Thehalf-term had seen Aldred at the head of her form, and by dint of hard application she managed to keep her position there fairly steadily; with such a clever rival as Ursula to contend against, it was impossible to win the coveted prize every week, but she scored a success so often that her average record was higher than that of anyone else. Miss Drummond was manifestly pleased with her progress; it was not often that a new girl came so quickly to the fore. Aldred had been sent to her with a reputation for both shirking lessons and defying authority, so she flattered herself that the atmosphere of Birkwood had worked a change, and remedied both these defects.
Aunt Bertha, who was kept well informed of her niece's progress, wrote to express satisfaction.
"I am glad to hear you are settling down and becoming more reasonable," ran her letter to Aldred. "It is high time you learnt sense, and if you can turn into an ordinary, rational being at the Grange, it will be well worth having sent you there. I hope the improvement will show itself during the holidays."
"How hateful she is!" thought Aldred, tearing the letter angrily into little bits. "She always rubsme the wrong way, and makes me feel I'd like to do the exact opposite to what she wants. I don't get top to please her, at any rate! If she would improve during the holidays, perhaps I might too! I don't care what she thinks of me!"
Keith's approval was a different matter, and it was a keen pleasure to Aldred to be able to tell him of her triumph, and to receive his hearty congratulations.
"I know what it is to swat hard," wrote Keith, "so I think you've turned up trumps, and I'm proud of you. I'll take you into town as often as you like this Christmas, even to the National Gallery, though I detest the Old Masters."
With so much to fill up the time, the autumn term seemed to pass very quickly away. The weeks flew by, and dull November fogs were succeeded by early December frosts. It was no longer possible to go into the garden after tea; the days had closed in rapidly, and the lamps were lighted now by five o'clock. Every afternoon, when the weather allowed, the girls played hockey to keep themselves warm, and Aldred began to grow interested in the game, though she had not yet secured the proficiency that her ambition would have wished.
The situation of Birkwood, between the downs and the sea, so delightfully breezy and fresh in spring and summer, was decidedly cold in winter; Aldred was amazed at the number of blankets she required on her bed, and fully appreciated the hot brick that was allowed. Miss Drummond was indulgent in that respect. The bricks were placed every evening on a special stone intended for the purpose connected with the heating apparatus; bynine o'clock they were delightfully warm, and each girl carried her own upstairs, returning it next morning to its place.
"They're the greatest comfort; I should shiver all night without mine!" said Mabel. "I'm glad Miss Drummond lets us have them. One of my cousins goes to an absolutely Spartan school; they're obliged to wash in cold water always, and to take ice-cold baths, even in the depth of winter. Lilian put an india-rubber hot-water bag in her box, but she was not allowed to use it; the head mistress says she likes girls to be hardy. I think it must be wretched; we are better treated at the Grange."
Miss Drummond's arrangements were certainly calculated to make everyone at Birkwood as cosy as possible when the winds blew chill outside. There was always a cheerful blaze in the recreation room, and the girls were also permitted to keep up the fires in the classrooms, if they wished to do anything special there during the evening—a privilege of which they were glad to avail themselves towards the end of the term.
They were all very fond of acting, and each form intended to prepare a play for the last week. The strictest secrecy was observed about rehearsals.
"We don't want the others to have a hint of what we mean to do," said Phœbe Stanhope; "they mustn't even know the name of our act."
"And we must make all our dresses here too," said Myfanwy, "and any wigs, or moustaches, or anything we need."
"Shall we have time?" enquired Aldred.
"Yes; Miss Drummond excuses sewing when we're getting up theatricals. We may have the roomto ourselves the minute we've finished prep. It gives us a good hour every night, and that ought to be enough, if we work hard."
"What are we going to act?"
"That's just the question."
"It's so difficult to decide!" said Mabel.
"I have a kind of notion that both the Sixth and the Fifth have chosen scenes from Shakespeare," observed Agnes Maxwell. "They keep talking in such grand language, and making quotations that aren't particularly appropriate! When Lilian Marshall wanted to call me back for something yesterday, she said: 'Tarry, Jew: the law hath yet another hold on you!' and the others sniggered."
"Then they'll be taking the Trial Scene from theMerchant of Venice. Yes, I'm certain they must be, because Eleanor Avery has a lovely red dressing-gown that they'll use for Portia's robe."
"And what about the Fifth?"
"Something fromAs You Like It, I fancy. Their classroom door was open as I passed last night, and I caught a glimpse of them painting scenery on great pieces of brown paper. It was evidently for a wood."
"It might be forA Midsummer-Night's Dream."
"Well, yes, of course it might."
"One thing is certain," said Lorna Hallam; "we mustn't decide upon Shakespeare."
"No; it would be too stale if we happened to choose the very same scene."
"Can't we have something comic?" suggested Myfanwy James.
"Yes, a short farce," agreed Ursula Bramley. "There are several very jolly ones in the bookMiss Bardsley lent me. It would be quite a change."
"Where's the book? Let us look at it."
The little plays were mostly old friends with new faces. Well-known tales had been dramatized, and given a humorous element that made them very suitable for Christmas performances.
"They're screamingly funny!" said Phœbe. "I expect we shall die of laughing when we're acting. Shall we have 'Beauty and the Beast', or 'Bluebeard'?"
"Which has the easier dresses?" asked Mabel.
"They're pretty much the same, and there are the same number of characters, eight in each. We can't take 'Cinderella', because there are too many parts; and 'Goody Two Shoes' has too few."
"'Bluebeard' seems the more dramatic," said Aldred, hastily dipping into the book.
"Who votes for 'Bluebeard'?" queried Mabel.
Six hands went up immediately; so the matter was considered settled, Myfanwy and Agnes, who preferred 'Beauty and the Beast', being in the minority.
"And now we shall have to decide thecaste," said Ursula. "I think the tallest ought to be Bluebeard."
"Oh, I dare say, when you're an inch above everyone else in the Form!" Agnes sounded indignant.
"No, we must draw lots for the parts, as we always have done," said Mabel. "It's the fairest way, because then nobody can complain. We're all pretty equal at acting, so it doesn't much matter who gets Bluebeard or Fatima. There are eight characters, so get eight slips of paper, Dora, and we'll write one on each."
"We must fold them exactly evenly," said Dora, "so that they all feel the same. What shall weshuffle them in? Can you make a place on your lap? Now, each girl must draw one in turn."
"Who's to begin?" said Aldred.
"The eldest. We always take it in order of birthdays. Nobody must unfold her slip until everyone else has drawn. Agnes, it's your turn first."
Aldred opened her paper with much anxiety, and read its contents with a frown. "An Attendant"—that was all! She was very disgusted to be obliged to take such a humble part, having hoped to get either Bluebeard or Fatima, or, at least, Sister Anne. She knew she could act well, and thought she certainly ought to be one of the more important characters in the play. It was particularly aggravating, because Fatima had been drawn by Lorna Hallam, the girl with the worst memory and the least dramatic talent in the class; and Bluebeard had fallen to the lot of little Dora Maxwell, whose chirpy voice would not be nearly so appropriate to the occasion as the deeper tones of Ursula Bramley. If anybody except Mabel had suggested the plan of deciding thecasteby lot, Aldred would have disputed the matter hotly; but she did not like to argue with her chum, so she was obliged to suppress her feelings and agree with the best grace she could. Mabel herself was to be Sister Anne, Phœbe Stanhope and Myfanwy James were the two brothers, Ursula Bramley was the Beneficent Fairy, and Agnes Maxwell another attendant.
"We ought to alter some of the parts," Aldred could not help suggesting. "It's ridiculous for Ursula to be a fairy! She's too tall, and her hair is brown. Why can't she change with Dora?"
"No, thank you!" protested Dora. "I'm sick ofbeing a fairy; because I'm small, and my hair is light, I'm always given a gauze dress and a wand. I'm tired of coming in disguised as a beggar woman, and then flinging off my cloak—it always catches on my wreath and pulls it crooked; and I've said I don't know how many ending-up speeches. I've drawn Bluebeard this time, and I mean to stick to him, whatever sort of a fairy Ursula makes."
"I shan't be such a bad one, I'm sure!" declared Ursula, rather offended. "You wouldn't make a better, Aldred; your hair's darker than mine."
"Well, I don't know how Lorna is going to learn all Fatima's long part," Aldred ventured to object; "she never gets through her recitations in class without a mistake."
"I'll manage, thank you!" retorted Lorna. "Besides, there's always the prompter behind the piano."
"The prompter! You ought never to rely on that!"
"I didn't say I was going to."
"Yes, you did! If people undertake a part, they ought at least to know the words, or let somebody else have it."
"I shan't give up my part at your bidding!"
"You're misunderstanding each other," interposed Mabel. "Aldred never meant she wanted you to give up your part, Lorna; I'm sure she was only sympathizing because she knows you find it hard to learn things."
"It's a queer form of sympathy, then!" grumbled Lorna. "I thought she wanted to be Fatima herself."
"Oh, no! That's most unlike Aldred. I wonder you could imagine for an instant that she would have such a motive! I think, when we decided to abide bythe lot, it would be a mistake to have any changing; and we'd better set to work and learn some of our speeches, so that we can rehearse the first scene, at any rate, to-morrow. We must each borrow the book in turn, and keep looking at it in any odd moments we can spare."
"Yes; there won't be too much time, with all the costumes to think about as well," agreed the others.
Aldred mastered the dozen lines that fell to the Attendant in a few minutes, and handed the book on to Sister Anne. Feeling sure of her portion in the play, she could afford to criticize the others, and set to work to coach them vigorously at the evening rehearsal. Though some of them were not willing to fall in with her suggestions, she managed to make herself so prominent that, in spite of themselves, the girls allowed her to assume the leadership, and to constitute herself a kind of stage manager.
"Aldred is quite right," said Mabel, backing her up; "we certainly were not saying our speeches with half enough dramatic emphasis, and we weren't putting any spirit into them. I feel I was too tame."
"We haven't got as far as 'dramatic emphasis'," said Phœbe. "That would come afterwards."
"It's better to practise it as we go along, and as Aldred has had so much experience of private theatricals, we had better take her advice, and let her show us how it ought to be done."
Aldred's boasted experience was really confined to a few charades with the Rectory children at home; but she had considerable natural talent for acting, and could throw herself heart and soul into a part. It tried her very much to hear Fatima and Bluebeard give a dialogue as if they were repeating alesson, to see the Brothers come strolling up to the rescue, instead of rushing in with hot haste; and to watch the very un-sylph-like movements of the Fairy.
"This is the way it should be done!" she would cry, and would go through the speeches herself, giving word and action as if she were really the character she was impersonating, her eyes flashing with enthusiasm and her cheeks aglow. Not one of her stage pupils could approach her fire, or the various delicate modulations of her voice; even Mabel, who tried her best, was very far behind.
"I can't put so much expression into what I'm saying!" declared Dora. "I have to think all the time whether I'm getting the words right."
"But you ought to know the words so well that you don't need to think about them—only to feel what Bluebeard would be feeling!" returned Aldred, who by this time could remember every separate speech in the play much better than the actresses themselves. "Can't you imagine yourself haughty and pompous, when you give Fatima the keys?"
"Why, no! I want to laugh!" giggled Dora.
Aldred stamped her foot; it was too irritating to see the part of Bluebeard usurped by one who had so little conception of his character. Dora's undignified rendering of the part was a constant annoyance. Fatima, too, was a great trial; she repeated her sentences in a monotonous, sing-song voice, without a vestige of passion.
"You take the keys from Bluebeard as if Miss Bardsley were handing you an exercise-book!" remonstrated Aldred. "And as for the cupboard scene, you look inside and say, 'Oh!' as casually as if there were nothing there!"
"Well, there is nothing there!" retorted Lorna, rather resentful of so much interference.
"Oh, Lorna! There are the horrid, bleeding heads of all the former wives. Can't you pretend you see them, and give a proper shriek? Do let us have the piece again! You ought to look half-curious half-frightened, as you open the door, and then, when you've taken one peep, you should scream, and fall back nearly fainting with horror!"
It seemed no use, however. In spite of all Aldred's coaching and practical illustrations, Lorna could not rise to the required pitch, and continued to give the thrilling scene with the utmost tameness. Aldred was desperate. She felt that the success of the play depended upon this particular situation being adequately depicted, and was determined that Lorna should be forced to give a genuine start; and with that end in view she hatched a little plot. The rehearsals took place in the classroom, and Fatima was accustomed to use the ordinary door, to represent that of the fatal cupboard. Aldred persuaded one of the servants to dress up in a sheet and wait about in the passage, so that when Lorna looked out she should see something calculated to surprise her. Nellie, an under-housemaid, willingly entered into the scheme, and even improved upon it, according to her own ideas, by whitening her face with flour, so as to make herself as ghost-like as possible.
Aldred felt quite excited when Scene III was begun. She managed, without attracting anybody's attention, to take a stealthy peep through the doorway. Yes, there was Nellie, standing quite ready, and horrible enough to make even Aldred jump, though she was expecting to see her. All was in goodtraining, and Lorna was rapidly coming to the fatal lines. She delivered them with her usual lack of fire:
"The key fits well—now, wherefore should I fear?I will at last discover what's in here!Bluebeard's a hundred miles away in Spain;In ignorance no longer I'll remain.Turn, little key! Ope, door, for good or ill!Reveal your secret—know I must and will!"
"The key fits well—now, wherefore should I fear?I will at last discover what's in here!Bluebeard's a hundred miles away in Spain;In ignorance no longer I'll remain.Turn, little key! Ope, door, for good or ill!Reveal your secret—know I must and will!"
"The key fits well—now, wherefore should I fear?I will at last discover what's in here!Bluebeard's a hundred miles away in Spain;In ignorance no longer I'll remain.Turn, little key! Ope, door, for good or ill!Reveal your secret—know I must and will!"
She flung open the door, as she had done at every rehearsal, in an absolutely wooden manner, and with neither interest nor curiosity in her tone; but her expression changed when she saw the vision in the passage, and for once in her life she accomplished a very excellent representation of the part. She shrieked with a horror that was only too natural, and drew back with a face as white as that of the sham ghost outside.
The girls applauded furiously.
"Well done!"
"Good!"
"Splendid!"
"Why, what's the matter?"
"Lorna, are you acting?"
"Oh, I say! Catch her, quick; she's really fainting!"
Aldred'splot had been only too successful. Lorna's nerves were not of the strongest, and the apparition in the passage had been utterly unexpected; so, although she did not actually lose consciousness, she lay for a few moments with her eyes shut, and considerably terrified the other girls.
"Bring some water, somebody!" said Mabel, who was kneeling on the floor, holding the luckless Fatima in her arms.
"I'll get it!" cried Aldred, springing up before anyone else could volunteer, and darting hurriedly out of the room. It had just occurred to her that she might probably be blamed for this incident, and she wanted to avoid that if it were still possible.
"You must go, Nellie!" she whispered to the housemaid. "The girls will tell Miss Drummond if they catch you, and you'll get into trouble!"
"But I thought it was to be a bit of a joke, miss!" remonstrated Nellie, who could not see where the fun had come in.
"They don't see the joke. You'd better run! Do you want Miss Drummond to find you playing ghost, when you ought to be turning down the beds?"
Aldred had been forcing Nellie along the passage as she spoke, and now she tore the sheet from the latter's shoulders, and flung it down the back stairs.
"Go and wash your face!" she commanded. "I didn't ask you to whiten it. You've made far more of this than I intended."
Nellie departed to the kitchen regions, highly offended. She considered she had been badly treated, but, as she certainly did not wish Miss Drummond to learn anything of the affair, she took Aldred's advice, washed her face, put the sheet away, and only aired her grievance to her fellow-servants.
Aldred, congratulating herself upon the success of her promptitude, fetched a glass of water to the classroom. Lorna had in a great measure recovered herself, but she was still pale and shaky, and anxious to claim sympathy.
"I saw something all in white in the passage!" she was assuring the other girls.
"Nonsense!" said Aldred brusquely. "How could you? Drink this, and you'll feel better."
"She must have seen something!" declared Phœbe and Ursula.
"Well, there's nothing there now, at any rate. Go and look for yourselves, if you don't believe me!"
"Perhaps the Third Form were playing us a trick," suggested Dora.
"It's extremely probable," returned Aldred. "Phyllis Carson loves practical jokes."
"It must have been Phyllis," said Lorna. "It looked very like her, and it is just the kind of thing she'd enjoy doing."
"It was a great shame of whoever it was, to give you such a scare!" said Mabel. "It's never safe to frighten people, and I hate sham ghosts myself. Do you feel well enough to go on with the scene, or shall we stop for to-night?"
This incident (of which Alfred never divulged the authorship) had at least the desired effect of considerably improving Fatima's acting. Perhaps a nervous remembrance of what she had really seen returned to her in future when she opened the door, and supplied the lack of imagination; at any rate, she would give a very passable start and scream, and her whole manner was more interested and full of life. Even Bluebeard, owing to Aldred's exertions, learnt to suppress his ill-timed mirth, and to thunder as a domestic tyrant should; and the fairy, if not exactly graceful, to wave her wand elegantly, instead of brandishing it like a hockey stick or golf club. Having thus far perfected the business of the play, the girls turned their attention to costumes and scenery.
"We've only ten days left, so we must be very quick," said Mabel. "I've written home to Mother to send us anything suitable that she can spare. I think she'll let us have two gauzy veils and some glass bangles that she got in Jerusalem; they'd do nicely for Fatima and me. And perhaps she'll lend two daggers for the Brothers; but if she won't, we shall have to make cardboard ones, and cover them with silver paper."
"My sister has promised to send us some Chinese lanterns," said Phœbe. "They'll look lovely, and give quite an Eastern air to the thing."
"Yes, we want the first scene to look like a pieceout of the Arabian Nights," agreed Agnes Maxwell. "I'm rather anxious about Dora's costume; how are we to manage the beard?"
"Would blue Berlin wool do?"
"Rather expensive—we should have to use so much of it."
"A piece of blue tissue paper, cut into shreds?"
"No, thanks! I should look like a fly-catcher!" laughed Dora.
"Then I don't know."
"I can manage a beard, if you'll leave it to me," said Aldred. "I have a splendid idea."
"What?"
"Get a piece of new rope, and untwist it and comb it out; the tow is exactly like stiff, white hair. Then we'll dip it in strong Reckitt's Blue, and let it dry."
"Splendid!" chorused the girls.
Aldred's fertile brain was full of plans and suggestions. She not only made a most successful beard, but contrived fierce moustaches for the Brothers, and (greatest triumph of all!) even twined the tow into long, flaxen ringlets for Ursula, which certainly suited her appearance as a fairy better than her own dark locks.
Each Form was to have its act on a separate evening during the last week of the term, and the Fourth was accorded the privilege of the opening performance.
"Miss Drummond calls it a 'privilege'," said Phœbe, "but I think it's a doubtful one! It's like singing the first song at a concert. I always hate starting anything!"
"We shan't be quite so much criticized as if wecame last, though," said Myfanwy. "They can't compare our acting with the others'."
"No; and if the Sixth Form are getting up anything very grand and literary, 'Bluebeard' would sound pantomimey after it," agreed Mabel.
"And we shall have got ours over, and can enjoy the others' nights with free minds," added Agnes.
Nevertheless, it was a responsibility to feel that they must make a good beginning, and all worked hard to bring each little detail as near perfection as possible. The entertainments were always given in the dining-hall; it was a big room, with a door at each end, and had a brass rod fixed permanently to support a curtain, so that it was very convenient for performances. The actors could use the kitchen entrance, and have the large pantry beyond for a dressing-room, while the audience came in by the ordinary door.
The first scene was "An Apartment in Bluebeard's Palace", and the Form displayed all its ingenuity in trying to make a brave show of barbaric magnificence. Several gay shawls were hung over clothes-horses, and draped with scarves and sashes; the sofa, covered with a Turkish rug, represented an Eastern divan; Miss Drummond had lent a small Moorish table from the drawing-room and a hammered brass tray, with a quaint coffee-pot—contributions which greatly helped the Oriental effect. But the most precious "property" of all was the miscellaneous collection of Chinese lanterns that Phœbe's sister had sent. They were very fine ones, of various sizes, shapes, and colours; and added such a gala touch to the rest of the scenery as to make Bluebeard's Palace seemen fête.
"The difficulty is to know where to hang them," said Aldred, holding up a combination of red, blue, and green, and admiring the brilliance of the result.
"We must fix a string tight across the room," said Ursula. "We can fasten it to a picture clip on either side, and then the lanterns will hang all in a line, just above the divan."
"They'll look beautiful, because they'll shine exactly on Fatima's head," added Aldred.
"Oh, but wemustn'tlight them! Miss Drummond particularly said so; she's so terribly afraid of fire. We're only allowed to use them for ornaments."
"How stupid! What's the good of them, if they mayn't be lighted?" demanded Aldred impatiently. "They'd be perfectly safe!"
"I dare say they would; but Miss Drummond is nervous, and she won't let us, so that's an end of it!"
"Miss Drummond is most absurdly tiresome and fussy!" thought Aldred, when the string had been arranged, and the row of beautiful lanterns was swinging overhead. "There couldn't possibly be any danger when they're hanging so high; we wouldn't stick our heads into them!"
She was alone in the room, for the other girls had gone into the pantry to dress. She could hear from their suppressed giggles that they found the robing nearly the most amusing part of the performance. Her own costume would not take long to put on, so she was not at all in a hurry, and had lingered behind to add a few finishing touches to the scenery.
"Every one of them has a candle," she continuedto herself. "I suppose Phœbe's sister made them quite ready; she evidently expected them to be lighted. It would be such a gorgeous illumination! I declare I'll try it, to see how it looks."
With the aid of a chair, she managed to set all the candles burning, and stood back against the curtain to admire the effect.
"It's perfectly lovely," she exclaimed; "like a real fairy tale palace! I never saw anything prettier—not even at the pantomime. Oh, I must leave them as they are! Perhaps Miss Drummond does not really mind, only she feels bound to give tiresome orders. What an astonishment it will be for the others, when they come back! Now I must fly!"
It was within twenty minutes of the opening of the entertainment, therefore high time for Aldred to dress. She scrambled into her long dressing-gown, and put on her turban without much enthusiasm; her part was so small that she knew she would attract little attention, and probably not receive even a clap. Mabel was already arrayed in the pretty, gauzy robes that her mother had sent, and made a charming Sister Anne, though her blue eyes, carnation cheeks, and red-gold hair were hardly of Eastern appearance.
"You might, of course, be a Circassian; they're often very fair," said Aldred. "You look far nicer than Fatima. If you're ready, let us go and take a last peep at the stage."
Aldred expected to give her friend a great surprise when she opened the door, but she was not prepared for the scene that greeted them as they entered the room. The lanterns, the beautiful Chinese lanterns,instead of hanging proudly on their string, and shedding a brilliant lustre over the scene, were lying here and there upon the floor and on the divan. By the greatest good fortune none had yet caught fire, but the danger was great, and at any moment the thin paper might be set in a blaze.
Aldred grasped the situation instantly. The flames, rising up from below, had burnt through the string, and brought the whole row crashing down. She rushed forward and began blowing out the candles as fast as she could; with Mabel's help it was only the work of a minute, and no damage was done, but it was a miracle that the flimsy scarves and the wreaths of paper flowers had escaped.
"Who can have lighted them?" exclaimed Mabel, her cheeks quite pale at the unexpected disaster. "We left all perfectly safe."
Aldred did not reply; she was busy adjusting her turban, which had tumbled off in her hurry.
"I wonder if it could be Dora?" continued Mabel. "She's such a scatter-brain, she always does silly things!"
"It does not matter so much who's done it, as how we're going to set these lanterns up again in time," replied Aldred. "Where's the ball of string? Here! you hold one end, and we'll thread it through; I'll soon climb up and fasten it. I'll pull the burnt piece off first. Raise it up a little higher, please. That's right! Now, just a thought tighter, and it will do."
"How splendid you are!" sighed Mabel admiringly. "You have such presence of mind, blowing out the candles so quickly, and getting everything right in less than five minutes; nobody could see thatwe've had an accident. It looks just the same. I should like to know who——"
"The audience is coming in!" interrupted Aldred. "We must scurry back and see if the others are ready. There isn't a second to be lost. Miss Drummond can't bear to be kept waiting, and we promised to begin punctually at half-past."
The performance was an enormous success; of that there was not the slightest shadow of doubt. Thanks to Aldred's diligent drilling, the actresses "played up", and rendered their parts with a dramatic fervour that quite astonished the audience. Bluebeard threatened in a voice of growling thunder, and frowned fiercely in his character of tyrant. Fatima shrieked in such frantic agony when she opened the cupboard door that she made everybody start, and her swoon afterwards was particularly easy and natural; she scrubbed the incriminating stain on the key with desperate zeal, and pleaded for her life with heart-breaking sobs and an air of tragic appeal. Sister Anne looked out of the window with pitiful anxiety, and wrung her slim, white hands in melodramatic despair; while the Brothers dashed in with "neck-or-nothing" haste and slew the despot, who died with such groans and convulsive twitchings as to fully satisfy the cause of justice, and point an appropriate moral.
There was a storm of clapping at the end, as the principal "stars" formed in line to make their bows. Aldred, in her minor character, was standing at the back; but much to her amazement there was a sudden call for "Stage Manager", and Mabel dragged her forward to present her to the audience.
"Hurrah! Bravo! Well done!" cried both girls and teachers, who, knowing the previous achievements of the Fourth Form, recognized the amount of cleverness needed to have so enormously raised the standard of acting, and appreciated Aldred's exertions.
"You must have a better part yourself, next time, my dear," said Miss Drummond, as she offered her congratulations. "You can teach others so well that we should like to see you taking a leading character. Everything was beautifully managed; there were no delays, and no hesitations. The grouping and attitudes were most artistically arranged, and the dresses and scenery lovely. You have made an excellent start, and the other Forms will have to look to their laurels if they wish to beat the Fourth."
It was very gratifying to Aldred to feel that her trouble had really been rewarded with success. The other girls, who had grumbled at her coaching and criticism during the rehearsals, were pleased now that they found themselves able to perform in such a superior manner, and generous enough to acknowledge how much they owed her. For once she felt she had risen to the height of popularity, and her ambition was satisfied. It was a pleasant ending to her first term, and a favourable omen for those to follow.
There was only one little jarring note in all her happiness, and that was the accident to the lanterns. In the excitement of the play she had completely forgotten all about it, but Mabel mentioned the matter when they had gone to bed that night.
"It's so very strange who could have lightedthem!" she said. "We all knew Miss Drummond had forbidden it."
"Whoever did will get into trouble, then, if any fuss is made," replied Aldred.
"Yes, if it were mentioned at head-quarters, of course; but I didn't think of telling Miss Drummond."
"What were you going to do?"
"Only ask the other girls. It surely must have been Dora!"
"If we begin to talk about it, perhaps someone may mention it outside the Form, and it would get to Miss Drummond's ears. She would be very angry."
"She certainly would, because it really was dangerous. If the string had broken through while any of us were underneath, we might have been burnt to death in our light, flimsy clothes."
"It's all ended safely now, though. Isn't it rather mean to try to ferret it out? You don't want to get someone into a scrape."
"I don't indeed!" agreed Mabel. "Perhaps, as you say, it's as well to let things be. Ursula and Dora are always quarrelling, and if Ursula turned spiteful and gave a hint to Miss Bardsley, she'd feel bound to make enquiries."
"And we should probably never be allowed to use Chinese lanterns again."
"Oh! That would be dreadful! Phœbe says her sister told her we could keep these at school, and I thought we might act 'Catskin' at Easter, and carry them in procession."
"Then, mum's the word!"
"Yes, you're right. You always do give goodadvice! Besides, it never struck me I might get anyone into trouble. You're such a thoroughly considerate darling, you make me quite ashamed of myself. What a glorious time we've had! I've enjoyed myself so much. Good night!"
Mabel turned over on her pillows, snuggled a little more cosily under the eider-down, and promptly went to sleep; but Aldred lay awake for a long time, thinking, and in spite of her brilliant triumph of the evening the tenor of her thoughts was far from satisfactory and agreeable.
Schoolbroke up on December 18th, and the little community at Birkwood was soon scattered far and wide. Aldred thought that this Christmas was the most enjoyable one she had ever spent; she felt as if she had returned to Dingfield on an entirely different footing, and that now she had quite a new position at home. Her father, who had taken slight notice of her before, had missed her while she was away, and began suddenly to appreciate how much his daughter was to him, and to give her a larger share of his attention than had hitherto fallen to her lot. Aunt Bertha, whose former attitude had been one of continual criticism, stopped nagging and fault-finding, and treated her niece almost like a visitor, allowing many small indulgences which she had never been accustomed to sanction, and relaxing some of her stricter rules. It was plain that she thought Aldred much improved, and, as some of the chief causes of friction had now vanished, she was ready to forget old grievances, declare a truce, and try to make the holidays pass as smoothly as possible. She no longer ordered Aldred about as if she were a child in the nursery, and would even consult her wishes, or allow her to express an opinion of her own, realizing that the girl was rapidly growing up, and could not be expected to remainfor ever in the background. This altered state of affairs was very much to Aldred's mind. She had always felt that her aunt had not treated her fairly, and it was partly the continual sense of injustice that had caused her rebellious attitude.
"I'll do anything for Aunt Bertha now she asks me nicely," she thought to herself. "It was when she used to speak so absolutely autocratically that she made me feel so angry. I'll fetch her what she likes, if she'll say 'Please', and 'Thank you'; but I can't bear to be sent trotting as if I were a baby of three."
If only Aunt Bertha had known this, and had taken poor Aldred by the "right handle" sooner, a very great deal of trouble could have been saved; but she was one of those complacently tactless people who try to impress the stamp of their own dominant personalities upon everyone alike, and who rule with an utter absence of sympathy. She had not understood Aldred's character, and had concluded, therefore, that there was nothing to understand. She was agreeably surprised now to discover the various pleasant qualities that had begun to develop under Miss Drummond's genial influence, and admitted, almost in spite of herself, that her troublesome niece was turning into quite a nice companion, and that her society could actually be an enjoyment as well as a care.
Keith also appeared to consider his sister a far more reasonable and sensible person since her return from the Grange. He was never very expansive, but he gave her more of his confidence than before, talked to her of his own school life, and seemed ready to spend the greater part of his time with her. Ithad always been Aldred's ambition to have Keith as her special property, but he had not been altogether willing to devote himself to her, and had often hurt her by his coolness. Now that they were both in a sense visitors at home, Aunt Bertha arranged plans that would include the pair, sending them together to visit picture galleries and museums, and other interesting places, for Keith was old enough to escort his sister, and could be trusted to take good care of her. In this way, with the addition of various parties and festivities, the four weeks passed very quickly, and the fifteenth of January brought Aldred's school trunk once more out of the box-room, and saw her started on her journey to Birkwood.
Though the holidays had been so pleasant, she was glad to return to school; she liked the life at the Grange, and the thought of seeing Mabel again was absolute rapture. The two had corresponded freely, but writing was not so good as talking, and she was longing for a delightful private chat, to hear all her friend's news and tell all her own. Mabel seemed equally delighted at their re-union.
"You darling! How I've missed you!" she exclaimed. "There are simply a hundred things I want to tell you. If there were not that tiresome silence rule, I should stop awake till twelve to-night. Leave your unpacking, and come and sit down on my bed for a minute or two; I'll help you to get straight afterwards."
"And Miss Bardsley won't be up just yet," said Aldred, accepting the invitation, regardless of the fact that the greater part of her wardrobe was still in her box.
"I told Mother all about you," continued Mabel."You can't think how much she wants to see you. She's coming to town at the end of the month, and says she'll run down to Birkwood for an afternoon. I know she'll like you, and you can't help liking her—everybody adores Mother! I wish we were sisters, and that you lived at Grassingford, and that she was your mother too—how lovely that would be! But then, your own people at home would not spare you. It must be so dreadfully hard for them to part with you, even to go to school. When I know how I miss you for four weeks, I can sympathize with them losing you for thirteen. I don't know how they manage without you!"
Aldred did not say that she considered her family would not be quite so utterly inconsolable at her absence. She only kissed the sweet, pink cheek that was pressed against hers, and thought how blissful it was to occupy so large a place in Mabel's heart, and to find such a warm welcome awaiting her at Birkwood.
"There's nobody like you!" went on her adorer. "I stayed for a few days at Archdeacon Vernon's, at the New Year. His daughter is just my age, and Mother wanted me so much to meet her, for she said she was such an extremely nice girl. But she was absolutely nothing to you, dearest! I didn't feel I could ever be very fond of her; she's not so original, nor so jolly. No! I told Mother at once you were the only girl I had ever really cared for, and I couldn't do with another bosom friend."
Though Mabel was the chief attraction for her at Birkwood, Aldred was nevertheless glad to meet the rest of the Form, and to be in the midst of the lively school life again.
When the unpacking had been successfully accomplished, and supper was over, all the girls collected in a close group round the classroom fire, to compare notes about the holidays.
"I've been to Switzerland," said Ursula. "We went to Les Avants for the winter sports. It was simply glorious! I learnt to skate and to ski. I felt most fearfully wobbly at first, but it was lovely when one got into it; so was the tobogganing—one went skimming down slopes at a tremendous pace. The ice was all illuminated at night, and we had fancy dress carnivals; it was such fun!"
"Lucky you," said Phœbe, "to be in a place where there was real frost and snow! We've been grumbling at the wet weather continually. I wonder how long it is since we had an old-fashioned Christmas—the kind of thing one reads about in Dickens, I mean, when Mr. Pickwick went skating."
"People say 'a green Christmas makes a fat churchyard'."
"Well, I'm sure one gets more bad colds with pottering about in the rain than one would with skating."
"I believe it's freezing now. I shouldn't be at all astonished if we had quite a spell of hard weather."
"'As the days lengthen, the cold strengthens'," quoted Myfanwy, who was fond of proverbs.
"I wish it would! We've never had any deep snow, or really severe frost, since I came to the Grange."
Phœbe's prophecy concerning hard weather was literally fulfilled that very night. The thermometer descended with a run, and by next morning great, feathery flakes were falling silently, and turning thelandscape into a white world. The girls were very excited, and watched anxiously, hoping that the snow would continue; and they rejoiced as each bush and shrub in the garden became more and more smothered.
"The outlines of the walks are quite lost," said Mabel exultingly, "and the tennis lawn looks like a huge iced plum cake."
"It's not much use for Brown to try to sweep a path, because it gets covered up directly."
"Yes, but he has to go and feed the hens, you see. I wonder if Miss Drummond will venture out to look at her Partridge Wyandottes? She's never missed going to them at four o'clock yet."
"I wish she'd let us go with her; I should love to tramp over the snow!"
"So should I; but she says we must none of us go farther than the shed. Brown has swept the courtyard at the back. If it's fine to-morrow, we'll have some fun."
After falling steadily for twenty-four hours, the snow stopped, and gave place to bright sunshine. Miss Drummond ordered dinner to be earlier than usual, and by half-past one the whole school was out upon the downs.
It was an ideal winter's day. The sky was clear, with the cold, pale blue of January, so different from the deep, warm azure of July. The sun, low down on the horizon, though it was still near its meridian, sent long, slanting rays over the white waste, catching the tops of the hills and making them shine and sparkle like diamonds. Each bush and tree was coated with rime, and edged with a tracery of delicate lacework. The snow, crisp and hard, crunchedunder the girls' feet as they walked, and here and there they could mark the track of a rabbit or a bird that had hurried through the cold, to shelter under the protection of some gorse-bush.
"It's just like fairyland! It might be part of the Frost King's Palace!" said Aldred. "I'm sure the Snow Queen has been here. I feel as if we ought to find Gerda hunting for little Kay—I expect she's just behind that bush, riding the Robber Maiden's reindeer, with her hands in the big muff. The Lapland woman and the Finland woman can't be far off."
"What do you mean?" asked Lorna Hallam.
"You benighted girl! have you never read Hans Andersen?"
"I believe I did, ages ago, but I've forgotten it all."
"So much the worse for you, then!"
"Why, one can't bother to remember silly fairy tales!"
"Hans Andersen is not silly; he's a classic."
"Quite right!" said Miss Drummond, who happened to overhear. "I consider the dear old Dane was one of the truest poets that ever lived. His writing has a purity of style that sets it on a very high pinnacle in literature, and his thoughts are most exquisite. No one who has really appreciated his lovely, tender stories can ever be quite vulgar and commonplace. He seems to take all the simple, everyday things, and wave his magic wand over them and turn them into enchantment."
"But the tales aren't true, Miss Drummond!" objected Lorna. "One can't see fairies."
"There is a meaning under it all, and the gist ofthe whole is, that if we persistently look at the beautiful side of everything, we are making our own fairyland, and seeing what is denied to those who dwell only on the prosaic and ordinary. It's a great quality to have, and one that brings a supreme enjoyment in life. If you're wise you'll cultivate it while you are young, and then you need never really grow old, because, although your hair may turn grey, you'll still keep the very principle of youth in your heart. Very few people can realize their ideals, so it is something to be able to idealize our real."
The place that Miss Drummond had chosen as the destination of their walk was a steep slope about a mile from the school. Here it was quite possible to make a good toboggan track, for there was a flat space in front and an easy way to climb up at the back. Half a dozen tea-trays had been requisitioned from the kitchen, to act as sleds.
"I wish we had a bob-sleigh!" said Ursula Bramley, who, after her experience in Switzerland, felt herself an authority on winter sports. "It's the hugest fun you can imagine, only you need two very good people to steer and act brake. Ours at Les Avants held a crew of six. My eldest brother used to take us down, and he only upset us once."
"I think little sleighs are better; they're not nearly so dangerous," said Agnes Maxwell. "A cousin of mine was fearfully hurt last winter at Samaden, in a bob-sleigh race; he fell on his head, and had concussion of the brain."
"Well, of course, you have to chance that. It needs pluck and skill if you're going in for racing; you mustn't be afraid for yourself—you could fall off a tea-tray, as far as that goes," said Phœbe.
"You couldn't do yourself much damage if you did," laughed Ursula; "the snow's not hard enough. Now, we shall have to go down the slope a good many times before we make a decent track of it."
"I wish we had more tea-trays! We shan't get very many turns each, I'm afraid," said Myfanwy.
Six girls from the Sixth Form had been chosen to start, and made a trial trip amid much cheering and excitement.
"It's perfectly lovely—just like flying!" they declared, as the improvised sleds drew up on the level ground at the bottom.
"Miss Drummond, won't you try?"
"Perhaps I may, when the thing is well started, but for the present I would rather stand and watch. It certainly looks very tempting, and worth an effort. Mademoiselle, shall you venture?"
"Nevaire!" shuddered poor Mademoiselle, who considered a walk in the snow quite a sufficient adventure. "I should have fear to place myself on a thing so insecure, and to let myself glide thus! Oh, no, it would be an act of folly! We have no snows in Provence, and I have been brought up to love other pleasures."
"You shall have the next turn if you like, Mademoiselle," said Esther Vaudrey, one of the pioneers. "It's really not difficult at all, if you know how to tuck up your feet."
"It makes one warm, at any rate," said Freda. "Who's going next? We'd better take it in Forms."
The sport proved extremely popular, and for the next hour relays of girls were constantly going down the slope; the track was soon as smooth as a slide,and really made a very good course, quite enough to satisfy everyone except Ursula.
"It's nothing to Les Avants! You should have seen that!" she kept assuring the others.
"Then I wish you would go back to Les Avants!" exclaimed Phœbe. "What's the good of belittling this all the time, and trying to make out it's so tame? I call it bad taste! If you can't enjoy it, we can, at any rate."
"I'd enjoy it if I had my own little sled, instead of a tea-tray."
"Nobody wants you to go on a tea-tray," said Agnes. "You can miss your turn if you like—I'll take it instead."
That, however, Ursula was not ready to allow. She appreciated the tobogganing as much as anyone, though she liked the triumph of referring to her Swiss achievements.
The fun waxed fast and furious. The girls were keen on racing, and would start six together from the top, at a given signal; then there would be a lightning descent down the slippery slide, generally ending in a roll in the snow at the bottom, from which they would spring up, powdered from head to foot, but laughing and quite unhurt.
Miss Drummond and most of the teachers took an occasional turn, but Mademoiselle remained firm in her refusal to venture into what she considered such imminent danger to life and limb.
"It is the sport of men!" she declared. "In my country, such things are not forles jeunes filles. They do not go out to slide in the snow."
"But don't you think our girls look much brighter and healthier, with this brisk exercise, than if we hadkept them cooped up in the schoolrooms all this beautiful afternoon?" asked Miss Drummond.
"Perhaps—yes, that I will allow. But custom is strong upon us, and to me, I find it still strange to see what is permitted to your EnglishMees."
"I'm glad we are English," whispered Aldred to Mabel. "French girls must have a stupid time, if they're never allowed to toboggan, or to go in the snow. If I were sent to a French school I'd run away, and come back to Birkwood!"
"There's no place like the Grange," agreed Mabel, brushing the snow vigorously from her dress. "If there's any jolly thing that it's possible to do Miss Drummond thinks of it."
Miss Drummond certainly justified the character that Mabel gave her, for when the girls, very warm and rosy after their exertions, returned to the school at four o'clock, they found a surprise waiting for them. Brown, the gardener, with the aid of two or three labourers who had been called in to help him, had shovelled away the whole of the snow on the asphalt tennis court, and piled it as a wall all round. He had then brought the hose, and was now busy flooding the court to a depth of three or four inches.
"It ought to freeze hard to-night," said Miss Drummond, "and by to-morrow morning there should be a splendid surface. Those girls who have brought skates to school will be in luck, and I shall be able to arrange for those who have not. I have written to Wilson's, the ironmonger at Chetbourne, to send us out a parcel of several dozen to choose from."
The prospect of a skating rink in the garden was hailed with joy, and the anxiety of the school was great lest the frost should give way, and frustrate their verydelightful plans. The amusements of the cold spell so outweighed the discomforts that nobody (except poor Mademoiselle) grumbled at nipped fingers or chilly toes. Even Agnes Maxwell, who was a martyr to chilblains, suffered heroically, and did not wish for a thaw.
"It's quite the most severe winter I can remember," said Mabel, breaking the ice in her bedroom jug next morning. "I believe even my bottle of hair wash is frozen, and the glycerine cream is perfectly stiff; I shall have to melt it on the radiator before I can put any on my hands. Look at the window! It's covered with beautiful frost patterns."
"All the better for skating," said Aldred, who was trying to thaw her toothbrush. "I'm glad there has been no more snow to spoil our ice. I wish Miss Drummond would let us go out at once, after breakfast, instead of doing lessons."
Miss Drummond's good nature, however, did not extend to such a pitch of leniency as that, and the morning classes went on just as usual. About dinner-time, a young man arrived from Chetbourne with a large parcel of skates, and Aldred, who did not possess any of her own, was able to expend some of her pocket-money on a neat little pair.
"You've made a lovely choice!" said Mabel. "Mine are an old pair of my brother's that just fit me now; they're rather shabby, but they happen to be particularly good steel, and always 'bite' very well. There's the greatest difference in skates, in that respect."
"You'll have to help me," said Aldred, "for I've never even tried before, and I'm sure I shall be extremely stupid and clumsy."
"It will be the lame supporting the halt, then," laughed Mabel, "for I'm certainly not a crack skater myself."
By two o'clock the whole school was disporting itself on the ice. Some girls (Ursula Bramley, in especial) seemed quite at home there, and cut figures of eight with aggravating ease while their less fortunate comrades strove to balance themselves with outstretched arms, or sat down suddenly on the slippery surface.
"I'd no idea one could feel so absolutely weak in the knees!" declared Aldred, subsiding on to the snowy bank after a first struggle round the rink. "I'm like a baby learning to walk. I wonder if I shall ever manage to strike out properly? Look at Ursula—she's doing the 'Dutch roll'. I'm green with envy!"
"There's nothing like practice," said Mabel, getting up and making a gallant effort to accomplish the "outside edge", but speedily coming to grief over it. "Give me a winter in Norway, and I'd undertake to waltz on the ice; but what can one expect on the first day?"
Therewas generally sound sense in Mabel's arguments, though Aldred's impatience wanted at once to achieve great things. Skating, like everything else, has no royal road, and neither of the girls advanced much beyond the point of going alone. Aldred, rather to her chagrin, found she certainly could not compete with Ursula, and an aspiring dream of seeing herself queen of the rink vanished away. She was never without resources, however and as she was determined always to keep to the fore, she hit upon another means of making herself prominent. She remembered hearing that in Brussels, when snow falls, the most eminent sculptors of the city go to the Park and model snow statues, which are carefully guarded afterwards by the park keepers, and shown to the streams of visitors who flock to look at them. This was an idea worthy of being copied, and one of which she was sure nobody else would be likely to think. Abandoning her skates, therefore, one afternoon, she retired to the now deserted lawn, and set to work. The snow was not such an easy medium as clay, but it was in prime condition for her purpose, beingsoft enough to model, yet stiff enough to hold together. Aldred's scheme was decidedly ambitious, for she had decided to make a representation in snow of the Venus of Milo. She had chosen that for her subject because of its lack of arms and its flowing draperies, as she knew it would be quite impossible to reproduce a Flying Mercury or the Dying Gladiator. She had really a strong talent for sculpture, and contrived, with the aid of a framework of broomsticks, to give her statue a wonderfully good pose. She had brought out a photograph of the original, which she constantly consulted; and she worked away with great enjoyment, shaping the snow with deft hands, and using some flat pieces of wood and a palette knife from the studio as her modelling tools. She felt it was almost one of the most exciting things she had ever done in her life. The keen joy of creation, that true heritage of all who possess artistic ability thrilled her fingers, as she put dainty touches here and there, and watched the resemblance to the Venus evolve itself by slow degrees from her great mass of snow. She thought of Michelangelo, who saw the angel in a rough block of marble, only waiting to be released by his chisel, and felt as if she, too, were trying to free the goddess, and give her human form. For the time all thought of what the girls would say was forgotten, and she worked for the love of art alone, sighing with satisfaction as she successfully put in a delicate fold of dress, or a ripple of classic hair.
It was finished at last, even to the pedestal, and Aldred stepped back and looked at it with mixed feelings. She had done her very best; she dared notadd another impress, from fear of spoiling it, yet she knew how far it fell short of her ideal.
"I wonder if Phidias used to be contented with what he'd done?" she thought. "I suppose he was the greatest sculptor that ever lived. I remember reading that Millais once went to an exhibition of his own pictures, and came away very dejected. Shall I ask them all to come and see it now? I want so much to show it, but somehow I hardly dare. I almost think I'll leave it for somebody to find out, and just go back to the rink and say nothing."
She had not counted, however, on Mabel, who, missing her friend for an unusual length of time, took off her skates and went to hunt for her, tracking her in the end by her footsteps in the snow. Mabel's amazement when she reached the lawn was only equalled by her admiration. She rushed off instantly to fetch all the girls to look, even venturing to knock at the study door and report her news at head-quarters.
Aldred's snow statue made quite a sensation at the Grange. Miss Drummond thought so highly of it that she had it photographed, and invited many of her friends from Chetbourne to come and see it. It was such a daring and original project for a girl of only fifteen to have carried out entirely alone that she felt it reflected credit on the school to possess so clever a pupil. Aldred was praised to her heart's content, and received so much attention from teachers and visitors that she could certainly consider herself, for the time being, the most important person at Birkwood. She was petted by the prefects, invited to skate by members of theSixth Form who had ignored her existence before, and asked so often for her autograph that she grew almost tired of signing her name.
"There's to be a picture of your statue in the School Magazine," said Mabel rapturously. "That's a tremendous compliment, because Miss Drummond generally says it's too expensive to have illustrations. I'm going to ask her to have your photograph put in as well—just a tiny head, from that splendid snapshot which Dora took when you came last September. It would fit into a corner of the same page, and show the 'portrait of the artist'. I'll make up the extra money myself, if it will cost more to print. I shall bespeak six copies: I want to send one to Cousin Marion—she's gone to live in Germany for a year; she'll be so interested, because, you know, it was she who was staying at Seaforth last year, and who first told me anything about you."
Aldred's face fell. In a moment all the zest seemed to have faded out of her pleasure. This was indeed a grave danger. "Cousin Marion" had seen her namesake at Seaforth, and would probably recognize that the two faces were not the same; even a badly printed portrait might not conceal the lack of likeness. Would Mabel ever forget that wretched episode? Why must it always be raked up in this tiresome way? Whenever she thought it was safely consigned to oblivion, it appeared to rise again like a ghost, and threaten the destruction of her position. True, she had done much since she came to Birkwood to strengthen her hold on Mabel's affection, but she knew that her one deed of supposed heroism was the basis of their friendship, and the groundwork of her general popularity; and she trembled to thinkwhat the effect might be if this foundation stone were removed.
"I don't want my photograph blazoned abroad," she said, almost crying. "I'd rather Miss Drummond didn't put either me or the statue in the Magazine. Promise me, Mabel, that you won't send a copy to anybody, if she does."
"But why shouldn't I?" said Mabel, much surprised.
"Because I don't wish it. The statue was a stupid thing, after all; far too much fuss has been made of it. I'm sorry I didn't knock it down as soon as it was finished!"
"Aldred! how can you say so?"
"Well, I'm tired of hearing about it, anyway," returned Aldred, "and I hope you won't mention it to your cousin; it makes me feel silly to have such a tremendous 'cock-a-doodling' over all my stupid little performances, which really aren't worth it."
"Well, I won't, if you so particularly ask me not to," said Mabel, in a disappointed voice. "But you can't always hide everything; it's not fair to the world if all the brave and clever things that are done must be suppressed—they're such a help and encouragement to other people. I, for instance, am ever so much better for having known you; you've been quite an inspiration in my life. My mother had a friend like that (it was Lady Betty Blakeney, who is now so famous) who had a tremendous influence over her, and first made her want to help poor people, and take up the work she does now; and she always hoped I should meet somebody who would be as much to me as her friend was to her. But I never did until you came to Birkwood."
It seemed useless to protest; the more Aldred tried to shuffle out of her rôle of heroine the more Mabel admired her modesty and her other imagined excellencies. Mabel was a girl who loved to idolize celebrities; it was partly a necessity of her nature, and partly a habit that had been cultivated at home by her mother, who had a kindred weakness. Before the two girls knew each other, Mabel had been obliged to confine her worship to book favourites; then, having met, as she thought, the realization of her ideal, she could not resist the temptation to endow her with the combined virtues of Portia, Rebecca, Ellen Douglas, Grace Darling, Flora Macdonald, and the "Nut-brown Maid", without stopping to put the various qualities to the test, and make sure that they actually existed. It is always better to err on the right side, and think too highly than too ill of people, but Mabel's mistake was to take Aldred so utterly on trust, and to blind herself wilfully to the many small indications of character that might easily have shown her that her idol was very far from perfection.
Aldred could not feel easy until she had made sure that the snapshot portrait was not to be included in the next number of the Magazine. She was afraid Mabel might break her promise, and send a copy surreptitiously to her cousin, and then the mischief would be done. She did not dare to mention the matter at head-quarters; it would appear conceited on her part to suggest that the idea had been broached, and she would feel very humiliated if Miss Drummond were to say: "Oh, no, my dear! I never dreamt of putting it in!"
A plan occurred to her, however, by which she could defeat her friend's too enthusiastic project. She borrowed the negative from Dora on the pretence of wanting to look at it, and in handing it back managed to drop it and step on it, breaking it beyond all chance of repair. She apologized profusely for the accident.
"It was most clumsy of me!" she declared. "Could we possibly patch it up again, do you think?"
"No, we couldn't!" said the aggrieved Dora. "It would show a mark right across the face, however carefully we joined it. I've tried piecing negatives together before, and they're not worth the trouble of printing."
"Well, it was only a picture of me, not the lovely one you took of Miss Drummond and Mademoiselle."
"No; I'm glad it was not that. But I promised this to Mabel; she asked me last night if I could find it, and I've had such a hunt through all my negatives! She'll be quite cross that it's broken."
"You must put the blame on me, then, for it was my fault."
Secretly Aldred was exultant.
"I know Dora only took one print from it," she said to herself, "and that was spoilt in the fixing bath. It's impossible to take snapshots in midwinter, so I believe I'm safe for the present. I shall discourage Mabel strongly from buying a camera. I hope she won't get one given to her on her birthday! I'm glad her Cousin Marion has gone to Germany, so that she won't meet Mabel for a year, at any rate. So far as I can tell, she is the only person who hasseen that Lawrence girl and knows what she is like."
The ice lasted for a whole fortnight, a totally unprecedented record in the annals of Birkwood, which, on account of its position near the sea, did not often come in for so severe an experience of frost. The rink proved the greatest success; the ice was apt to get cut up and rough by the afternoon, but when everyone had left, the gardener would turn the hose over it, so that by next morning there was once more a splendid, smooth surface.
January 29th happened to be Miss Drummond's birthday. The girls were accustomed to prepare some little surprise for her on such occasions, and generally acted a play in honour of the event; and the evening was always considered a holiday. This time, however, Miss Drummond announced that, instead of being entertained by her pupils, she wished to provide a treat for the whole school.
"It is full moon," she said, "and we shall have a carnival on the ice. The rink will be illuminated, and I expect we shall all find it quite a novel experience to skate by torchlight. Mind you don't catch colds beforehand! Anyone who is heard sneezing will have to stay indoors."
"It is a lovely idea!" said Phœbe, as the Fourth Form discussed the project afterwards. "We shall have the most glorious fun! I'll ask Miss Drummond if we may hang up the Chinese lanterns round the rink; it would be quite safe to light them out-of-doors, and they'd look so nice!"