"You certainly did your best. You were absolutely vitriolic!"
"Well, I'm sorry. No, I'm not! You were rather conceited at first. You
and Katrine thought you'd just run the show at Aireyholme. You're ever
so much nicer now. Don't be offended! I always say what I think. You
know that by this time."
The Toadstool was certainly apt to carry the virtue of frankness beyond
all bounds, and to allow it to degenerate into a vice. Gwethyn, however,
was a very even-tempered girl, and instead of taking offence she only
laughed good-humouredly at most of Githa's remarks, and told her not to
be a little wasp. In the circumstances it was the best possible
treatment. People who are fond of making smart and stinging remarks are
always disconcerted if they fall flat. Gwethyn's good-natured toleration
made Githa rather ashamed of herself. Insensibly she was catching her
new friend's tone. The habit of perpetually sharpening her wit upon her
companions began to slip away; not all at once, for habits are a strong
growth, but by distinctly perceptible degrees. Even the girls noticed a
difference. "Spitfire isn't half so venomous as she used to be," was the
general verdict.
Though Githa might practise plain speaking where other people were
concerned, she was extremely reserved on the subject of her own affairs.
Only very occasionally would she wax confidential and talk about her
home life. Even then the scraps of information seemed to escape her
unwillingly. From the few hints thus dropped, and from what the other
girls could tell, Gwethyn pieced together the main outline of her
friend's childhood. It was a sad little story. Lilac Grange had been
full of tragedy. Six years ago, when on a visit there, Githa's father,
mother, and two elder sisters had fallen victims to a virulent outbreak
of diphtheria, and had died within a few days of one another. The boy
and girl, the sole survivors of the family, were adopted by their
grandfather, and had lived with him at the Grange until his sudden death
three years afterwards. Old Mr. Ledbury had often mentioned that he
meant to make provision for his two grandchildren, but apparently he had
allowed the months to slip by without fulfilling his intention. When his
affairs were investigated, the only will which could be discovered was
one dated ten years back, in which he left his entire fortune to his
elder son, Wilfred Ledbury. At that time he had quarrelled with his
daughter, Githa's mother, but a reconciliation had followed shortly
afterwards, and the Hamiltons had stayed at the Grange on quite friendly
terms. Mr. Ledbury had had another son, Frank, a headstrong, unsettled
fellow, who had also quarrelled with his hot-tempered father and had
gone away to America. That Frank should be entirely cut out of any
inheritance, though unjust, was not surprising; but the neighbourhood
agreed that to leave the orphan grandchildren penniless was an open
scandal, and that old Mr. Ledbury had failed in his duty by neglecting
to make a will in their favour.
Ill-natured people even whispered sometimes that Mr. Wilfred Ledbury,
who had been on the spot at the time of his father's death, had spent
the night hunting through his papers, and had probably suppressed any
document that was not to his advantage. Such stories, however, were only
in the nature of gossip. Nothing could be proved. Nobody had seen, or
witnessed, a later will, and Mr. Wilfred Ledbury stepped unchallenged
into his heritage. After all, it was not as good as he had expected. A
number of securities, which he had believed his father to possess,
turned out to have been disposed of beforehand, though what had become
of the purchase-money it was impossible to tell. Old Mr. Ledbury had
been fond of speculating on the Stock Exchange, and he had probably lost
it in some unlucky venture. Mrs. Wilfred, thinking the Grange unhealthy,
had refused to go and live there, so the furniture was sold, and the old
house was to let, though so far no tenant had yet been found to take it.
Mr. Wilfred Ledbury was a solicitor in Carford, and owned a pretty house
in a much more open and airy situation four miles beyond Heathwell. His
daughter was married (to his partner in the firm), and his sons were
grown up, one practising at the Bar in London, and the other a professor
at Cambridge. His whole interest was centred in his own children and
their prospects. He had taken charge of his nephew and niece after his
father's death, and gave them a home and education, but he let them feel
that he considered them an encumbrance. The boarding-school which he
chose for Cedric was not altogether suitable, but he would not listen to
the boy's complaints, or inquire into the justice of his grievances.
Githa he simply ignored. He paid the bills for her schooling and
clothes, but took no notice of her. She kept out of his way as much as
possible, and rarely spoke to him unless he asked her a question.
Mrs. Ledbury was not unkind, but did not care to be troubled with her
niece. She left Githa almost entirely to her own devices. Except when
her brother came back for the holidays the poor child led a lonely life
at her uncle's home. She amused herself mostly out of doors. She was
fond of animals, kept a few rabbits and white mice in a disused stable,
and liked to help to look after the poultry. In the house she was
suppressed and quiet, generally with her nose buried in a book. Her aunt
said that she was a most unresponsive, tiresome, and unaccountable
child, with no sense of gratitude for all that was done for her. The one
person in the world whom Githa worshipped was her brother Cedric. She
lived for his return from school, and the holidays spent with him were
her landmarks for the year. At present she bestowed the wealth of her
surplus affection upon Tony. He was a fascinating little dog, and so
well-behaved that Mrs. Ledbury offered no objections to his temporary
adoption. She was really kind to her niece in the matter of allowing her
to keep pets. Tony took to his new mistress with an enthusiasm that
would have disgusted Gwethyn, had she seen it. But Githa was discreet
enough not to descant too much upon his blandishments, and keep his
affection as a delightful secret between herself and him.
"I took you first of all to please Gwethyn, you precious!" she would
say, kissing his silky head; "but now you're like my own, and what I'll
do when I've got to give you up I don't know!"
Gwethyn, ignorant of the fickle Tony's lightly transferred allegiance,
would ask eagerly for news of him each morning. She kept a snapshot of
him on her dressing-table, and urged Githa to take the earliest
opportunity of smuggling him to school for a day. But Githa, under the
plea of the gardener's lack of connivance, and fear of Mrs. Franklin's
wrath, always managed to find some excuse, and put the matter off to a
future date.
The Marsdens had been again to the Grange with Miss Aubrey, and had
finished their sketches of the dovecot. It was a pretty subject, and the
result was quite successful. Katrine, contemplating her canvas in the
studio on the following afternoon, was frankly pleased.
"We're both improving," she said to Gwethyn (the two girls had the room
to themselves for once). "I like Miss Aubrey's style of teaching
immensely. It's just what I wanted. She's helped me enormously. By the
by, I lost my best penknife at the Grange yesterday. I must have dropped
it somewhere by my camp-stool."
"What a nuisance! But you have another?"
"Not so good. I don't mean to abandon that dear little pearl-handled
one. Will you come with me now, and we'll go and look for it?"
"Right-o! The Grange is out of bounds, but who cares?"
"Certainly I don't! Mrs. Franklin's rules are ridiculous for a girl of
my age. Surely I can go and fetch my penknife? Besides, we needn't go by
the road. If we climb the fence in the orchard we can cut across the
fields as the crow flies, and get into the lane by the big gate of the
Grange."
"I'm your girl! Let's toddle off at once. If any one croaks I'm sure we
can call the fields within bounds."
"I'm not going to be bound by bounds. Mrs. Franklin is a bounder!"
retorted Katrine grandly.
Nevertheless, she did not make her exit over the orchard fence until she
was sure no one was watching. Choosing a suitable moment, the girls
scaled the low bars, then skirted round by the hedge along the field
till they were out of sight of Aireyholme. By this short cut it was only
a few minutes' walk to the Grange.
The old house seemed more than ever like a story-book palace with an
enchanted garden. The lilacs were fading, but the tangle of greenery had
grown taller and wilder, and even the very windows were invaded and half
covered by long trails of bindweed and traveller's joy that stretched
out quickly spreading shoots and clinging tendrils, and threatened to
bury everything in a mass of vegetation.
"How absolutely still and quiet it is!" said Katrine. "I don't suppose a
soul ever comes near except ourselves. It doesn't look as if a footstep
had been across the grass for a long time. Why, here's my penknife, on
the walk. I must have dropped it out of my painting-bag. I'm so glad
I've found it."
"It's well we came this afternoon. It would have rusted if it had lain
there much longer. I wonder what the old house is like inside?"
"Probably very dark and damp, with the windows shaded and unopened."
"It looks gloomy--as if people had died there."
"It is sad to see it so neglected and overgrown. One feels Nature has
been too exuberant, she doesn't care about our little lives and
tragedies, it doesn't matter to her what has been suffered here. She
just pushes that all to one side and forgets, and goes on making fresh
shoots as if nothing had happened."
"I think it's kind of her to try and throw a lovely green veil over the
place. It's like charity covering a multitude of sins. She's doing her
best in her own way to soften down the tragedy. I'm going to lift her
veil and take a peep inside," and Gwethyn pulled back a mass of
succulent briony and peered through the dim glass.
"Can you see anything?"
"Yes, I can see a hall and long passage. It looks interesting. This
window is not latched. I believe I could push it up if you'd help me.
Heave-o! There, it's actually open."
The girls found themselves peering into a small room, which was
apparently the vestibule of a hall. The window was not placed very high,
so low indeed that Gwethyn scrambled without much difficulty on to the
sill.
"I'm going in!" she declared. "It will be ever such fun to explore. I
always wondered what the inside was like."
She dropped quite easily on to the floor within, and gave a hand to
Katrine, who was not slow in following. Both felt it would be an
adventure to investigate the interior of the old house. They stood still
for a moment, listening, but not a sound was to be heard, so they
ventured to go forward.
"I believe we have the place absolutely and entirely to ourselves,
unless there are a few ghosts flitting about the passages! They'd seem
more suitable inhabitants than human beings!" proclaimed Gwethyn.
Several sitting-rooms led from the hall, which by their decorations
proclaimed their use. The one with the rosewood fittings was undoubtedly
the dining-room, the larger one with the big bow window could not fail
to be the drawing-room, and the one to the back, with the oak panelling,
must surely be a study or library. The wall-papers were very faded and
dilapidated, and the paint dingy; there was an air of shabbiness about
everything, the numerous damp-stains, the cobwebs, the odd heaps of
straw and the thick dust helped to render it unattractive, and the
general impression was forlorn in the extreme.
"I don't wonder nobody takes it," said Gwethyn. "I should say it will be
to let for years and years. Why doesn't Mr. Ledbury tidy it up?"
"Perhaps he thinks it's no use spending the money unless he has a
possible tenant. Even if he papered and painted it, it would soon get
into the same state if no one lived here."
"He might have a caretaker."
"Yes, I wonder he doesn't. I expect it's so far away from the village
that nobody would come without being very highly paid, and he couldn't
afford that when he's getting no rent."
How large the place seemed! The girls peeped into empty room after empty
room, their footsteps echoing in that strange hollow fashion that is
only noticed in deserted houses.
"It gives me the shivers, it's so wretched," said Gwethyn. "I certainly
shouldn't like to live here. I think we've been nearly all round. Shall
we go downstairs again? Wait! There's just this one passage that leads
somewhere."
"Haven't you seen enough?"
"My curiosity is insatiable."
Katrine hesitated. One room was exactly like another. It did not seem
worth while to explore further. She half turned in the direction of the
stairs; then noticing that the passage was panelled, and thinking that
the room at the end might therefore be older and quainter than the rest,
she changed her mind. After all, it was disappointing, as bare and empty
as the others, with torn paper hanging in strips from the damp walls.
"There's a fine view of the dovecot though," said Katrine. "I can see
the carving on the gable beautifully from here."
She flung the window open wide. The fresh wholesome outside air came
rushing in. The draught banged the door, and a sound of something
falling followed, but the girls were too occupied to take any notice.
They were leaning out of the window trying to decipher the date on the
worn piece of carving.
"It looks like 1600," opined Gwethyn.
"More likely 1690. The tail of the nine is cracked away. It's older than
the house at any rate. I wish I had my sketch-book here, and I'd have
copied it. Have you a note-book in your pocket?"
"No; and I shouldn't lend it to you if I had. We must be going at once,
or we shall be late for prep."
Katrine consulted her watch, and turned to the door. Then she gave a cry
of consternation. It was impossible to open it. The knob had been
loose, and when the door banged the whole handle had fallen out into the
passage. They were shut in as securely as if by bolt and bar. Here was a
dilemma, indeed! They looked at one another in consternation.
"What are we to do?" faltered Gwethyn.
Katrine was trying to wedge the handle of her penknife into the empty
socket, but the effort was useless. It went in a little way, but would
not turn. Her attempt to slip back the catch with the blade was equally
futile. The unpleasant truth was hopelessly plain--they were prisoners
in the empty house.
The prospect was appalling. The Grange was in such a secluded spot that
nobody might come near for days. No doubt they would soon be missed at
Aireyholme, but would Mrs. Franklin think of looking for them here? They
shouted and called out of the window, but only the birds twittered in
reply. They were in the upper story, a good height from the ground, and
much too far to jump. The creepers were too frail to offer any adequate
support.
They turned to the door again, and tried to break through one of the
panels, but the wood was well-seasoned oak and resisted their kicks and
blows. Were ever two girls in such a desperate situation? The tears were
raining down Gwethyn's cheeks.
"Shall we have to stop here all night?" she sobbed. "I wish we'd never
come near the wretched place!"
"We're trapped like rats in a cage!" declared Katrine, pacing
distractedly up and down their prison. She paused at the window.
"Gwethyn! I do believe somebody is in the garden! The blackbirds are
making such a fuss!"
"Perhaps it's a cat or a hawk that's frightening them."
"Perhaps. But let us call in case it's a human being. Even a burglar
would be welcome!"
"We're rather like burglars ourselves!" said Gwethyn, her sense of
humour triumphing over her tears. "Only there certainly isn't anything
here to burgle."
The girls leaned from the window and shouted with all the power of their
lungs. Then they waited and listened anxiously. Was that a footstep
crunching on the gravel.
"O jubilate! somebody's coming!" gasped Katrine. "Let's shout again! Oh,
the angel!"
It was Mr. Freeman, sketching paraphernalia in hand, who stepped round
the corner of the dovecot--a guardian angel in tweed knickers, smoking a
most unangelic briar pipe. He looked about to see whence the noise
proceeded, and, spying the girls, waved his hand.
"We're in an awful fix!" called Katrine. "We're locked into this room.
Will you please climb in through the vestibule window--it's open--and
let us out?"
"All right! I'll be up in half a jiff," replied Mr. Freeman, laying his
painting traps on the dovecot steps.
In a few minutes they could hear him tramping up the stairs. He soon
picked up the handle, fitted it in its socket, and opened the door. He
regarded the girls with an amused smile of accusation.
"It strikes me you young ladies ought to be at school instead of
exploring old houses on your own," he ventured in reply to their
overwhelming thanks.
"We're going back now, and a jolly scrape we shall get into if we're not
quick about it," said Gwethyn. "The Great Panjandrum will jaw us no
end."
"Is your teacher capable of scolding?"
"Rather! You should just hear her!"
"She doesn't look it."
"Oh, you don't know her! She's all right in public, but she can be a
Tartar in private!"
A shade passed over Mr. Freeman's face. He seemed disappointed.
"Oh, I don't mean Miss Aubrey!" put in Gwethyn quickly. "She's a
darling. It's Mrs. Franklin I'm talking about. She's an absolutely
different kind of person."
"Well, I'm glad to know somebody keeps you in order, for you seem to
need it," laughed Mr. Freeman. "Have you heard from your father and
mother again?"
"We had a letter on Sunday. They're getting on splendidly," replied
Katrine. "Gwethyn, we must bolt!"
[Illustration: "THE UNPLEASANT TRUTH WAS HOPELESSLY PLAIN--THEY WERE
PRISONERS IN THE EMPTY HOUSE!"]
With renewed thanks and a hasty good-bye to their rescuer, the girls
made their exit, and tore back over the fields to Aireyholme. They did
not deserve any luck, but they managed to arrive in the very nick of
time, and walked into their classrooms just as the preparation bell
stopped ringing. The teachers, supposing them to be in the garden, had
not noticed their absence. They had agreed to keep the adventure to
themselves in case it should reach the ears of the monitresses, so
Gwethyn heroically refrained from relating her thrilling experience to
Rose or Susie. She had learnt by this time not to trust their tongues
too far.
CHAPTER IX
The Tennis Championship
The girls at Aireyholme did not go in for cricket, but concentrated the
whole of their summer energies upon tennis. They practised constantly,
and prided themselves upon their play. Dorrie Vernon was Games
secretary, and calculated that she knew the exact capabilities of every
girl in the school. Tournaments were the order of the term,
sometimes--with handicaps--between different forms, sometimes "School
versus Mistresses", for Miss Spencer and Miss Andrews were good players;
and occasionally, when Mrs. Franklin entertained friends, a match was
arranged for "Visitors versus Aireyholme". There were few schools in the
neighbourhood against whom they could try their skill, but they had
received an invitation to take part in a tournament at Carford Girls'
College, and with Mrs. Franklin's sanction proposed to send two
representatives. The choice of these champions was a subject of the very
deepest importance. Dorrie went about the matter in a thoroughly
business-like manner. She kept a tennis notebook, and carefully entered
every girl's score, day by day, balancing the totals weekly. The results
were discussed at the monitresses' meeting.
"Gladwin's play is fearfully off, this term," announced Dorrie. "Nan's a
regular slacker, Tita is unequal--you never know whether she'll be
brilliant or a dead failure. Coralie and Ellaline keep fairly well up to
the mark; Hilda has improved simply immensely; our own record is
satisfactory."
"May I see the notebook? Who has scored highest altogether?" asked
Diana.
"Well--Katrine Marsden, by absolute points," admitted Dorrie, rather
unwillingly.
The three monitresses scanned the book, and looked somewhat blank. It
was an unpalatable truth that the new-comer had beaten the record.
Katrine's swift serves were baffling; there was no doubt that she was an
excellent player.
"It puts us in rather an awkward position," faltered Dorrie, wrinkling
her brows.
"Not at all!" snapped Viola. "Katrine Marsden's out of the running for a
championship."
"Well, I don't know----"
"But I do know! She doesn't consider herself an ordinary pupil here,
only what she chooses to call a 'parlour boarder'. Therefore she
certainly can't represent the school--that's flat!"
"She played for Aireyholme against Visitors, though," objected Diana.
"Oh, well! That was different, of course. Miss Andrews played for
Aireyholme too, but we couldn't choose her for a champion."
This was rather a convincing argument. Diana's face cleared. She was
always ready to follow Viola's lead.
"We don't want Katrine, if we can help it," she agreed obediently.
"And yet we want to be sporting," vacillated Dorrie, who prided herself
on strictest impartiality and fair dealing.
"Every committee has to have its rules. The school ought to be
represented by its pupils."
"And that's the point. Is Katrine a pupil, or is she not?"
"Katrine says 'no'."
"But Mrs. Franklin says decidedly 'yes'."
"I think it's beyond argument," frowned Viola, "and, after all, I'm
Captain, and final referee."
"Oh! if you put it that way, of course----"
"I do put it that way. I consider it's only justice. If Katrine Marsden
won't acknowledge herself on the same level with everyone else, she
doesn't deserve to have our privileges. It can't be all take and no give
on her part. There's no need for us to be so very tender about her
feelings, I'm sure."
"Not the slightest need," echoed Diana. "It won't do her any harm to be
passed over--good for her, in fact."
"We may as well pose as philanthropists while we're about it," twinkled
Viola, suddenly seeing the humour of the situation. The three girls
laughed.
"All the same, you're only looking at the matter from one side,"
contended Dorrie. "We've got the credit of the school to think about.
The question is, who's likely to score highest for Aireyholme at the
Tournament? We mayn't call Katrine an ideal champion, but we mustn't let
ourselves be biased by private prejudice."
"I hope I'm above such a low motive as that," Viola answered stiffly.
"No one could have the interests of the school more thoroughly at heart
than I. For this very reason it seems to me folly to trust the
championship to a girl who really hasn't much concern whether Aireyholme
wins or not."
"Oh, surely she'd play up?"
"I don't know about that. If she were in one of her dreamy moods,
perhaps she wouldn't. Better not risk it."
"Hadn't we better put the matter to the vote?" suggested Diana.
"By all means. I propose that Katrine Marsden is not eligible for the
championship." Viola's tone was decisive, even slightly aggressive.
"I make a counter-proposition, to place her at least on the list of
eligibles," returned Dorrie, stolidly keeping her temper.
Diana had the casting vote. She promptly plumped for Viola, partly from
real conviction, and partly because she was chums with the Captain.
"So be it!" said Dorrie, shrugging her shoulders. She could not agree
with the decision, but she did not take the matter much to heart. "You
two will have to brace up, and practise for all you're worth. We mustn't
let Carford beat us."
When the result of the monitresses' meeting became known, the school
took it in various ways. Some girls sympathized with Viola, others hotly
espoused Katrine's cause. The affair was very much discussed, and there
were many lively arguments over the justice of the pronouncement.
Katrine herself accepted it callously.
"I'm sure I don't want to be champion, thanks!" she responded to her
sympathizers. "It would be an awful bore to go and play Carford. I'd
rather stop in the studio and paint."
In spite of her assumed indifference, Katrine was rather piqued. She
knew her play was good, and that it was mainly jealousy on Viola's part
which caused her to be thus set aside. Although she had adopted a
superior attitude, Katrine nevertheless rather liked to shine in the
school. She had played tennis in a dilettante fashion before, just to
amuse herself; now, in a spirit of opposition, she began to train. For
once she would let these girls see what she was capable of. There were
only five days before the tournament; she would devote them to tennis.
Having arrived at this decision, she temporarily threw art to the winds.
The studio knew her presence no more out of class hours: the whole of
her spare time was given up to the courts. She had an immense advantage
over the monitresses, for they were studying hard for their
matriculation, and had very little recreation, while she had a double
portion of leisure. Her play, good as it was before, improved by leaps
and bounds. Soon not a girl in the school could compete with her upon
equal terms, and win. Her handicaps were raised continually. There was a
growing feeling that it was both unwise and unfair to exclude her.
"Someone ought to speak to the monitresses about it," said Jill Barton.
"It would be precious little use," returned Rose Randall. "Viola is so
pigheaded, if once she says a thing, she'll stick to it."
"But is it fair that she should settle everything?"
"Well, she's Captain, and Dorrie's Games secretary; they have the
authority between them."
"Dorrie has been overruled by Viola."
"No doubt; but I don't see what we can do, except call a mass meeting,
and appeal."
"Um--that's rather a desperate measure. I hate upsets in a school. We
ought all to pull together harmoniously if we can. Let us try and put
the screw on privately, but don't have open ructions. Viola is a decent
sort. We don't want to quarrel with her for Katrine's sake."
Most of the girls shared Jill's opinion. They might not agree with their
Captain's views, but they liked her too well to proceed to extremities.
After all, Katrine was a new-comer, and Viola was the bulwark of
Aireyholme traditions. They tried to manage the matter by finesse. They
understood their leader well enough to know that any alteration must be
proposed by herself. She was not fond of entertaining other people's
suggestions. So they forbore to revolt openly, and confined themselves
to desperate hints and innuendoes. Viola was perfectly well aware of
what was going on, and she ignored the hints. The situation amounted to
a duel between herself and Katrine, and she trusted to her influence as
Captain to come off conqueror. It was impossible not to acknowledge the
superiority of Katrine's play, and Viola really stuck to her guns out of
sheer obstinacy. Everybody wondered what was going to happen, and
whether the difficulty could be solved without a quarrel. The time was
painfully short.
It was now the very day before the tournament. The question must be
settled that evening. The results of the scoring-notes were posted up by
Dorrie on the notice board: Katrine headed the list by an overwhelming
majority; Viola followed; Dorrie was only a few points behind, and Diana
and Hilda, bracketed equal, came next. If Katrine were ruled out of
competition, then the championship must fall to Viola and Dorrie. The
strain waxed acute. Little groups of girls stood about in the hall and
passages, discussing the pros and cons. It was evident that something
must be done; the ferment of feeling was almost at effervescing point.
At this crisis Miss Spencer issued from the head mistress's study. She
walked to the notice board, pinned up a paper, and marched away without
a word. Everyone crowded round to read the notice. It was brief, but to
the point, and in the Principal's own handwriting.
"In view of the forthcoming tournament, Mrs. Franklin requests that the
Games Committee choose as champions girls who are not entered for the
matriculation. No examination candidate will be allowed leave of absence
to-morrow."
This was indeed a cutting of the Gordian knot. Viola, Dorrie, and Diana
were absolutely disqualified. It was a totally unexpected _denouement_,
and for the moment they were utterly taken aback. As befitted
monitresses, however, they pulled themselves together, and bore their
disappointment with Spartan heroism. Perhaps they realized the
cleverness of Mrs. Franklin's generalship. It was certainly a safe way
out of an awkward predicament. Viola was an intelligent girl, and had
the sense to climb down gracefully.
"Diana and Dorrie and I are out of it," she at once announced, "so I
suggest Katrine and Hilda as champions. There has been some little
doubt as to whether Katrine is eligible to represent the school, but I
beg to propose that any disqualifying clause should be set aside in this
emergency, and that she be requested to play for Aireyholme to-morrow.
I'm sure she'll do us credit. All in favour of this proposition please
say 'Aye'."
Such a universal chorus of assent rose from the assembled girls that
Katrine, who had been inclined to refuse the proffered honour, was
obliged to accede. Both she and Viola had saved their dignity, and in
consequence each felt a more friendly disposition towards the other.
They discussed the coming tournament quite amicably; and Viola even
offered to lend her racket, which was superior to Katrine's own. Hilda
was all smiles. With such a partner she hoped to do great things.
"Mrs. Franklin is a modern Solomon!" whispered Nan to Gladwin.
Katrine was secretly much gratified at being chosen champion after all,
though she was far too proud to show it. Her affected carelessness,
however, deceived nobody.
"She's as pleased as Punch!" was the unanimous verdict of the school.
Everybody sympathized, for each one would have been only too delighted
if the happy lot had been hers. The two champions were the centres of
congratulation. The various points of their play were eagerly discussed;
they were the one topic of conversation.
In addition to the pair who were to take part in the tournament, twelve
girls had been invited to Carford College as spectators. Those whose
scores came next on the tennis list were chosen, and Gwethyn and Rose
Randall were among the lucky number. They were to be escorted by Miss
Andrews, whose athletic tendencies made her as keen as anybody on the
event. Fourteen smiling girls stood ready on the following morning, all
in immaculate white silk blouses, with their school ties and hats.
Katrine and Hilda wore rosettes of pink, brown, and green--the
Aireyholme colours--to distinguish them as champions, and most of the
others sported patriotic badges. The school assembled on the drive to
see them off, and they departed amid a chorus of good wishes. Some of
the juniors even began to shout hoorays, but Mrs. Franklin suppressed
them.
"It will be time enough to cheer if we win the tournament," she reminded
them. "Remember that other schools are competing, whose play may be
better than ours."
"Which is a polite way of saying, 'Don't crow till you're out of the
wood!'" laughed Dorrie to Diana. "All the same, I'd back Katrine against
anyone I know!"
* * * * *
Carford College was a big day-school, situated about a mile out of the
town. The Aireyholme contingent was received by the head mistress, and
at once handed on to stewards, who took Katrine and Hilda to the
champions' tent, and the rest to the seats which had been reserved for
them. The College prided itself on its Games activities; its courts were
in excellent condition, and there was every facility for the comfort of
spectators. Six other schools besides Aireyholme had been invited to
compete, and bring twelve representatives each to witness the combat,
so that, with the pupils of the College, there was a crowd of more than
two hundred to watch the trial of skill.
Katrine and Hilda, inside the tent, were having a good time. They were
regaled with lemonade, and introduced to the other champions. It was
interesting to compare notes on sports and schools; if any of the
strangers were inclined to be shy, the ice was soon broken, and all were
chatting like old friends by the time the tournament began. The College
Games Captain, a particularly jolly girl, made an admirable hostess, and
put all her guests at their ease; she had herself been entertained in
similar circumstances, so she had experience to guide her. As the train
service from Heathwell to Carford was not very convenient, the
Aireyholme party had come early; two of the other schools were in like
case, and the rest turned up by degrees.
At last all the competitors had arrived, and the drawing took place.
Aireyholme was not in the first set, rather to Katrine's relief.
"I hate to have to begin," she remarked to Hilda. "It's much more
helpful if one can watch other people's play for a while."
The competitors who opened the tournament were fairly evenly matched.
Oakfield House perhaps excelled in serving, but Summerlea possessed a
champion who seemed able to take every ball, in whatsoever awkward spot
it alighted; she was a short, freckled, ungainly girl (Katrine had
mentally noted her plainness when they met in the tent), but her
spread-eagle method of play was highly successful, and her side scored
heavily.
"We shall have our work cut out for us if we're put against her,"
grunted Hilda. "Oakfield didn't do badly either, in the beginning, but
they couldn't stand against this Doris What's-her-name!"
Pinecroft versus Arden Grange came next on the list, resulting in a
narrow victory for the former.
Carford College had an exciting tussle with Windleness. Everybody,
except of course the Windleness girls, wanted the College to win. It was
felt that it would be too bad if the hostesses of the occasion were out
of the finals. By almost superhuman effort Carford managed to score, but
Windleness was accorded full honours of war by the spectators.
At last it was the turn of Katrine and Hilda. Aireyholme had been drawn
to play Ashley Hall, a school, so it was rumoured, with a reputation.
"I'm horribly nervous! I know we'll never beat them!" whispered Hilda,
with scarlet cheeks.
"Now don't work yourself up into a state! For goodness' sake, keep
cool!" Katrine besought her. "If you let yourself worry, you'll play
badly. Our salvation is to keep our heads. If you get excited, you're
done for. Brace up, can't you!"
"I'll do my best," murmured Hilda, setting her teeth.
The Aireyholme girls had sometimes been inclined to sneer at Katrine's
calm, imperturbable composure, but to-day it stood the school in good
stead. In tournaments the level-headed, cool, self-controlled competitor
generally has an advantage over an excitable, impulsive or nervous
rival. The Ashley Hall champions were splendid players, but they were
more brilliant than steady; one or two little things put them out; they
lost their nerve and made a few bad strokes. Katrine, on the contrary,
kept absolute self-possession; she calculated balls to a nicety, and it
was chiefly owing to her all-round preparedness that the set was won.
She and Hilda retired with sighs of relief.
"The foe was worthy of their steel--or rather, rackets," said Gwethyn to
Rose Randall. "I'm glad I wasn't chosen champion; I never can keep cool
like Kattie. She's always the same--never the least excited, while I'm
gyrating all over the place like a lunatic!"
There was now a midday interval for lunch, and the crowd dispersed. Most
of the College girls went home for their meal, but the visitors from the
other schools were entertained in the big hall with coffee, plates of
ham or tongue, buns, and fruit. At half-past one the finals were to
begin. It was not desirable to waste too much time, as several of the
schools must catch certain return trains.
"You played splendidly, Katrine, and Hilda backed you up no end!"
declared the Aireyholme girls, anxious to congratulate their champions.
"Go on in that style, and you'll do."
"Don't expect too much. The College will probably win a love set when we
play them," returned Katrine. "You'd better be bracing your nerves."
"Oh, we're sporting enough to take our luck as it comes, but we pin our
faith to you this afternoon!"
If the first sets had been exciting, the finals were doubly so.
Summerlea, after a Homeric contest, vanquished Pinecroft, and was placed
against Aireyholme. Katrine had anticipated a tussle with Doris
Kendrick, their spread-eagle champion, and she had calculated correctly.
Doris's play was magnificent, and Aireyholme only won by the skin of its
teeth.
"We must tackle Carford too," whispered Katrine to Hilda. "Don't give in
now."
The excitement among the spectators was intense. General sympathy was,
perhaps, on the side of the College, but everyone admired Aireyholme's
plucky play.
"Katrine is A1!" commented Rose. "Just look at that stroke! I never
thought she'd take that ball! Forty-thirty. I believe we'll do it yet.
Well done, Hilda! Good old girl! Keep it up! Keep it up! Oh! I say, it's
ours! What a frolicsome joke!"
The College girls were disappointed at the failure of their champions,
but they were magnanimous enough to start the cheer for Aireyholme.
Katrine and Hilda were called up by the Principal to receive their
prizes--two pretty bangles--and congratulations poured in from all
sides. There was not time for much more than to express their thanks,
for Miss Andrews was consulting her watch, and announcing that they must
rush to the station if they wished to catch their train; so with hasty
good-byes to their hostesses they made their exit. Their arrival at
Aireyholme was a scene of triumph. Mrs. Franklin was immensely gratified
at the good news, and the girls cheered till they were hoarse.
"We'll put it down in the school minutes under the heading of
'Victories'," purred Dorrie. "I'd have given up the matric. to be there.
Anybody taken snapshots? You, Rose? Good! We'll develop them to-night,
and if they come out decently, we'll paste them in the school album. I
never thought we should really beat Carford College. It breaks the
record. This is a ripping term for Aireyholme!"
"Kattie's scored in more senses than one to-day," whispered Gwethyn to
her chum Rose Randall.
CHAPTER X
An Antique Purchase
As the summer came on, bringing the climbing roses out on the cottages,
and filling the village gardens with a wealth of flowers, Katrine's
artistic soul revelled more and more in the picturesque beauty of
Heathwell. Her sketching expeditions were an intense delight; she was
improving fast under Miss Aubrey's tuition, and also picked up many
hints from Mr. Freeman, who would always stop, if he passed their
easels, and give her work the benefit of his criticism. Katrine often
felt as if she were living in the past at Heathwell. Not only were the
cottages antique, but the people also had an old-world atmosphere
lingering among them. Many of the women wore sun-bonnets; they baked
their bread in brick ovens, made rhubarb wine and cowslip beer, cured
their own bacon, and pursued various homely little avocations which are
fast going out of date in other parts of the country. Even the
Elementary-school children were not aggressively advanced; some of them
still bobbed curtsies, and wore clean white pinafores to go to church on
Sundays.
Miss Aubrey was a great favourite in the village. Her painting brought
her closely into touch with the people, and she had a ready sympathy
for them, quite unmixed with patronage--a distinction which they
recognized and appreciated. The patriarch in the picturesque
weather-stained coat would slowly bring out his reminiscences during the
hours she sat sketching him in his garden; the mothers would tell her
their troubles; and the children swarmed round her like bees. It was an
entirely new phase of life for Katrine, who had had no experience before
of our sturdy English peasantry. She saw the people at first through
Miss Aubrey's spectacles; then she learnt to like them on her own
account, and acquired quite a number of village friends--the blacksmith
who smiled at her from his forge, the crippled wife of the saddler, who
waved greetings from her seat at the window, the fussy little spinster
in charge of the post office, the six ancient pensioners who generally
sat sunning themselves on the bench outside the almshouses, the cobbler
who bobbed up his head and smiled as she passed his open doorway, the
widow who baked the brown bread and the muffins, and the elderly dame at
the crockery shop.
There were many quaint people in Heathwell--so many that Katrine often
declared a list ought to be made of the village worthies and preserved
in a local museum. There was Linton, a white-haired, bent old labourer,
who supplemented his parish relief by breaking stones on the roadside.
Katrine first made friends with him over a stile. It happened to be
rather a high and difficult one, and he was sitting on the top of it, so
she paused to allow him to descend. "Come on, missie, come on!" he cried
in encouraging tones. "Though it do be a rare awkward stile for
faymales. I telled Parson so, when he a-put it up; but says he to I,
'Faymales or no faymales, they'll have to be getten over it!'"
Linton was a character in his way, a self-taught antiquarian, a nature
lover, a dormant poet, an incipient artist, and something of a
philosopher round it all. Who knows what strange dreams he may have
dreamed in his youth, of fame to be won and songs to be uttered? But
life's obligations had proved too heavy a burden, and his was still a
mute inglorious muse. His delight in Miss Aubrey's sketches was almost
pathetic; he would toddle far out of his way to pass her easel, and take
a peep at the progress of some roadside scene or cottage garden. He even
volunteered, one evening, to find her a subject, and to please him, she
and Katrine allowed him to escort them to the summit of a mound near the
river. The place without doubt was an ancient grave, for it was close to
Offa's dyke, the great eighth-century barrier between Saxon and Celt,
and though from an artistic point of view it was not paintable, the
romance of its situation was palpable.
To Miss Aubrey and Katrine the true subject was the white-haired, rugged
old fellow himself, standing outlined against the glowing west, as with
outstretched hand he showed where the slain in the forgotten
battle-field had been heaped, and the earth piled high above them. His
voice rang as he tried to picture the far-off scene, and there shone
from his eyes just a gleam of the divine fire.
"Look around you!" he cried. "See where yon river's a-windin' down, and
yon hills a-stand back as they did a thousand years agone. Aye! I often
comes hither and thinks what a sight it will be for their uprising!"
Of all the quaint village folk perhaps the funniest was Mrs. Stubbs, who
kept a little shop at the corner of the High Street. It was nominally a
green-grocer's, but it included so many other things as well, that it
might fairly claim to be a china store, a second-hand bookseller's, and
a repository of antiquities. Though the counter was spread with cabbages
and cauliflowers, the floor was covered with crockery, and the small
parlour behind was overflowing with old furniture and all kinds of
oddments picked up at auctions--eighteenth-century chairs, bow-shaped
mirrors, ancient etchings and engravings, Wedgwood plates, Toby jugs,
horn lanterns, tortoise-shell tea-caddies, blunderbusses, cases of
butterflies, clocks, snuff-boxes, medallions, pewter dishes, and a vast
number of other articles. Mrs. Stubbs had a genius for a bargain. She
was a familiar figure at every sale in the district, where she would bid
successfully even against hook-nosed individuals of the Hebrew
persuasion, and bear off her spoils in triumph. She knew the marketable
value of most of her antiques to the last halfpenny, and carried on a
successful little business by disposing of them to London dealers, or to
collectors in the neighbourhood, often at double the prices she had
originally paid for them.
For Katrine this old curiosity shop held an absolute fascination. She
had been brought up to appreciate such things, for her father's chief
hobby was the collecting of antiques. Mr. Marsden revelled in carved oak
furniture and Worcester china, and had communicated some of his
enthusiasm to his daughter. Miss Aubrey sympathized with Katrine's
tastes, and would often allow her to pay a visit to the shop, sometimes
sending her there on small errands.
For the ostensible purpose of ordering peas for Aireyholme, Katrine
entered Mrs. Stubbs's repository one memorable afternoon. The good dame
had attended a sale on the preceding day, and her small establishment
had received so many additions to its already large collection that it
was almost overflowing into the street. She was superintending the
rearrangement of some of these articles by Mr. Stubbs, a blear-eyed
individual who proved a sad thorn in the flesh to his capable better
half, and whose delinquencies formed a topic for much of her
conversation.
"He's no more use nor a babe to-day," she confided indignantly, "with
his legs that wobbly and his hand that shaky, I daren't let him lay a
finger on the china, for fear he'd be dropping it. He took half a crown
out of the till when my back was turned, and off he goes with it
straight to the 'Dragon'. Well, he was a second-hand article when I
married him, and I might 'a known he weren't up to much, if I'd had the
experience I've got now."
Mrs. Stubbs spoke with warmth, evidently regarding her husband as a bad
investment, which she unfortunately had no opportunity of passing on at
a profit to anybody else. She hustled him out of the way at present, and
telling him to retire to the kitchen, took Katrine into the crowded
little parlour to inspect her latest purchases. The sale had been at
the house of an old maiden lady who had possessed many antique
belongings, including carved ivories and miniatures, as well as Sheraton
furniture. These treasures were, of course, far beyond Katrine's pocket,
though she regarded them with the covetous eye of a born collector.
"I'm afraid I can't afford anything old," she said at last. "I really
came to order three pecks of peas for Mrs. Franklin."
"I've a little cupboard here I'd like to show you," urged Mrs. Stubbs,
who always saw in Katrine a possible customer. "It went dirt-cheap at
the sale, too, so I could afford to let you have it for one pound five,
and clear a trifle of profit, just enough to pay me for the trouble of
fetching it. What do you think of this, now?"
The cupboard in question was a small oak one, about two feet in height,
with the date 1791 carved on its door. It was plainly intended for
spices, for inside it had nine tiny drawers, surrounding a space in the
centre. It was such a quaint, bijou, attractive little piece that
Katrine promptly fell in love with it. She knew it would absolutely
delight her father, and she determined to buy it, and give it to him as
a birthday present.
"If you'd say a pound?" she ventured, remembering that all old-furniture
dealers affect an almost Eastern habit of bargaining.
"Done!" declared Mrs. Stubbs promptly. "I wouldn't quarrel with you over
a few shillings, and I'm so stocked up with things, I'll be glad to make
room. This is as nice a bit of oak as you'd find in all Heathwell."
"I suppose it comes from Miss Jackson's family?" said Katrine. "What
are those two initials carved under the date? They look like an R and an
L."
"Maybe it might come from Mrs. Jackson's mother's. I didn't hear where
she got it, but she'd a lot of fine stuff in her house, and thought a
deal of it, too. I've seen her at auctions myself, buying a few odd
trifles she fancied. Poor dear lady! it's sad to think she's dead and
gone. She'd be sore upset if she could see her things all scattered.
Well, missie, I'll send Stubbs round to Aireyholme this evening with the
cupboard; but don't you give him the money for it, however he may ask.
You call and pay me quiet-like, some other time when he ain't about.
He's not fit to be trusted with a penny piece."
The delinquent Stubbs staggered round in the course of the evening,
bearing the little oak cupboard in his arms; but, mindful of his
failing, Katrine forbore even to give him a tip for himself.
"I felt horribly mean," she assured Miss Aubrey, to whom she had
confided the particulars of her purchase, "especially as he hinted so
desperately."
"You were right, for he would have gone straight to the 'Dragon' and
spent it. Shall we carry your cupboard into the studio? Then we can all
enjoy it while it's here."
"Oh, please do! Isn't it a little beauty? Dad will be simply delighted
with it. I want to show it to Mr. Freeman. He's a very good judge of old
oak, and will know if it's genuine."
"There can be no mistake about its genuineness. I think you are very
lucky to get hold of it," replied Miss Aubrey, calling one of the
servants, and telling her to take the cupboard upstairs.
A place was found for Katrine's treasure on the top of an oak chest, and
it was admired to her heart's content. By special invitation Mr. Freeman
came to inspect it, and congratulated her on her possession.
"It's a real antique--a very pretty little piece. It will just suit Mr.
Marsden. In the meantime it's an ornament in the studio here. You'll
find these small drawers most convenient to keep paints and bottles in."
Katrine always rode her hobbies hard. The acquisition of the oak
spice-cupboard had started her in a new line. She now posed as a
collector of antiques. She borrowed some books from Mr. Freeman, and
after a brief study of their contents began to talk glibly of the
Sheraton and Heppelwhite periods, Adams chimney-pieces, and soft paste
Worcester china. She aired her new-found knowledge so ceaselessly, in
season and out of season, that the girls, always ready to take offence
at her superior attitude, began to make fun of her. They chuckled
audibly when Mrs. Franklin, more mathematical than artistic, made her
calculate the cubic contents of her cupboard as a problem in class,
especially as her answer was wrong, and she had to work the sum again.
All sorts of mock treasures were presented to
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