BOTH MAVIS AND MERLE LET THEMSELVES GOBOTH MAVIS AND MERLE LET THEMSELVES GOPage 89
BOTH MAVIS AND MERLE LET THEMSELVES GO
Page 89
The girls looked considerably astonished, but nevertheless seemed to welcome Mavis's proposal. They sat down as requested, most of them on the floor, but a few on chairs or lockers, seemingly prepared to listento anything that was provided for them. They had not to wait long. Mavis and Merle were adepts in arranging lightning changes of costume, and could assume a character in a moment by the addition of a hat, a coat, or a handkerchief. Acting came naturally to them, and they loved nothing better than impromptu performances. They walked in now, attired, the one as a straight-laced, elderly lady, and the other as her ultra-fashionable niece, and supported by Iva and Nesta, whose speeches consisted mostly of "Yes" and "No", commenced a brisk and most amusing dialogue, in which the aunt deplored the attitude of the modern girl, and contrasted her with the maiden of mid-Victorian days, while the niece held a brief for present-day damsels, and gave a lively defence of their doings.
Both Mavis and Merle thoroughly let themselves go. They threw themselves entirely into their parts, and by speech, manner, and action reproduced the characters they represented, quite carrying the audience with them. When they stopped at the end of their little sketch they were greeted by a storm of clapping. The girls at The Moorings had never seen acting like that before and were most enthusiastic over it.
"It was ripping!" approved Opal. "I say, we must have some more of this sort of thing. I call it A1."
"I don't know however you did it!" exclaimed Babbie Williams. (She had been standing open-eyed during the performance and was now gazing at Mavis and Merle as if she considered them geniuses in disguise.)"I'm so glad our car wasn't ready. I wouldn't have missed this for anything, would you, Gwen?" (turning impulsively to her sister).
Gwen, who had clapped with the rest, did not answer. She too was staring at Mavis and Merle, looking at them as if they were some strange new creatures whom she could not yet comprehend. Apparently they did not fit in with any of her preconceived standards. Meeting Merle's eyes, she turned hastily away. A boarder brought a message that their car was at the door, so, summoning Babbie, she made a hasty exit without bidding good-bye to anybody, even to Opal.
On the strength of the very favourable reception accorded to their first venture in the line of drama, Mavis and Merle held a long private confabulation, and decided to try and start a society to stir up the school.
"They've nothing," said Mavis, "absolutely nothing! And I see possibilities ofsuchfun! We ought to get up sing-songs and plays, and ten dozen other things. I call it an opportunity."
"Yes, if Opal doesn't butt in and turn everything upside down. We shall have her to reckon with I expect."
"Oh, bother Opal! She's not the only girl in the school."
"No, but she thinks she is."
"Give her a decent part and she'll like it as much as anybody."
"She's not going to be top-dog all along the line, though."
"Well, we can't leave her out of it. I suppose she'll have her turn just the same as other people, and we'll leave it at that."
Next day, therefore, the Ramsays went to school bristling with ideas, and, calling a mass meeting in the playroom, made their proposals. The girls, who were ready for anything in the way of variety, accepted the innovations with alacrity, and in the course of the quarter of an hour allotted to lunch they formed a society, the object of which was, as Mavis expressed it, "to stir things up a little and have acting and sing-songs and any other fun that comes along". They fixed Wednesday afternoon from 4 o'clock to 4.30 for their first meeting.
"Miss Pollard won't mind our staying half an hour after school when she knows what it's for," declared Opal. "We'll have our—what did you call it?—symposium, then, and I dare say she'll give us other times too if we want to rehearse for a play. It would be prime to get up something big for the end of the term, wouldn't it? Who's going to read papers on Wednesday? Hands up those who'll volunteer?"
"Not much time to write anything before then," grumbled Nesta.
"It needn't be original unless you like," put in Mavis. "For this first time you may recite some poetry if you want. It's just to get us all together and make a start."
"Are those kids going to be in it?" objected Muriel, with a baneful eye on the juniors.
"There's no harm in their coming to listen. It's really more fun if there's an audience. In a thing like this it's a case of 'the more the merrier'. I vote the whole school turns up on Wednesday at four."
"Yes, yes! Don't leave us out of it!" squeaked the small fry, in much terror lest they should be excluded from the delightful ceremony.
"Will you promise to sit as mum as mice and not interrupt?"
"We'll be absolute mascots!"
Mavis and Merle, as originators of the innovations, felt a little anxious when Wednesday afternoon arrived. It is one thing to carry on old-established societies, where you can quote the traditions of years and the opinions of many past head-girls, and quite another to float them in a school where nothing of the sort has ever been formulated before. Opal's high-handed ways would probably be the main obstacle, but Mavis thought that with tact even Opal might be managed. As soon as ever afternoon classes were over every girl at The Moorings crowded into the playroom. There was a considerable amount of giggling and chattering, especially among the younger ones, but Merle, who was accustomed to public meetings, called out "Sh-sh!" in loud tones, and, mounting a locker, took advantage of the gap of silence to make an announcement.
"The first business of the meeting is to elect achairwoman. Will one of you please nominate somebody and we'll put it to the vote?"
The girls looked at one another, and out of sheer force of habit began to murmur "Opal", but Iva Westwood stood up, and, turning rather pink, proclaimed:
"I should like to nominate Mavis for the chair. She knows more about it than any of the rest of us; and she'll show us what we ought to do, and put us in the way of running the society properly."
"And I've much pleasure in seconding her," said Nesta eagerly. "Hands up all in favour of Mavis!"
The vote was unanimous. Even Opal held up her hand quite readily. She would yield place to Mavis, though she would not have transferred an ounce of authority to Merle. Mavis was hustled forward into the seat of honour and took her place amid applause.
She made a winsome little president, with her blue eyes and her dull-gold hair, and everybody looked at her in expectation.
"As this is our first symposium," she began, "I want to explain that it's a meeting partly to have fun and enjoy ourselves and partly to give all members an opportunity of showing what they can do. Did I hear somebody say 'showing-off?' That's a nasty way of putting it! We want everybody to do something to entertain the meeting. Of course there isn't time in one afternoon for you all to have turns, so I shall only call upon a few, and the rest must wait for anothertime. I'll now ask Opal Earnshaw to read us her contribution."
It was tactful of Mavis to give Opal the first innings. She stood up at once, looking quite pleased. She had spent more than an hour the evening before writing a story, and was rather proud of her first-born literary bantling. Her tastes inclined towards melodrama, so she had chosen a scene allowing full scope for romance. She unrolled her manuscript, cleared her throat a trifle nervously, and began:
COUNT BERTINO'S BRIDEIt was a glorious moonlight night in the fair Island of Corsica. Outside in the garden the air was heavy with the scent of southern flowers, and nightingales warbled in a concert of joy. The lovely Lady Elvira, only daughter and heiress of the Duke of Alezzo, leaned over the marble balustrade of the piazza, pensively gazing at the beauty of the scene before her. A scarlet camellia adorned her dark tresses, and round her swan-like neck was wreathed a rope of priceless pearls. She sighed as she gazed at the calm and peaceful landscape, for red riot raged within her heart."Francesca!" she called to one of her maidens, "has Bernardo not yet returned? I pray you send a page in search of news. 'Tis seldom he tarries so late.""I go, my lady!" and Francesca sped on her errand.Left alone, Elvira paced the piazza with impatient footsteps. A dark figure moving among the flowers below was suddenly seen in the pale moonlight. The lady sprang to the balustrade."Bernardo! Bernardo! Is it thou?" she whispered intones tremulous with agitation. But her cheeks blanched, as instead of the longed-for features of her lover appeared the hated visage of her arch enemy Count Bertino."Ha, ha, lovely lady, at last I have found thee alone! Time allows me not to beat about the bush, and, rough warrior as I am, my suit must be brief. Too long hast thou trifled with me. Redeem thy promise and wed me!""Never!" moaned Elvira. "My heart is given to another!""And that other," triumphed the Count, "is now in my power. He lies in my darkest dungeon loaded with chains. Wed me, and he will be restored to liberty. Refuse, and by the tombs of my ancestors he dies the death!""Wretch!" panted Elvira, "you have trapped me! But have a care! I may yet escape from your toils. Swear, by all you hold sacred, that at the hour of our nuptials Bernardo will be released and sent with a safe convoy to Rome.""I swear! Yet thou shalt not escape!"Great were the preparations for the wedding of the powerful Count Bertino and the heiress Elvira, yet of all the gifts showered upon her the one treasured most by the bride was an emerald ring sent by Albaro, the Moorish alchemist. As she turned it upon her finger she murmured, "'Tis my gate to freedom".Beautiful in her bridal jewels, but pale as a lily, she approached the altar, and uttered the fateful words which bound her to the Count, but as he turned to lift her veil and claim her as his wife—"It is enough!" she cried, "I have freed him and I pass onward to my rest," and, falling backward to the ground, she expired. Her emerald ring was a poisonedone, and by pressing its points into her fair white hand she had placed herself for ever beyond the power of the cruel and revengeful Count Bertino.
COUNT BERTINO'S BRIDE
It was a glorious moonlight night in the fair Island of Corsica. Outside in the garden the air was heavy with the scent of southern flowers, and nightingales warbled in a concert of joy. The lovely Lady Elvira, only daughter and heiress of the Duke of Alezzo, leaned over the marble balustrade of the piazza, pensively gazing at the beauty of the scene before her. A scarlet camellia adorned her dark tresses, and round her swan-like neck was wreathed a rope of priceless pearls. She sighed as she gazed at the calm and peaceful landscape, for red riot raged within her heart.
"Francesca!" she called to one of her maidens, "has Bernardo not yet returned? I pray you send a page in search of news. 'Tis seldom he tarries so late."
"I go, my lady!" and Francesca sped on her errand.
Left alone, Elvira paced the piazza with impatient footsteps. A dark figure moving among the flowers below was suddenly seen in the pale moonlight. The lady sprang to the balustrade.
"Bernardo! Bernardo! Is it thou?" she whispered intones tremulous with agitation. But her cheeks blanched, as instead of the longed-for features of her lover appeared the hated visage of her arch enemy Count Bertino.
"Ha, ha, lovely lady, at last I have found thee alone! Time allows me not to beat about the bush, and, rough warrior as I am, my suit must be brief. Too long hast thou trifled with me. Redeem thy promise and wed me!"
"Never!" moaned Elvira. "My heart is given to another!"
"And that other," triumphed the Count, "is now in my power. He lies in my darkest dungeon loaded with chains. Wed me, and he will be restored to liberty. Refuse, and by the tombs of my ancestors he dies the death!"
"Wretch!" panted Elvira, "you have trapped me! But have a care! I may yet escape from your toils. Swear, by all you hold sacred, that at the hour of our nuptials Bernardo will be released and sent with a safe convoy to Rome."
"I swear! Yet thou shalt not escape!"
Great were the preparations for the wedding of the powerful Count Bertino and the heiress Elvira, yet of all the gifts showered upon her the one treasured most by the bride was an emerald ring sent by Albaro, the Moorish alchemist. As she turned it upon her finger she murmured, "'Tis my gate to freedom".
Beautiful in her bridal jewels, but pale as a lily, she approached the altar, and uttered the fateful words which bound her to the Count, but as he turned to lift her veil and claim her as his wife—
"It is enough!" she cried, "I have freed him and I pass onward to my rest," and, falling backward to the ground, she expired. Her emerald ring was a poisonedone, and by pressing its points into her fair white hand she had placed herself for ever beyond the power of the cruel and revengeful Count Bertino.
Opal sat down, out of breath but covered with glory. Quite a thrill passed round the room at so romantic a story.
"O-o-h! It ought to be put on the cinema," suggested Maude Carey. "I can see it all—the balustrade and the moonlight and the count coming, and then the wedding scene. Howdidyou think of it?"
"Oh, it just came somehow," admitted Opal modestly.
"Well, it's ripping anyway."
"Only very sad," objected Muriel.
"Tales like that nearly always are sad," put in Mavis; "it wouldn't be so romantic somehow if it turned out happily."
"Couldn't the lovers have run away?"
"Of course not," said Opal sharply. "Bernardo wasn't to be released until the wedding was over."
"Did he get off after all, or did Bertino break his word?"
"Look here! you mustn't ask so many questions," interrupted Mavis. "If we don't hurry on we shall never finish our programme. Perhaps we'd better take a comic turn next. Merle, will you give us 'The Dandy Musician'?"
There was a piano in the playroom, and Merlemoved forwards towards it. Her contribution was in the nature of a humorous entertainment.
"I'm going to show you," she explained, "how Professor Vladimir Limpidimpidumpski gave a recital in the Town Hall of Gapeford before an audience of the most distinguished people in the neighbourhood."
Merle was a capital little actress, and she took off the ways of a conceited pianist in a most amusing fashion. She twirled the music-stool energetically, sat down with great pomp, threw back her hair, flung her hands in the air, touched the keys with much affectation, thumped a growling bass, and ran a finger up and down the treble, gazing meanwhile at the ceiling with an air of intense sentiment. Then she hunched up her shoulders and made a violent and wild onslaught on the instrument, banging chords furiously with the weight of her whole arms, and rolling her head as if in frenzy; a sudden pause was followed by a faint tinkle in the treble, then up went the arms again, her head went down in the middle, and she finished by a tremendous thump at either end of the piano, while her nose played the central C.
The tremendous bows which she returned in answer to the applause were part of the performance, and provoked more clapping. The girls clamoured for an encore, but at that she shook her head.
"Professor Vladimir Limpidimpidumpski never gives encores," she declared. "He says it takes it out of him, and he can only do it once."
"Poor, frail flower," laughed Nesta. "Send him to a nursing-home for a rest cure."
"Right-o! And we'll have your contribution while he goes."
"Oh no!"
"Yes, yes! Don't be bashful! Come along!"
"It's your turn, Nesta, really," urged Mavis, as chairwoman of the proceedings.
So Nesta, protesting but rather pleased all the same, was pushed forward and volunteered to give a recitation. It was quite a good one too, spirited and amusing, and fortunately not too long to hold the engrossed attention of the listeners. They clapped it warmly, and Nesta bowed, but, following Merle's example, declined to give an encore.
"We'd better scoot on with the programme or we'll never get through till next week," she declared.
Maude had brought a piano solo, which the girls received politely but coldly, evidently considering it was not the sort of contribution they wanted. Muriel warbled a song in a rather weak, thin voice. Edith was known to have a manuscript in her pocket, but blushed scarlet and utterly refused to produce it, giving up her turn to Iva, who tried a recitation but broke down in the middle. Things were getting a little slack, and time was running on very fast, so Merle, who knew Mavis had prepared a literary contribution, called for an item from "The Chair".
"Yes, yes!" squealed everybody. "Go on, Mrs. Chairwoman. It's your turn now. We're not goinghome without your piece. Hurry up before Miss Fanny comes worrying in. She said we might have half an hour, but she should break up the meeting if we went on any longer than that. Chair, please!"
So Mavis, who had produced a manuscript the evening before, considerably at the cost of her preparation, and was secretly dying to read it, though she did not wish to push herself unduly, gave a hasty glance at her watch, reduced some giggling youngsters to silence, and commenced to read.
THE SPOOK HUNTERSA TALE OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAYIt had always been the ambition of Tom and Morris to see a good old-fashioned genuine specimen of a ghost or spectre; but though they had visited houses bearing a reputation of being haunted, and had hung about churchyards at midnight, and had even attended séances, their innocent and perfectly natural wish had never been gratified. They were beginning to come to the regretful conclusion that they were not psychic subjects, and therefore incapable of seeing spirits, when once more their hopes rose with a bound. They received an invitation to stay at Cawdor Castle, an ancient building which on really reliable evidence possessed no less than six resident family ghosts, and a few extra visiting spectres as well.After begging for the most haunted of all the haunted rooms, Tom and Morris retired to bed with very reasonable expectations of at last obtaining a peep of a real old-world spook. For some time they tried to keep awake and on the look-out, but in spite of their efforts their eyes closed,and they slept and snored. The clock was striking the hour of midnight when Tom suddenly awoke. The moonlight, in orthodox fashion, was streaming into the room, and by his bedside stood a queer, half-transparent old gentleman in a court costume."Hello! Who the dickens are you?" exclaimed Tom. "You don't mean to tell me you're actually one of the family ghosts?""The same—at your service!" replied the old gentleman with a stately bow. "I am Sir Rupert, the second of that name, who lived in the reign of Queen Anne, of blessed memory!""Pleased to meet you, I'm sure!" replied Tom heartily. "Can you introduce me to any more of the family?""With pleasure, if you don't object to accompany me into the picture gallery. We are celebrating an anniversary to-night, and you would find us all at home.""Right-o!" agreed Tom, jumping out of bed and following the ghost.His spectre friend led him upstairs and into the big gallery of the castle, where quite an assemblage of spirits of various periods was collected, some in armour, some in silks and satins, and some in shrouds. On a dais sat a magnificent individual in a coat of mail, holding a shield emblazoned with the royal arms."King Edward I, the founder of the family!" explained Sir Rupert, taking Tom to be introduced. "Don't be frightened at his Plantagenet manners! He means no harm!""Thanks for the hint!" returned Tom, bowing politely towards the dais as he approached."What, Sirrah! Hast thou no knee for thy Prince?" exclaimed the King angrily. "Make thy obeisanceinstantly, or by the sprig of broom in my helmet I'll clap thee in prison and torture thee!""Come, come, Edward my boy," murmured a fatherly-looking ghost at his elbow. "How often have I to tell you that these things really aren't done nowadays! You must adapt yourself and learn to march with the times. A court bow is really all that can be required from him, and if you——""Oh, please don't worry," interrupted Tom. "I'll adapt my manners to any period that pleases him if you'll kindly coach me as to exactly what he wants me to do. I take it he wishes me to kneel."And down went Tom on his knees, anxious to oblige, but, to his great surprise, as he touched the floor he fell completely through, and found himself back in bed with the sun streaming through the window, and Morris, whom he had quite forgotten to introduce to the ghosts, snoring comfortably by his side.
THE SPOOK HUNTERSA TALE OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY
It had always been the ambition of Tom and Morris to see a good old-fashioned genuine specimen of a ghost or spectre; but though they had visited houses bearing a reputation of being haunted, and had hung about churchyards at midnight, and had even attended séances, their innocent and perfectly natural wish had never been gratified. They were beginning to come to the regretful conclusion that they were not psychic subjects, and therefore incapable of seeing spirits, when once more their hopes rose with a bound. They received an invitation to stay at Cawdor Castle, an ancient building which on really reliable evidence possessed no less than six resident family ghosts, and a few extra visiting spectres as well.
After begging for the most haunted of all the haunted rooms, Tom and Morris retired to bed with very reasonable expectations of at last obtaining a peep of a real old-world spook. For some time they tried to keep awake and on the look-out, but in spite of their efforts their eyes closed,and they slept and snored. The clock was striking the hour of midnight when Tom suddenly awoke. The moonlight, in orthodox fashion, was streaming into the room, and by his bedside stood a queer, half-transparent old gentleman in a court costume.
"Hello! Who the dickens are you?" exclaimed Tom. "You don't mean to tell me you're actually one of the family ghosts?"
"The same—at your service!" replied the old gentleman with a stately bow. "I am Sir Rupert, the second of that name, who lived in the reign of Queen Anne, of blessed memory!"
"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure!" replied Tom heartily. "Can you introduce me to any more of the family?"
"With pleasure, if you don't object to accompany me into the picture gallery. We are celebrating an anniversary to-night, and you would find us all at home."
"Right-o!" agreed Tom, jumping out of bed and following the ghost.
His spectre friend led him upstairs and into the big gallery of the castle, where quite an assemblage of spirits of various periods was collected, some in armour, some in silks and satins, and some in shrouds. On a dais sat a magnificent individual in a coat of mail, holding a shield emblazoned with the royal arms.
"King Edward I, the founder of the family!" explained Sir Rupert, taking Tom to be introduced. "Don't be frightened at his Plantagenet manners! He means no harm!"
"Thanks for the hint!" returned Tom, bowing politely towards the dais as he approached.
"What, Sirrah! Hast thou no knee for thy Prince?" exclaimed the King angrily. "Make thy obeisanceinstantly, or by the sprig of broom in my helmet I'll clap thee in prison and torture thee!"
"Come, come, Edward my boy," murmured a fatherly-looking ghost at his elbow. "How often have I to tell you that these things really aren't done nowadays! You must adapt yourself and learn to march with the times. A court bow is really all that can be required from him, and if you——"
"Oh, please don't worry," interrupted Tom. "I'll adapt my manners to any period that pleases him if you'll kindly coach me as to exactly what he wants me to do. I take it he wishes me to kneel."
And down went Tom on his knees, anxious to oblige, but, to his great surprise, as he touched the floor he fell completely through, and found himself back in bed with the sun streaming through the window, and Morris, whom he had quite forgotten to introduce to the ghosts, snoring comfortably by his side.
Some of the girls sniggered at Mavis's story, a few timorous ones shuddered at the bare idea of ghosts, and some of the small fry asked if it were true; but just as Mavis was comforting them with the assurance that it was absolute fiction, Miss Fanny opened the door of the playroom and brought the symposium to an end.
"You day girls must go home at once," she decreed. "I gave you half an hour, but I can't have you lingering here any longer. Iva, you ought to be practising. You little ones must go and wash your hands!" and, separating her flock like sheep and goats, she swept the boarders away to their various duties or occupations,and sent the rest to their several homes.
"I don't think Miss Fanny altogether likes our society," ventured Merle, as the Ramsays walked down the High Street.
"She's afraid of anything new, that's evident," said Mavis. "She's lived in an out-of-the-way corner of the world and doesn't know what goes on in other schools. Well, we've made a beginning and had our symposium!"
"And a jolly good one too! The girls said it was topping, and they're just clamouring to have another."
Mavis and Merle went to Miss Crompton's class on Friday afternoon in their dainty best dresses, silk stockings, and dancing sandals. Their appearance was certainly very different from what it had been last week in their brown jerseys and school shoes. They noticed Gwen Williams look them up and down, but she did not speak to them or give them any sign of recognition. Beyond an occasional word with Opal, Iva, or the Careys, she would not be expansive with any of the girls at The Moorings, holding aloof in a rather obtrusive fashion, and giving them to understand that though she might attend their French and dancing classes she must not be regarded as a member of the school. Babbie, who was of a much more sociable disposition, would often try to linger to talk with companions of her own age, but Gwen invariably interfered, and would put a stop to the incipient friendships, giving her younger sister glances of very plain reproof.
"Why are those Williams girls so dreadfully conceited?" Merle asked her partner, as they practised a two-step. "I can't see that they're different fromother people, but Gwen behaves as if she were a princess, and it was hardly etiquette for the rest of us to speak to her. It's perfectly absurd!"
"Well, you see, the Glyn Williamses think themselves 'county' and won't visit with anybody else. They've a beautiful place at Chagmouth, The Warren."
"I know. I've seen it. But does it really belong to them? I somehow thought it didn't."
"Well, you're right, and I believe it's rather a sore point. The Glyn Williams only rent The Warren. They've plenty of money and they'd like to buy it, but General Talland, to whom it belongs, won't sell it at any price. It has been in his family for hundreds of years."
"Why doesn't he live at it himself, then?"
"He hasn't been home for years and years. He's governor of a place called San Benito in the West Indies. He left England after his only son died, and he has never been back since. I should think Chagmouth people have almost forgotten him. The Glyn Williams are everything there now, or think they are at any rate."
"That I can very easily believe," said Merle, with a glance at Gwen, who, apportioned by Miss Crompton to dance with Aubrey, was circling round without deigning to bestow a single word upon her unwelcome partner.
To Mavis and Merle, Chagmouth, where so far they had only spent a single day, had become the very hub of the universe. They wanted to see its quaint streetsagain, and to revisit the beach and to explore the woods. More than anything they wished to renew their brief acquaintance with Bevis. His personality had attracted them, and his romantic story appealed to their imaginations. They ventured to say something about him to Uncle David.
"Bevis? Oh, he's a fine lad!" replied Dr. Tremayne. "He's rather out of his element on the farm, but there seems nothing else open to him at present. I wish I could see him doing something better. He'd make a splendid doctor. The way he has picked up dispensing is simply wonderful. I can trust him to make up prescriptions now, and it's the greatest help. He loves pottering about the surgery. It's far more in his line than hedging or ploughing. But he doesn't spare himself on the land; I'll say that for the lad. By the by, are you two coming with me to Chagmouth to-morrow? I believe the sea air did Mavis good. She's losing that transparent look, and getting a tinge of colour in her cheeks."
"I haven't had a cold since I came to Durracombe," boasted Mavis.
"Touch wood or you'll be catching one to-morrow," put in Merle hastily. "Uncle David, we'd go to Chagmouth every day if you'd take us."
"Oh, I dare say! And what would happen to your lessons, Miss Lazybones?" twinkled the doctor. "One holiday a week is quite enough for you."
The girls were growing to love Uncle David. He was so kind, and genial, and pleasant, and had alwayssome little joke or funny story for them. Half of the pleasure of the day at Chagmouth would be the drive there and back in his company. There was a broad restfulness about him that was like a mental tonic. It was as if he had learnt the secret of outliving all unnecessary cares and worries, and could radiate his peaceful atmosphere into the auras of others. Perhaps it was this quality of unconscious healing that gave him such skill and favour as a physician. Certainly patients would begin to brighten up when he merely stepped into the sickroom. "The dear old doctor", as he was generally called, was a figure in the country-side, and a source of moral as well as physical good in his practice.
It was with absolutely beaming faces that the girls set out with him in the little yellow Deemster car the following Saturday morning. They started earlier than the week before, for there were several visits to be paid at farms or cottages on the way, all of which took considerable time, but by exceeding the speed limit on level stretches of road the doctor reached Chagmouth at noon, to find the usual crowd of patients waiting at his rooms. Judging that he would be boxed up in the surgery for more than an hour, and that they would therefore have ample leisure for a stroll before lunch, the Ramsays decided to explore some of the fields that lay round Grimbal's Farm, and selected a path that seemed to lead in the direction of the cliffs and the sea. They looked about for Bevis in the stackyard, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probablyhe was working on the land, or possibly he might even be at sea, for Mr. Penruddock was part owner of a trawler, and as much fisherman as farmer.
They walked across two meadows, went through a little spinney where hazel catkins were opening fast, and actually a few primroses were peeping through the carpet of dead leaves; then came to a stile which led down into a deep lane. Mavis went first, and was in the very act of stepping cautiously over, when suddenly through a hole in the opposite hedge dashed a fox terrier and seized her by the skirt. It was just enough to destroy her balance, and she fell forward on to her hands and knees. Merle, hurrying after her, attacked the dog with a stick she was carrying, and for about three moments there was a wild scrimmage, Mavis shrieking with fright, the fox terrier yapping and yelping, and Merle laying on blows. They had imagined themselves alone, but the country-side is more full of ears than we generally know, and at the same instant two people came running from opposite directions, one from the lane and the other from the fields. The first, a tall boy carrying a gun, was evidently the owner of the dog, for he called it angrily away, and after a final snarl it ran towards him, helped in its progress by a hearty kick from Bevis, who had jumped over the opposite hedge. Mavis picked herself up, and the four young people stood together in the deep lane. It was Merle, of course, who spoke first.
"Look what your brute's done!" she said indignantly,turning to the dog's owner, and pointing to a rent in Mavis's skirt. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to let him attack people like this. Why don't you muzzle him?"
The boy regarded Mavis and the damage to her apparel rather coolly.
"You must have done something to make him fly at you," he replied. "Of course he'll go for people if they throw stones at him."
"I didn't throw stones." Mavis's voice quivered with injured annoyance.
"Well, you're not much hurt anyway! If you'd keep to the roads instead of wandering about people's fields you wouldn't get into trouble."
"She's a perfect right in our fields," broke in Bevis hotly. "If she wants to go there why shouldn't she? It's no business of yours."
The boy lifted his eyebrows as if amazed at the outburst.
"Oh, certainly not! None at all!" he replied in supercilious tones. "Have anybody you like in your own fields. It doesn't concern me. What a fuss about nothing."
And, shouldering his gun, he turned back up the lane with the fox terrier at his heels.
"You might at least apologize," Merle shouted after him, but he took not the slightest notice and did not look behind. In another moment the hedge had hidden him from their view.
"What an absolute bounder!" fumed Merle. "Heought to have said he was sorry instead of walking off like that. Who is he?"
Bevis was standing staring up the lane with a frown on his dark face.
"It's young Williams from The Warren," he replied. "He thinks himself cock-of-the-walk in Chagmouth, but he'd better not try on any of his airs with me. He might own the place by the way he behaves. If I catch him with that gun rabbitting in any of our fields I'll let him know."
"Does he go into your fields?"
"He goes anywhere he likes about Chagmouth, and I've heard many people grumble. He may take his own advice and keep to his own property. They've all the shooting on the moors above, and that ought to be enough for him! I've no patience with young sparks like he is."
Mavis was not really hurt by her adventure, but she had been frightened, and was still feeling upset and disinclined to continue their walk. With Bevis for protection the girls turned back towards the farm, where Mrs. Penruddock, who was loud in her indignation and sympathy, took out her thread-basket and hastily caught together the rent in Mavis's skirt.
"That'll keep for this afternoon, and Jessop can darn it properly when you get home," she declared. "Folks ought to pay for the damage their dogs do. And clothes at such a price now! It was a mercy you weren't bitten I'm sure. I'd have had something to say toyoung Williams if I'd been there. I wouldn't have let him walk away as if it was nothing! He'll have to be taught a lesson some day, if I'm not mistaken. And serve him right too, with all his airs and his impudence."
In the short interval that remained before lunch the girls made a tour of the stackyard and farm buildings. They wanted to see the waterwheel again, and it was fun to climb up ladders and peep into lofts, to explore the dim recesses of barns, or inspect the poultry runs, where fussy hens, shut up inside coops, were clucking to adventurous little families of downy chicks or ducklings. But the crowning place of all was the shed where Bevis kept his carpenter's bench. The boy was very natty and clever at joinering, wood-carving, and mechanics. He had several model boats and a toy engine, which he had constructed himself, to show them, and he volunteered to make them a little grindstone upon which they could sharpen their penknives.
"How topping! We'll come and watch you while you do it," declared Merle.
"If you don't mind our looking on," added Mavis.
But alack! shortly after lunch a most untoward thing happened. Dr. Tremayne had brought the car round from the yard into the road opposite the front door of the farm, preparatory to paying his usual weekly visit to the Sanatorium. He was pottering about inspecting various valves and nuts, in the manner of motorists, and Mavis and Merle, who had constituted themselves assistant chauffeurs, were armed with dusters andwere trying to clean the splashboards, which had been much spattered with mud on the journey from Durracombe that morning. Uncle David prided himself upon a spick-and-span car, and liked to turn up at the Sanatorium with the little Deemster looking its best. Both girls were working away energetically, when round the corner from the village there suddenly appeared the whole of the Glyn Williams family, heading straight up the road towards Grimbal's Farm. Merle spied them first. She was on the side of the car nearest the house, and, with a presence of mind that amounted almost to instinct, she bolted inside the door like a rabbit into its burrow. Mavis, whose back was towards the village, was quite unaware that anyone was near till she heard Dr. Tremayne's greeting, and, turning round, found herself face to face with Gwen, Babbie, their mother, their brother, and the fox terrier. If she could, with any decency, have fled after Merle she would have done so, but there was no possibility of escape. She was already in their midst, and Uncle David—dear, tiresome man—was saying: "You know my niece?"
Mrs. Glyn Williams, a portly, rosy-faced lady, with a kind but rather patronizing manner, held out a white-gloved hand.
"Of course! You go to school at The Moorings, don't you? How nice for you to motor over to Chagmouth with your uncle on Saturdays. Are you going with him to the Sanatorium? What is it, Babbie, dear?" (for her younger daughter was whisperingeagerly in her ear) "Oh yes, my precious! Doctor, won't you leave your niece on your way, and we'll show her round The Warren and keep her for tea? You can pick her up as you drive back."
There are some invitations which it is utterly impossible to refuse. Mrs. Glyn Williams had, to use a sporting term, "caught her bird sitting". Mavis glanced at Uncle David with mute appeal in her blue eyes, but he quite mistook her dismay, and instantly accepted on her behalf.
"We're going straight home now, through the woods, so come as soon as you can," urged Babbie, following the family as they turned up the road.
Could anything have been more utterly and entirely aggravating?
"Oh, Uncle David! Howcouldyou?" exclaimed Mavis reproachfully. "I'm not dressed to go to tea at The Warren. I only came in my school skirt and jersey. We meant to scramble about the farm this afternoon."
Dr. Tremayne focused his eyeglasses on his niece's attire. Such an aspect of the visit had never occurred to his innocent masculine mind.
"Bless my life! You look very nice, both of you," he decided.
"Both of us?I'mnot asked, thank goodness," declared Merle, who had overheard the interview and emerged from the sanctuary of the doorway now the coast was clear.
"It wouldn't matter, child. I'm sure Mrs. GlynWilliams would be pleased to see you. It was stupid of me not to mention you were here too."
"I'm sothankfulyou didn't."
"AmIto be the solitary victim?" asked Mavis's plaintive voice in its most injured tone.
"Go with your sister, Merle," urged Dr. Tremayne, who felt rather in a quandary.
"No, Uncle David, dear," replied Merle firmly. "If I wasn't invited I wasn't, and it wouldn't be manners to turn up. I'll go with you to the Sanatorium if you'll take me," and she added privately to Mavis:
"If one of us had to be asked to tea at The Warren I'm glad it's you. Gwen can't bear me, and it was I who said the nasty things to that boy in the lane. What's his name? Tudor! He deserved them, of course, but it would make me shy to meet him again. You always get on much more pleasantly with people than I do."
"We shall have to tell Bevis we're off in the car," said Mavis disconsolately.
They found Bevis already at his bench in the tool-shed and evidently expecting them. His face fell at their news, and, though they both did their very best to explain the situation, he remained glum, and seemed to think they wished to avoid his company.
"Oh, it's quite all right!" he remarked, and that was all they could get out of him. He took up his mallet, and commenced to hammer so vigorously that they fled from the noise.
"He says it doesn't matter, but he's fearfully huffy and offended," whispered Merle.
"Well, we can't help it. Everything has gone wrong to-day," sighed Mavis.
There was no time to put things right with Bevis, for Dr. Tremayne was hooting for them to start at once. He set Mavis down at the great gate of The Warren, and took Merle on with him to the Sanatorium. Mavis walked very solemnly up the laurel-bordered drive. She seldom went anywhere without her sister, and hated paying this stately visit alone. She rang the bell, feeling shy and frightened, and painfully conscious of the conspicuously darned rent in her skirt. She wondered if Tudor would have explained its origin.
The butler admitted her into a lovely conservatory, then through a large hall into the drawing-room. Certainly it was a beautiful house, and Mavis might have enjoyed herself if only Merle had been with her. Her greeting by the young people was far pleasanter than she had anticipated. Babbie was frankly cordial, Gwen unwontedly courteous, and Tudor went so far as to accompany his sisters when they took their guest for a stroll round the grounds. He walked a little behind, and made no attempt at conversation, but she could see him eyeing the darn in her skirt. Later on, while Gwen and Babbie were speaking to a gardener, and for the moment he was alone with Mavis, he mentioned their meeting in the lane.
"I say, you know," he began, "I'd no idea youwere Dr. Tremayne's niece when I saw you this morning. Did Jim scare you? He's rather a young dog!"
It was exactly the same excuse that Gwen had urged in defence of the rude reception she had given them in the garden. Mavis wondered privately whether the Williamses only kept their good manners for their friends, and meted out less civil treatment to strangers. But aloud she answered:
"He did rather frighten me, but I wasn't hurt."
"He bolted out of the hedge before I'd time to stop him. I say, you know, I'm sorry if he scared you. He's only a young dog and means no harm."
His tardy apology was evidently mainly due to the fact that she was Dr. Tremayne's niece, but Mavis had the grace to accept it politely, after which the atmosphere seemed to thaw, and Tudor exerted himself to entertain the visitor, offering to take her to the stables and show her the horses. Gwen expanded at this, being very proud of her own little cob, Taffy, and delighted to exhibit him to anybody who would appreciate him.
"Do you hunt?" she asked airily. "I'd live on horseback if I could. Cars are all very well in their way, and get you over the ground, but motoring's nothing to riding. Taffy nips over fences like a bird. I'd ride him to Durracombe when I come for the French class if it weren't for Babbie. It's too far for her pony, so we have to go in the car."
Gentle Mavis invariably made friends, and beforeher visit at The Warren was over she was on quite pleasant terms with Tudor, Gwen, and Babbie.
"You must come again sometime," said Gwen graciously, accompanying her to the door, when Dr Tremayne called for her with the car.
Merle, who had been temporarily left at the bottom of the drive, was waiting for them, and took her place for the homeward journey.
"Well?" she asked eloquently.
"Better than I expected. Babbie's really rather sweet. Gwen showed me her horse, and Tudor actually apologized. I don't dislike himquiteas much as I did this morning. He goes to Eton, but he's at home this term because he has been ill. He taught me to play bagatelle after tea, and was wonderfully decent—but, oh no! of course notnearlyso nice as Bevis."
"And Bevis, to judge from the way he banged with that mallet, is in a thoroughly bad temper."
"Oh, surely he's got over it by this time?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid he thought us a couple of utter sneaks," grunted Merle.
For the last five years Mr. Glyn Williams, a prominent London financier, had rented The Warren from General Talland. He liked the place, and would gladly have bought the whole property had it not been entailed. He still lived in hopes that it might ultimately become his own, and periodically made offers to the owner and heir to effect a settlement. Meantime, failing absolute possession, he posed to his city friends and to his neighbours in the county as the squire of Chagmouth. He was a well-disposed man, according to his lights, and in his own way he had done a good deal for the place. He had built a reading room and institute, had helped to renovate the church, had contributed largely to the war memorial, and headed the list of all local subscriptions. His wife was on numerous committees, had organized many charities, entertained the Sunday School children in her garden, got up concerts or tea-parties, attended mothers' meetings, opened bazaars, and distributed prizes.
Yet all the same Chagmouth was not as grateful as perhaps it ought to have been, and the family at The Warren were by no means favourites in the little town.The root of the trouble was that Mr. and Mrs. Glyn Williams made the common mistake of thinking that because they rented the Hall, and dispensed large sums in subscriptions, they had the right to order the affairs of their less wealthy neighbours, and to have the first say in everything that was to be done in connection with the place. Chagmouth people greatly resented being patronized. They were born of the good old sturdy, self-reliant stock that furnished Drake and Raleigh and other half-forgotten heroes, and they had been accustomed in their slow independent fashion to manage their own business to their own satisfaction. For General Talland, whose family link with the parish dated from the time of the Armada, they had held a respect based partly on his birth and partly on personal appreciation, but they saw no reason to offer any undue deference to his tenant at The Warren. Money alone cannot purchase favour, and the unfortunate attitude of superiority and fashionable aloofness adopted by the whole of the Williams family had created a considerable atmosphere of prejudice against them. To many of the Chagmouth people they were a sore trial, and the haughty manners of the young people were voted insufferable in the village.
Dr. Tremayne, however, who had been medical adviser at The Warren for several years, always met with a happy reception. He was a favourite with rich and poor alike, for he gave equal attention to all his patients, whether their incomes were small or great. He held those wide views of life which estimate peopleat what they are and not at what they possess, and he always seemed to have the happy knack of bringing out the best in those whom he met. Mrs. Glyn Williams had perhaps taught her daughters many foolish and unworthy lessons, but in the presence of the unworldly old doctor the little snobberies melted away and the higher standards prevailed.
It was for the sake of Dr. Tremayne that Gwen, when she next appeared at The Moorings, bestowed a grudging recognition on Merle and extended a rather patronizing friendship to Mavis. The latter was not specially attracted, though she received the advances politely. Most of the girls, however, seemed to think her only too lucky to be thus noticed. Opal worshipped openly at Gwen's shrine. She copied her frocks, her manners, and her style of hairdressing, and offered up much incense before the altar of fashion. The Ramsays, who were accustomed to the democratic atmosphere of a big high school, fretted at the narrowness of the outlook. They disliked the days when the Williamses attended the French class, for Opal always put on absurd airs and was particularly "high and mighty" and aggravating. She had not improved as the term went on. Indeed, a new and most unpleasant aspect of her had lately revealed itself. She was not altogether fair over her work. On several occasions Mavis and Merle suspected her of cheating. They could not absolutely convict her of it, but the circumstances seemed very incriminating. They mentioned the matter to Iva, who shrugged her shoulders.
"Of course Opal cheats when she gets a chance. We all know that. But how are you going to stop it? If you told Miss Fanny she wouldn't believe you."
"I hate sneaking," said Mavis. "But couldn't we do something with Opal herself?"
"You'd have to catch her first."
"Yes, that's the difficulty."
It is not at all an easy matter to convict a girl who cheats on the sly. Several times Merle, who sat just behind, thought she saw Opal make hasty corrections as Mademoiselle revised the French dictation, but when she taxed her with it afterwards Opal denied flatly, and with huge indignation.
"As if I should," she fumed.
"Seeing is believing," maintained Merle.
"Do you mean to accuseme—the head girl—of cheating! I wish you'd go and tell Miss Pollard or Miss Fanny. They know me too well to listen to a word you'd say. Why, I'm their own god-daughter!"
"Unfortunately that doesn't make you immaculate."
"Though it ought to, when they trust you so," added Mavis.
Discussing the matter between themselves, the Ramsays decided that in this very point lay all the trouble. The Misses Pollard, in their foolish fondness for Opal, were making a grave mistake. They deliberately shut their eyes where she was concerned, and were always biased in her favour.
"It's such an amateur little school," sighed Merle."I don't mean the lessons, because those are really rather good, but the discipline is horribly slack."
"Hardly exists," agreed Mavis. "Miss Fanny says easily, 'Now, get along, girls!', and a few try to work and the rest don't, and she nevermakesthem. I hate a slack teacher, however clever she is."
"Everything is so casual," groused Merle. "There's no proper order even in answering questions. Opal raps out the answers if she knows them, and gets all the credit. It's most unfair. I should like to send Miss Fanny for a term to Whinburn High, and let her see how things are managed at other schools. It would be an eye-opener for her."
"And for Opal too, if she could go as well. It would just do her all the good in the world."
Evidently the only thing to be done was to keep a careful eye upon the delinquent, and bring her to book at the first opportunity that offered sufficient private evidence without taking the affair to the teacher's notice.
Now it happened that one afternoon Gwen Williams left her French dictionary behind her in the classroom and went home without it. It was found in due course by Muriel Burnitt, who flung it into the school "pound", a lost-property basket from which objects could be redeemed by the payment of a penny into the missionary box. Both Mavis and Merle witnessed the placing of the book in this receptacle, though they gave no particular thought to the matter at the time. On the next French day Gwen came fussing into theclassroom asking for her missing dictionary, and was much put out to find it was not forthcoming.
"IknowI left it on the desk," she maintained.
"So you did, and I popped it into the pound," said Muriel. "Pay your penny and you'll get it out. It's perfectly simple."
But when Gwen walked over to the lost-property basket, and inspected its contents, she found an assortment of pencils, india-rubbers, and pen-holders, but certainly no dictionary. She was loud in her wrath, and the girls immediately round her began to offer comments and advice.
"It was there yesterday."
"I saw it myself."
"Opal redeemed a penknife this morning."
"You'd better ask her if she knows where it has gone."
"Here she comes!"
Yet at that exact moment Mademoiselle entered also, and the girls took their places. In the course of the lesson she gave her pupils a piece of unseen translation. It was a difficult passage, and to many of them an almost impossible one to render into English. Each had her closed dictionary placed on the desk in front of her, and cast longing looks at its covers, but to open it was, of course, not permitted. Now Merle was sitting just behind Opal, and she noticed the latter glancing constantly down on to her knee. Merle could not see the object of this close attention, but her suspicions were aroused. Shedared not speak, but she scribbled a little note on a piece of waste paper:
"Keep an eye on Opal's knee, and see if she hasn't got your dictionary."
This she addressed to Gwen and handed it surreptitiously along by Nesta and Iva.
Gwen read it, and gave a nod of comprehension while Mademoiselle was looking the other way. The moment the lesson was finished she stood up, moved along the desks, and made a sudden grab on to Opal's lap.
"Hello! What are you doing with my dictionary?" she asked.
Opal turned white and then scarlet, but she was ready with a plausible excuse.
"I—I found it," she stuttered. "I was going to give it back to you."
"Indeed!" Gwen's tone was scathing. "I happen to know it was put inside the pound. Why did you take it out? It's extremely kind of you to have put a brown paper cover on it. If you intended to give it back to me why didn't you hand it over before the class began?"
"There—there wasn't time!"
"Oh, good gracious, don't tell me any more fiblets! You meant to stick to it, and you were cribbing from it on your knee. Nice thing for a head girl to do, I must say. I've not much opinion of you here at The Moorings."
Opal protested, but Gwen would not listen to aword she had to say, and, pulling the paper cover off the dictionary, stalked out of the room with the air of an offended queen. The girls sniggered openly.
It was so seldom Opal met her match. To have drawn down the wrath and displeasure of Gwen was a particular humiliation to her.
"Rather priceless, wasn't it?" chuckled Merle to Iva. "Hope it will teach her not to cheat in future."
"Don't flatter yourself. She will directly she gets the chance. She's done for herself with Gwen though for the present."
Iva's opinion of Opal was founded on experience. There was an unfortunate moral kink about the head girl that often involved her in very shady transactions. It was a deplorable thing for the school, as instead of upholding the tone she lowered it. Mavis often wondered how Miss Fanny could be so foolish and weak as not to see for herself that her favourite evaded rules. Out of sheer bravado Opal would often do forbidden things, and would boast that she could venture on them with impunity where others would surely get into trouble. One mean dishonesty above all others aroused the Ramsays' indignation.
The top form took arithmetic with Miss Fanny. It was a subject which Opal disliked, but for the last two or three lessons she had worked all her problems correctly. Miss Fanny, who ought to have known better, left her Key to the arithmetic on the mantelpiece of the classroom, and one morning Mavis,coming in early, caught Opal in the very act of copying the answers to the next set of questions.
"Well!" she exploded. "Of all mean sneaks you're the biggest I've ever met. No wonder you get all your sums right if you write down the answers beforehand. Howcanyou?"
Opal tried to laugh the matter off.
"Why don't you do it yourself, my dear?" she answered. "If Miss Fannywillleave her book about, of course we look at it. That's human nature!"
"It's not my way," said Mavis gravely. "And if Miss Fanny trusts us so much that she leaves her Key here, we ought to be worthy of her trust. It's shameful to deceive her."
"Oh, Jonathan! Go and tell her, then."
"You know I never tell tales."
That day, however, Opal was unexpectedly overtaken by Nemesis. Miss Fanny was suffering from a severe headache, and Miss Pollard came to take the arithmetic class in her stead. The girls told her the number of the exercise they had reached, and she wrote the questions upon the blackboard. For some reason of her own she reversed their order. When she called for the answers, Opal, with great assurance, read hers out, and, of course, as she had copied from the book, No. 6 came instead of No. 1, and vice versa. Miss Pollard stared at her in much amazement, and told her to come and work them upon the blackboard, a process of which she made a conspicuous bungle. Miss Pollard made no specialremark, but possibly her suspicions may have been aroused, for she carried away the Key, and it was never again left in the classroom. Whether her affection for Opal prevented her from making a closer inquiry, or whether the affair was merely a coincidence, and she still preserved her faith in the integrity of her pet pupil, it was impossible to tell.
"All the same I call it the limit for her to shut her eyes to things in the way she does," commented Mavis to Merle. "Both Miss Pollard and Miss Fanny are dears, but a teacher ought to know something of what goes on in a school, and not leave it just to luck. What are we to do? We can't go sneaking and telling, and yet I feel we ought to make a stand. It doesn't seem right to let Opal behave like this and do nothing. She hasn't the slightest idea of honour."
"That's what most of them need here," snorted straightforward Merle.
"I know. But what can you expect with such a slacker as head girl? If only Mother were here I'd ask her, but I'm so stupid at explaining properly in a letter it's no use to write."
"Not a bit. She wouldn't really understand. Seems to me there's nothing for it but just to worry on as best we can. They're a queer set, but we can't help it."
Mavis and Merle, being day girls at The Moorings, have occupied so much of our attention that we have somewhat neglected the boarders. In their own estimation, however, they were a very important part of the community. There were twelve of them altogether, and though, during classes, they mixed with the rest of the school, they were rather proud of the fact that, as far as possible, they "kept themselves to themselves". They had all sorts of little secrets that day girls might not share, signs and passwords and mysterious references, which gave them great satisfaction, and were calculated to provoke envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness in the breasts of those who did not understand the allusions, and whom they sternly refused to initiate.
Many of the boarders were the children of parents who were out in India. Some of them had been born there, and could remember burning skies and temples and native bazaars and elephants, and many other un-English things. Mamie and Jessie Drew could even speak Hindustani, a language which all theIndian-born children had talked in their infancy, though most of them had forgotten it in a very short time after landing in Britain. With the exception of Iva Westwood, Nesta Pitman, and Aubrey Simpson, the boarders were all juniors, and an uncommonly lively little crew, who sometimes led their seniors a dance, and were capable of a considerable amount of ragging among themselves.
The two who were generally at the bottom of most of the mischief were Winnie Osborne and Joyce Coleman, nicknamed by Iva "the firebrands". Under Miss Pollard's gentle rule their escapades sometimes got rather out of bounds, but they had a wholesome respect for Miss Fanny, who did not often interfere with the management of the boarders out of school hours, but who dealt out discipline if she happened to catch anybody tripping.
Among the silliest of the boarders was Nita Howard, a child who was a born gossip, and who sometimes made trouble by repeating conversations or remarks which she had overheard, and which she had very much better have kept to herself. Nita had no discretion. Miss Pollard often told her her tongue was too long, and certainly on many occasions it got herself and her chums into scrapes. One evening, just after it grew dark, she came running into the recreation-room in a state of much excitement.
"I've got news for you, girls?" she chirped.
"No! What?" exclaimed Mamie and Alison, her particular friends, looking up with interest from thescrap-books that they were engaged in making.
"Well, I'll tell you then," said Nita, sitting down by the table and lowering her voice. "The ghost has been seen again in Poplar Lane!"
"I say, shut up there, Nita," murmured Nesta, who was painting at the same table. "Do you want those kids in umpteen fits?"
Nita beckoned her chums away from the vicinity of the smaller children in question, so that she might continue her thrilling story in private.
"It has really!" she assured them in a whisper.
"O-o-h!" came in a horror-stricken chorus. "How do you know?"
"I've just heard Bella telling Cook. It's Bella's evening out, and she went down the back carriage drive into Poplar Lane to take a short cut to meet a friend, and just when she got under the shade of the trees she saw something all in white coming towards her. She shrieked and ran straight back to the house, and she says she daren't go out again, even though her own cousin is waiting for her at the other end of the lane."
"Bella's rather a goose," put in Nesta, who had moved to the end of the table so as to overhear. "I shouldn't believe a word she says."
"It's quite true though. She saw it with her own eyes."
"She certainly couldn't see it with anybody else's," retorted Nesta scornfully. "It was probably a white cow coming down the lane."
"No, it wasn't. It was really the ghost. Bella felt a most extraordinary feeling as if the blood was freezing in her veins. She says she never remembers anything like it since the night a dog howled under her window and her grandmother died. Her heart stood absolutely still for two whole minutes."
"Bunkum! Bella hasn't had physiology lessons or she'd know that's impossible. Why she wouldn't be alive to tell the tale!" snorted Nesta. "How can you swallow such precious stuff, you little silly?"
"It's not stuff."
"Indeed it is."
"Then don't listen."
"I certainly shan't," and Nesta, moving her painting things along the table, went back to her original place.
Her curiosity, however, got the better of her. She had sharp ears and she caught most of what followed, losing a few details, for Nita was whispering and Nesta was too proud to move nearer. The other two put their heads very close to Nita's in order to hear the interesting particulars.
"I didn't know Poplar Lane was haunted," said Mamie.
"Yes, it is, by a woman in white. She appears quite suddenly standing near our gate. But she hasn't been seen for a long time."
"I thought only old houses had ghosts," ventured Alison. "The Moorings isn't so very old, is it?"
"It's quite old enough to have a ghost. There'sa story about it—anawfulstory! Bella told it to me."
"What is it?"
"I don't know whether I ought to tell it to you."
"Oh, go on!"
"Well, a gentleman used to live here once," began Nita, in tones of delighted importance. "His name was Mr. Morrison. Late one night—it was exactly at midnight—he happened to look out of the window, and he saw a white carriage with a pair of white horses drive up to the door, but it didn't make the least sound of wheels or hoofs. And, do you know, he died afterwards."
"Of course he died afterwards," was heard from Nesta's end of the table. "He couldn't very well die before, could he? Perhaps it was twenty years afterwards."
"I thought you weren't listening. No, it was quite soon afterwards. Wasn't it horrible?"
"What's the white lady got to do with the carriage?" asked Alison. "Was she sitting inside?"
"I'm coming to that presently. Mr. Morrison had a son called Meredith, who did all kinds of wicked things. When his father died this son was worse than ever, and spent both his mother's money and his own on gambling. He used to ride away on his horse at night and not come back till very, very late, and his mother used to go and stand in Poplar Lane to watch for him. She told him that when she died her spirit would stand there still. But he didn't care in the least what she said. On the night after her funeralhe rode off on his horse just as usual, and when he came back, there was her ghost all in white, waiting by the gate for him. He gave a fearful cry, and fell from his horse—dead!"
"O-o-o-h!" came from Mamie and Alison.
"Rubbish!" grunted Nesta from the other end of the table.
Nita felt she had scored a success. She could seldom get the girls to pay any attention to her, but they were certainly listening now. The four smaller ones, who were supposed not to overhear, had, of course, had their ears wide open as little pitchers always will. Doreen had turned quite white, Prue was clutching Elsbeth's hand, and Jessie, after a surreptitious glance at Nesta, had crept nearer and asked under her breath who had told Bella.
"I don't know," answered Nita, "but somebody who knew all about it. The house was to let for a long time before Miss Pollard took it. Bella says she'd never have come here if she'd known there was a ghost. She means to give notice and get another place as soon as she can."
"Does it ever come indoors?" gasped Elsbeth.
"I don't think so," replied Nita, keenly enjoying herself, "but, of course, you never can tell. When a place is haunted it's haunted, and you must be ready for anything."
"I shan't dare to go to bed," wailed Elsbeth.
"No more shall I," moaned Jessie. "I don't believe I shall even dare to practise in a room by myself.Suppose I saw it standing by the piano? WhatshouldI do?"
"Ask it to sit down and play you a tune," said Nesta, shutting her paint-box. "Nita, how can you frighten them in this silly way with your precious ghost tales? You oughtn't to talk to the servants if Bella only tells you such whoppers. Doreen's eyes are nearly dropping out of her head. By the by, what's become of Winnie and Joyce?"
"I haven't seen them. I thought they were practising. Do they know?" asked Mamie.
"Not yet," replied Nita mysteriously, "but, of course, we shall have to tell them. Oh, here they are now!"
"What's the matter?" cried the pair in question, seating themselves at the table.
"The ghost has been seen in Poplar Lane!" exploded Jessie, before Nita had time to get the words out herself.
A look of intelligence passed between Winnie and Joyce.
"Hold me up! When?"
"Where?"
"To-night. Just by the gate. Bella saw it herself."
"If Bella saw it herself it must have been there!" burbled Winnie.
"Or some other thingumbob very like it," piped Joyce, who seemed on the point of adding more, only Winnie trod on her toe, so she stopped short.
"And itmaycome inside the house," volunteered Doreen with a shiver.
"What a blossomy prospect! I should think it very probably will," said Winnie.
"Ghosts generally like houses better than lanes," echoed Joyce.
"Isn't it dreadful, though?" said Nita, who felt that neither was sufficiently impressed, and was anxious to keep up the full horror of the situation.
When bedtime arrived the younger children were in a state bordering on panic. Mademoiselle could not understand why they insisted upon going upstairs so very close together, why they shot past the dark doorways of other dormitories, nor why Elsbeth begged her almost in tears not to turn the light out, and to leave the door open so that they could hear the elder girls come to bed. Mamie and Alison were in hardly better case. They had retailed all the ghost stories they had ever heard, and had worked themselves into a thoroughly nervous condition. At the return of daylight, however, they were inclined to laugh at their fears and agree with Nesta that it was silly nonsense.
"I don't think Winnie and Joyce minded in the least," ventured Alison.
"No, I couldn't quite make them out," replied Mamie. "They were so queer over it and kept looking at each other. Didn't you notice?"
"I never thought about it," said Nita. "They're always having private jokes. You can hardly say anything without Joyce poking Winnie or Winnie nudging Joyce. I get sick to death of their precious secrets."
Everybody seemed ready that morning to make fun of the ghost, but when evening came again, superstitious terrors revived in full force. Jessie Drew spent a miserable half-hour practising with one eye on the window, having an uneasy sensation that the spectre would probably be gliding about the garden. She had not the strength of mind to draw down the blind, and so shut out the chance of the vision, and in consequence made such a peculiar rendering of her piece that Miss Fanny came in herself, scolded her sharply, and sat down by her side to insist upon her playing it properly.
"I didn't mind the scolding in the least," Jessie told her chums afterwards. "I was so thankful to see anybody I'd have been glad if she'd boxed my ears. I was so afraid she'd go away again I played wrong notes on purpose. She said she'd never known me so stupid."
"Miss Pollard sent me to her bedroom to fetch a book," said Nita. "I was simply shaking all over. That long passage is so dreadfully dark, and I saw something white at the end of it. It was only Bella's apron, though, that she'd hung over the banisters. The moonlight was coming in through the landing window, and, it looked so like ghosts I daren't go by, so I went down the back stairs and through the kitchen. I asked Bella if she'd seen anything more, and she said a big bird had flown against the window, and that's always a bad omen. Miss Pollard asked me why I'd been so long fetching the book, but I didn'tdare tell her. I wonder what the bird was an omen of! I forgot to ask Bella."
Evening preparation went on as usual, after which most of the boarders collected in their own recreation-room to read or paint or otherwise amuse themselves. Iva and Aubrey were practising, but Nesta was sitting with the juniors, of whom only Winnie and Joyce were missing. These two seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. Joyce came back after a short time, looking rather red and excited, but she made no remark, and taking a book began to read.