Though Mrs. Morrison made the most rigid enquiries she could get no information as to who had placed the lamp in the window. She locked the door of the Observatory, and caused the old gardener to patrol the grounds at intervals after dark to watch for further signals, but nothing more occurred. After weeks of vigilance and suspicion she came to the conclusion that it must have been a practical joke on the part of one of the girls. Chrissie in her private talks with her chum upheld that view of the matter, but Marjorie had her own opinions. She often looked at Miss Norton and wondered what secrets were hidden under that calm exterior. To all outward appearance the house mistress was scholastic, cold, and entirely occupied with her duties. She was essentially a disciplinarian, and kept St. Elgiva's under a strict régime. Her girls often wished she were less conscientious in her superintendence of their doings.
The possession of a mutual secret shared by themselves alone seemed to draw Chrissie and Marjorie closer together than ever. Not that Chrissie gave her chum any more of her real confidence, for she was the kind of girl who never reveals herheart, but she seemed to become more and more interested in Marjorie's affairs. She enjoyed the latter's home news, and especially letters from the front.
"I envy you, with three brothers in the army!" she admitted one day with a wistful sigh.
"Yes, it's something to know our family is doing its bit," returned Marjorie proudly. "Haven't you any relations at the front?" she added.
Chrissie shook her head.
"My father is dead, and my only brother is delicate."
Marjorie forbore to press the question further. She could see it was a tender subject.
"Probably the brother is a shirker or a conscientious objector," she thought, "and to such a patriotic girl as Chrissie it must be a dreadful trial. If Bevis or Leonard or Larry seemed to hang back I'd die of shame."
Judging from the photo of Chrissie's brother which stood on her dressing-table, he did not look an engaging or interesting youth. The dormitory, keenly critical of each other's relatives, had privately decided in his disfavour. That Chrissie was fond of him Marjorie was sure, though she never talked about him and his doings, as other girls did of their brothers. The suspicion that her chum was hiding a secret humiliation on this score made warm-hearted Marjorie doubly kind, and Chrissie, though no more expansive than formerly, seemed to understand. She was evidently intensely grateful for Marjorie's friendship, and as entirely devotedto her as her reserved disposition allowed. She would send to Whitecliffe for violets, and place the little bunch on her chum's dressing-table, flushing hotly when she was thanked. She presented innumerable small gifts which she managed to make in her spare time. She was a quick and exquisite needlewoman, and dainty collars in broderie anglaise, embroidered pocket-handkerchiefs, pin-cushions, dressing-table mats, and other pretty trifles seemed to grow like magic under her nimble fingers. Any return present from Marjorie she seemed to value exceedingly. She put the latter's photo inside a locket, and wore it constantly. She was clever at her lessons, and would help her chum with her work out of school hours. St. Elgiva's smiled tolerantly, and named the pair "the Turtle Doves". Though the atmosphere of the hostel was not sentimental, violent friendships were not unknown there. Sometimes they were of enduring quality, and sometimes they ended in a quarrel. Miss Norton did not encourage demonstrative affection among her flock, but it was known that Mrs. Morrison considered schoolgirl friendships highly important and likely to last for life. She beamed rather than frowned on those who walked arm in arm.
Marjorie's second term at Brackenfield was fast wearing itself away. In spite of many disagreeable happenings she felt that she had taken her place in the life of the school, and that she was a definite figure at St. Elgiva's. There was a little rivalry between the hostels, and each would try to outdothe other in such matters as collecting for charities, knitting for the soldiers, or providing items for concerts. At the end of term each hostel put up in the hall a list of its various achievements, and great was the triumph of that house which could record the largest number of socks or shillings. There was an old and well-established custom that on the last three evenings of term the three hostels in turn might take possession of the assembly hall, and give some form of entertainment to which they could invite the rest of the school. St. Elgiva's held a committee meeting to discuss possible projects.
"There doesn't seem anything new," mourned Mollie. "Of course concerts and plays and charades are very well in their way, but they're done every time."
"We all like them," admitted Phyllis.
"Oh yes, we like them; but it would be so nice to have a change."
"Can't anybody make a suggestion?" urged Francie.
"The things we really want to do are just the things we can't," sighed Betty. "If I could choose, I'd vote for a bonfire and fireworks."
"Or a torchlight picnic," prompted Sylvia. "It would make a nice excitement for the special constables to come and arrest us, as they most certainly would. What a heading it would make for the newspaper—'A Ladies' School in Prison. No Bail Allowed'! Would they set us to pick oakum?"
"But seriously, do think of something practical. Have your brains all gone rusty?"
"There are progressive games," ventured Patricia.
"St. Githa's are giving them. I know it for a fact. They sent to Whitecliffe for marbles and boxes of pins and shoe-buttons to make 'fish-ponds'. They get first innings, so it would be too stale if our evening were to be just a repetition of theirs."
It was Chrissie who at last made the original suggestion.
"Couldn't we have a dance? I don't mean an ordinary dance, but something special. Suppose we were all to dress up to represent different nations. We could have all the Allies."
"Ripping! But how could we manage enough costumes?"
"We'd make them up with coloured paper and ribbons. It shouldn't be very difficult."
"It's a jolly good idea," said Mollie reflectively.
The more the committee considered the matter the more they felt disposed to decide in favour of the dance. They consulted Miss Norton on the subject, and she proved unusually genial and encouraging, and offered to take two delegates with her to Whitecliffe to buy requisites. The girls drew lots for the honour, and the luck fell to Mollie and Phyllis. They had an exciting afternoon at the Stores, and came back laden with brown-paper parcels.
"Miss Norton says the fairest plan will be to have the things on sale," they announced. "We're going to turn the sitting-room into a shop, and you may each come in one by one and spend a shilling, but no more."
"All serene! When will you be at the receipt of custom?"
"This evening after supper."
That day there had been in the library a tremendous run upon any books which gave illustrations of European costumes. The girls considered that either allegorical or native peasant dresses would be suitable. They took drawings and wrote down details.
"What I'd like would be to write to London to a firm of theatrical providers, and tell them to send us down a consignment of costumes," announced Patricia.
"Oh, I dare say! A nice little bill we should have! I've hired costumes before, and they charge a terrific amount for them," commented Francie.
"It's rather fun to make our own, especially when we're all limited the same as to material," maintained Nora.
The girls usually did needlework after supper, but this evening the sitting-room was to be devoted to the sale. Mollie and Phyllis were wise in their generation, and, anticipating a stampede, they picked out Gertrude Holmes and Laura Norris as being the most stalwart and brawny-armed among the damsels of St. Elgiva's, and set them to keep the door, admitting only two at a time. Even with this precaution a rather wild scene ensued. Instead of keeping in an orderly queue, the girls pushed for places, and there were several excited struggles in the vicinity of the stairs. As each girl came out, proudly exhibiting what she hadpurchased, the anxiety of those who had not yet entered the sitting-room increased. They were afraid everything might be sold before it came to their turns, and had it not been for the well-developed muscles of Gertrude and Laura, the fort might have been stormed and the stores raided.
Mollie and Phyllis had invested their capital with skill, and showed an assortment of white and coloured crinkled papers, cheap remnants of sateen, lengths of gay butter muslin, and yards of ribbon. For the occasion they assumed the manners of shop assistants, and greeted their visitors with the orthodox: "What can I show you, madam?" But their elaborate politeness soon melted away when the customer showed signs of demanding more than her portion, and the "Oh, certainly!" or "Here's a sweet thing, madam!" uttered in honeyed tones, turned to a blunt "Don't be greedy!" "Can't give you more than your shilling's worth, not if you ask ever so." "There won't be enough to go round, so you must just make what you've got do. Not a single inch more! If you don't go this minute we'll take your parcels back. We're in a hurry."
By using the greatest dispatch Mollie and Phyllis just managed to distribute their goods before the bell rang for prayers. The ribbon and sateen were all bought up, and the crinkled paper which was left over they put aside to make decorations for the hall.
Next day St. Elgiva's was given up to the fabrication of costumes. The girls retired to theirdormitories, strewed their beds with materials, and worked feverishly. In No. 9 the excitement was intense. Sylvia, who intended to represent the United States, wasseccotining stars and stripes, cut out of coloured paper, on to her best white petticoat. Betty was stitching red stripes down the sides of her gymnasium knickers, being determined to appear in the nearest approach to a Zouave uniform that she could muster, though a little doubtful of Miss Norton's approval of male attire. Chrissie, with a brown-paper hat, a red tie, and belt strapped over her shoulder, meant to figure as Young Australia. Marjorie alone, the most enthusiastic of all for the scheme, sat limply on her bed with idle scissors.
"I'd meant to be Rumania," she confessed, "and I find Patricia's bagged the exact thing I sketched."
"Can't there be several Rumanias?"
"Yes, there will be, because Rose and Enid have set their hearts on the same. I'd rather have something original, though."
"I don't think Rumania would suit you; you're too tall and fair," said Sylvia. "It's better for dark girls, with curly hair if possible."
"Couldn't you have a Breton peasant costume?" suggested Chrissie. "I've a picture post card here in my album that we could copy. Look, it's just the thing! The big cap and the white sleeves would do beautifully in crinkled paper, and I'll lend you that velvet bodice I wore when I was 'Fadette'."
"How about the apron?"
"Stitch two handkerchiefs together, pick the laceoff your best petticoat and sew it round, and you'll have the jinkiest little Breton apron you ever saw."
"Christina Lang, you're a genius!" exclaimed Marjorie, pulling out the best petticoat from under a pile of blouses in her drawer, and setting to work with Sylvia's embroidery scissors to detach the trimming.
"You'll want a necklace and some earrings," decided Chrissie. "Oh, we'll easily make you ear-rings—break up a string of beads, thread a few of them, and tie them on to your ears. I'll guarantee to turn you out a first-class peasant if you'll put yourself in my hands."
"I suppose I'll be expected to talk Breton," chuckled Marjorie.
The Seniors' entertainment came first, and on the following evening Intermediates and Juniors assembled in the big hall as the guests of St. Githa's. Progressive games had been provided, and the company spent a hilarious hour fishing up boot-buttons with bent pins, picking up marbles with two pencils, or securing potatoes with egg-spoons. A number of pretty prizes were given, and the hostesses had the satisfaction of feeling perfectly sure that their visitors, to judge by their behaviour, had absolutely and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. St. Githa's had undoubtedly covered itself with glory, and St. Elgiva's must not be outdone. The Intermediates worked feverishly to finish their costumes. Such an amount of borrowing and lending went on that it would be quite a problem to sort out possessions afterwards. It wasa point of etiquette that anyone who had anything that would be useful to a neighbour's get-up was bound in honour to offer the loan of it. Only the hostesses were to be in costume; the guests were to appear in ordinary evening dresses.
Marjorie, before the mirror in her bedroom, gazed critically at her own reflection. Chrissie's clever fingers had pulled and twisted the crinkled paper into the most becoming of peasant caps, the large bead ear-rings, tied on with silk, jangled on to her neck, her paper sleeves stood out like lawn, the lace-edged apron was a triumph of daintiness, she wore Patricia's scarlet-kid dancing-slippers with Betty's black silk stockings.
"Do you think I'll do?" she queried.
The Zouave officer threw herself on one knee in an attitude of ecstatic admiration, and laid a hand upon her heart.
"Do? You're ravishing! I'm going to make love to you all the evening, just for the sport of seeing the Acid Drop's face. Play up and flirt, won't you?"
"You look a regular Don Juan!" chuckled Marjorie.
"That's my rôle this evening. I'm going to break hearts by the dozen. I don't mind telling you that I mean to dance with Norty herself."
St. Elgiva's might certainly congratulate itself upon the success of its efforts. The fancy costumes produced a sensation. All the Allies were represented, as well as allegorical figures, such as Britannia, Justice, Peace, and Plenty. It was marvellous how much had been accomplished with thevery scanty materials that the girls had had to work upon. The ball was soon in full swing; mistresses and prefects joined in the fun, and found themselves being whirled round by Neapolitan contadini or picturesque Japs. The room, decorated with flags and big rosettes of coloured paper, looked delightfully festive. Even Miss Norton, usually the climax of dignity, thawed for the occasion, and accepted Betty's invitation to a fox-trot without expressing any disapproval of the Zouave uniform. Marjorie, after a vigorous half-hour of exercise, paused panting near the platform, and refused further partners.
"I want a rest," she proclaimed. "You wouldn't believe it, but this costume's very hot, and my ear-rings keep smacking me in the face."
"If you not want to dance, Marjorie, you shall play, and I take a turn," suggested the French mistress, vacating the piano stool.
"By all means, mademoiselle. Do go and dance. There's Elsie wanting a partner. I'll enjoy playing for a while. What pieces have you got here? Oh, I know most of them."
Marjorie good-naturedly settled herself to the piano. She was an excellent reader, so could manage even the pieces with which she was not already acquainted. She was playing a two-step, and turning her head to watch the dancers as they whirled by, when suddenly she heard a shout, and Chrissie, who was passing, scrambled on to the platform, dragged her from the piano, threw her on the floor, and sat upon her head. Dazed by thesuddenness of her chum's extraordinary conduct, Marjorie was too much amazed even to scream. When Chrissie released her she realized what had happened. She had put the corner of her large Breton cap into the flame of the candle, and it had flared up. Only her friend's prompt action could have saved her from being horribly burnt. As it was, her hair was slightly singed, but her face was unscathed. The girls, thoroughly alarmed, came crowding on to the platform, and Miss Norton, after blowing out the piano candles, examined her carefully to see the extent of the damage.
"More frightened than hurt!" was her verdict. "But another second might have been too late. I must congratulate you, Chrissie, on your presence of mind."
Chrissie flushed crimson. It was not often that Miss Norton congratulated anybody. Praise from her was praise indeed.
"Please go on dancing," begged Marjorie. "I'm all right, only I think I'll sit still and watch. It's made my legs feel shaky. I never thought of the candle and the size of my cap."
"It's spoilt your costume," said Sylvia commiseratingly. "And yours was the best in all the room—everybody's been saying so. I wanted to get a snapshot of you in it to-morrow."
"Take Betty instead. She's the limit in that Zouave get-up. And if you wouldn't mind using an extra film, I'd like one of Chrissie. Chrissie"—Marjorie caught her breath in a little gasp—"has saved my life to-night!"
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Marjorie and Dona spent the larger part of the Easter holidays with an aunt in the north. They had a few days at home, mostly devoted to visits to the dentist and the dressmaker, and then boxes were once more packed, and they started off on the now familiar journey back to Brackenfield. Joan watched the preparations wistfully.
"Do you think the Empress would take a girl of eight?" she enquired in all seriousness.
"Not unless you could be used as a mascot or a school monkey," returned Marjorie. "You might come in handy at the nursing lectures, when we get to the chapter on 'How to Wash and Dress a Baby', or you'd do to practise bandaging on. Otherwise you'd be considerably in the way."
"Don't be horrid!" pouted Joan. "I'm to go to Brackenfield some time. Mother said so."
"You'll have to wait five years yet, my hearty. Why, do you know, even Dona is called a kiddie at Brackenfield?"
"Dona!" Joan's eyes were big.
"Yes, some of the girls look almost as old asNora, and they've turned up their hair. It's a fact. You needn't stare."
"You'll go all in good time, poor old Baba," said Dona. "You wouldn't like to be in a form all by yourself, without any other little girls, and there's no room for a preparatory unless they build, and that's not possible in war-time. You must peg on for a while with Miss Hazelwood, and then perhaps Mother'll send you to a day school. After all, you know, it's something to be the youngest in the family. You score over that."
Both Marjorie and Dona were looking forward to the summer term. Those of their chums who were old Brackenfielders had dwelt strongly on its advantages compared with the autumn or spring terms. It was the season for cricket and tennis, for country walks, picnics, and natural history excursions. Most of the activities were arranged for out of doors, and a larger amount of liberty was allowed the girls than had been possible during the period of short days.
Armed each with a cricket bat and a tennis racket, not to mention cameras, butterfly nets, collecting-boxes, and botanical cases, they arrived at their respective hostels and unpacked their possessions. Marjorie was the last comer in No. 9, and found Chrissie with her cubicle already neatly arranged, Sylvia with her head buried in her bottom drawer, and Betty struggling with straps. The two latter were pouring out details of their holiday adventures.
"I rode in to town every day, and did Mother'sshopping for her; and we went to a sale and bought the jolliest little governess car and harness."
"We were going to Brighton, only Mother was so afraid of bombs on the south coast, so Daddy said it was safer to stop at home; and I was glad, because we'd spent last Christmas at Grannie's, so I really hadn't seen very much of home."
"Dick got a week's leave, and we'd an absolutely gorgeous time!"
"James and Vincent brought two school friends home with them—such ripping boys!"
"We went out boating on the lake."
"And we went to the cinema nearly every day."
"What have you been doing, Marjorie?" asked Chrissie.
"Heaps of things. We were staying at Redferne, and Uncle showed us all over the munition works. They're so strict they won't let anybody go through now; but Uncle's the head, so of course he could take Dona and me. And we saw a Belgian town for the Belgian workers there. It's built quite separately, and has barbed-wire entanglements round. There are a thousand houses, and six hundred hostels, and ever so many huts as well, and shops, and a post office, and a hall of justice. You can't go in through the gate without a pass, but Uncle knew the manager, so it was all right."
"I don't call that as much fun as boating," said Betty.
"Or the cinema," added Sylvia.
"It was nicer, because it was patriotic," retorted Marjorie. "I like to see what the country is doingfor the war. You two think of nothing but silly jokes."
"Don't show temper, my child," observed Betty blandly. "Sylvia, I'm going down at once to put my name on the cricket list. I'll finish my unpacking afterwards."
"I'll come with you," said Sylvia. "We shan't get an innings to-morrow unless we sign on straight away."
"They're a couple of rattle-pates!" laughed Chrissie as their room-mates made their exit, executing a fox-troten route. "I don't believe they ever think seriously about anything. Never mind, old sport! I'm interested in what you do in the holidays. Tell me some more about the munition works and the Belgian town. I like to hear all you've seen. I wish I could go to Redferne myself."
"You wouldn't see anything if you did, because only Uncle can take people round the works. Oh, it was wonderful! We went into the danger zone. And we saw girls with their faces all yellow. I haven't time to tell you half now, but I will afterwards. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
"It does one good to know what's going on," commented Chrissie.
The Daylight Saving Act was now in operation, so the school had an extra hour available for outdoor exercise. Whenever the weather was fine enough they were encouraged to spend every available moment in the fresh air. A certain amount of cricket practice was compulsory; but for the rest ofthe time those who liked might play tennis or basket ball, or could stroll about the grounds. Select parties, under the leadership of a mistress, were taken botanizing, or to hunt for specimens on the beach. There was keen competition for these rambles, and as eligibility depended upon marks in the Science classes, it considerably raised the standard of work.
Dona, who was rather dull at ordinary lessons, shone in Natural History. It was her one subject. She wrote her notes neatly, and would make beautiful little drawings to illustrate the various points. She had sharp eyes, and when out on a ramble would spy birds' nests or other treasures which nobody else had noticed, and knew all the likeliest places in which to look for caterpillars. She was a great favourite with Miss Carter, the Science mistress, and her name was almost always down on the excursion list. One day, in company with eleven other ardent naturalists and the mistress, she came toiling up from the beach on to the road that led to Whitecliffe. Her basket, filled with spoils from the rocks and pools, was rather a dripping object, her shoes were full of sand, and she was tired, but cheery. She had hurried on and reached the summit first, quite some way in advance of her companions. As she stood waiting for them she heard the sound of voices and footsteps, and round the corner came a girl, wheeling a long perambulator with a child in it. There was no mistaking the couple, they were the nursemaid and the little boy whom Dona and Marjorie had met on the cliffs lastautumn. Lizzie looked just the same—rosy, good-natured, and untidy as ever—but it was a very etherealized Eric who lay in the perambulator. The lovely little face looked white and transparent as alabaster, the brown eyes seemed bigger and more wistful, the golden curls had grown, and framed the pale cheeks like a saint's halo, the small hands folded on the shabby rug were thin and colourless. The child was wasted almost to a shadow, and the blue veins on his forehead showed prominently. He recognized Dona at once, and for a moment a beautiful rosy flush flooded his pathetic little face.
"Oh, Lizzie, it's my fairy lady!" he cried excitedly.
The nurse girl stopped in amazement.
"Well, now! Who'd have thought of seeing you?" she said to Dona. "Eric's been talking about you all the winter. He's been awful bad, he has. This is the first time I've had him out for months. He's still got that book you gave him. I should think he knows every story in it off by heart."
Dona was bending over the carriage holding the frail little hand that Eric offered.
"You're Silverstar!" he said, gazing up at her with keen satisfaction. "Where are Bluebell and Princess Goldilocks?"
"They're not here to-day."
"Oh, I do so want to see them!"
"They'll be sorry to miss you."
"He'll talk of nothing else now," observed Lizzie. "You wouldn't believe what a fancy he'staken to you three; and he's a queer child—he doesn't like everybody."
"I want to see the others!" repeated Eric, with the suspicion of a wail in his voice.
"Look here," said Dona hastily, "to-morrow's our exeat day. Can you bring him to that place on the cliffs where we met before? We'll be there at four o'clock—all of us. You can leave him with us if you want to go shopping. Now I must fly, for my teacher's calling me."
"We'll be there," smiled Eric, waving a good-bye.
"That's if your ma says you're well enough," added Lizzie cautiously.
Before Preparation Dona sought out Marjorie, and told her of the meeting with the little boy.
"We've just got to be on the cliff to-morrow," she said. "I wouldn't disappoint that child for a thousand pounds!"
"Auntie would send Hodson with us, I'm sure, if Elaine can't go. I'm so glad you happened to see him. We'd often wondered what had become of him, poor little chap! By the by, couldn't we take him something?"
"I'd thought of that. We'll fly down to Whitecliffe to-morrow, first thing after we get to Auntie's, and buy him a book at the Stores."
"I hope to goodness it'll be a fine day, or perhaps they won't let him come."
"I believe he'll cry his eyes out if they don't. He's tremendously set on it."
Very fortunately the weather on Wednesday wasall that could be desired. Marjorie and Dona rushed into The Tamarisks in quite a state of excitement, and both together poured out their information. Elaine was as interested as they to meet Eric again, and readily agreed to the proposed expedition.
"We'll take some cake and milk with us, and have a little picnic," she suggested. "Let us tear down to Whitecliffe at once and buy him a present."
Shortly before four o'clock the three girls, carrying a tea-basket and several parcels, were walking along the cliffs above the cove. The long perambulator was already waiting at the trysting-place, and Eric, propped up with pillows, smiled a welcome. Elaine was shocked to see how ill the child looked. He had been frail enough in the autumn, but now the poor little body seemed only a transparent garment through which the soul shone plainly. She greeted him brightly, but with an ache in her heart.
"My Princess!" he said. "So you've come back to me at last! And Fairy Bluebell too! Oh, I've wanted you all! It's been a weary winter. The gnomes kept me shut up in their hill all the time. They wouldn't let me out."
"Perhaps they were afraid the witches might catch you," answered Marjorie.
"Yes, I expect that was partly it, but the gnomes are jealous, and like to guard me. I don't know what I should have done without Titania."
"Did she come to see you?"
"Sometimes. She can't come often, becauseshe's so busy. She's got crowds of young fairies to look after and keep in order, and sometimes they're naughty. You wouldn't believe fairies could be naughty, could you?"
"I suppose there are good and bad ones," laughed Dona.
"He's just silly over fairies!" broke in Lizzie. "Talks of nothing else, and makes out we're all witches or pixies or what not. Well, Eric, I've got to go and buy some butter. Will you be good if I leave you here till I come back? I shan't be above half an hour or so," she added to the girls.
"Don't hurry," replied Elaine. "We can stay until half-past five. We've brought our tea, if Eric may have some with us. May he eat cake?"
"Oh yes! He'll tell you what he may eat, won't you, Eric?"
The little fellow nodded. His eyes were shining.
"I didn't know it was to be a fairy feast!" he murmured softly, half to himself.
The girls were busy unpacking their parcels. They had brought several presents which they thought would amuse the child during the long hours he probably spent in bed, a jig-saw puzzle, a drawing-slate, a box of coloured chalks, a painting-book, and a lovely volume of new fairy tales. His delight was pathetic. He looked at each separately, and touched it with a finger, as if it were a great treasure. The fairy book, with its coloured pictures of gnomes and pixies, he clasped tightly in his arms.
"It's as good as having a birthday!" he sighed."I had mine a while ago. Titania couldn't come to see me, because the young fairies had to be looked after, but she sent me a paint box. I wish you knew Titania."
"I wish we did. What's she like?"
"She's the beautifullest person in all the world. Nobody else can play fairies as well as she can. And she can tell a new story every time. You'd just fall straight in love with her if you saw her. I know you would! It's a pity fairies have to be so busy, isn't it? Some day when I'm better, and she has time, she's going to take me away for a holiday. Think of going away with Titania! The doctor says I must drink my medicine if I want to get well."
"Don't you like medicine?"
Eric pulled an eloquent face.
"It's the nastiest stuff! But I promised Titania I'd take it. I sometimes have a chocolate after it."
"Will you have one now? We're just going to unpack our basket to get tea. Will it hurt you if we wheel you over there on to the grass? There's such a lovely place where we could sit."
The spot that the girls had chosen for their picnic was ideal. It was a patch of short fine grass near the edge of the cliff, with a bank for a seat. The ground was blue with the beautiful little flowers of the vernal squill, and clumps of sea-pinks, white bladder campion, and golden lady's fingers bloomed in such profusion that the place was like a wild garden. The air was soft and warm, for it was one of those beautiful afternoons in early May whenNature seems predominant, and one can almost spy nymphs among the trees. Below them the sea rippled calm and shining, merging at the horizon into the tender blue of the sky. Gulls and puffins wheeled and screamed over the rocks. Eric looked round with a far-away expression on his quaint little face, and gravely accepted the flowers that Dona picked for him.
"It's enchanted ground!" he said in his oldfashioned way. "Every flower hides the heart of a tiny fairy. I know, because I've been here in my dreams. I have funny dreams sometimes. They're more real than being awake. One night I was floating in the air, just like that bird over the sea. I lay on my back, and I could see the blue sky above me, and look down at the green cliffs far below. I wasn't frightened, because I knew I couldn't fall. I felt quite strong and well, and my leg didn't hurt me at all. Sometimes I dream I can go through the air. It isn't exactly either flying or floating or running—it's more like shooting. I get to the tops of mountains, and see the wonderfullest places. And another night I was riding on the waves. There was a great storm, and I came sweeping in with the tide into the bay. I wish I could always dream like that!"
"You shall have tea with the elves to-day," said Elaine, bringing the little fellow back, if not to absolute reality, at least to a less visionary world than the dream-country he was picturing. "Look! I've brought a mug with a robin on it for your milk. May you eat bread and honey? Honey isfairy food, you know. Here's a paper serviette with violets round it, instead of a plate."
Eric's appetite was apparently that of a sparrow. He ate a very little of the bread and honey, and a tiny piece of cake, but drank the milk feverishly. He seemed tired, and lay back for a while on his pillows without speaking, just gazing at the flowers and the sea and the sky. He fondled his book now and then with a long sigh of content. Elaine motioned to Marjorie and Dona not to disturb him. Her knowledge of nursing told her that the child must not be over-excited or wearied. She felt it a responsibility to have charge of him, and was rather relieved when Lizzie's creaking boots came back along the road.
Eric brightened up to say good-bye.
"I shall tell Titania all about you," he vouchsafed. "Perhaps she'll come and see me soon now. I love her best, of course, but I love you next best. I shall pretend every day that I'm playing with you here."
"I hope he's not too tired," whispered Elaine to Lizzie.
"No, but I'd best get him home now, or his ma'll be anxious. He'd one of his attacks last night. Oh, it'll have done him good coming out this afternoon! He was set on seeing you."
The girls stood watching as Lizzie trundled the long perambulator away, then packed their basket and set off towards Brackenfield, for it was time for Marjorie and Dona to return to school.
"How stupid of us!" ejaculated Elaine. "Wenever asked his surname or where he lives, and I particularly intended to, this time."
"So did I, but I quite forgot," echoed Marjorie.
"I'm not sure if I want to know," said Dona. "He's just Eric to me—like someone out of a book. I've never met such a sweet, dear, precious thing in all my life before. Of course, if I don't know his name I can't send him things, but I've got an idea. We'll leave a little parcel for him with the girl who looks after the refreshment kiosk on the Whitecliffe Road, and ask her to give it to him next time he passes. She couldn't mistake the long perambulator."
"And write 'From the fairies' on it. Good!" agreed Marjorie. "It's exactly the sort of thing that Eric will like."
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Dona's suggestion was adopted, and she and Marjorie began a little system of correspondence with Eric. At their request Elaine bought a small present and left the parcel with the attendant at the refreshment kiosk, who promised to give it to him.
"I know the child quite well by sight," she said. "A delicate little fellow in an invalid carriage. They used to pass here two or three times a week last summer, and sometimes they'd stop at the kiosk and the girl would buy him an orange or some sweets. I hadn't seen him for months till he went by a few days ago. Yes, I'll be sure to stop him when he passes."
That the girl kept her word was evident, for a week afterwards she handed Elaine a letter addressed to "The Fairy Ladies". Elaine forwarded it to Marjorie and Dona. It was written in a round, childish hand, and ran:
"Darling Bluebell and Silverstar,"I like the puzzle you sent me. I often think about you. I love you very much. I hopeI shall see you again. I played fairies all yesterday and pretended you were here."With love from"Eric."
"Darling Bluebell and Silverstar,
"I like the puzzle you sent me. I often think about you. I love you very much. I hopeI shall see you again. I played fairies all yesterday and pretended you were here.
"With love from"Eric."
"Dear little man!" said Marjorie. "I expect it's taken him a long time to write this. We'll buy him a blotter and some fancy paper and envelopes and leave them at the kiosk for him."
"I wish we could go to the cove and see him again," said Dona.
It happened that for the next two exeats Aunt Ellinor had arranged a tennis party or some other engagement for her nieces, so that it was not possible to take a walk on the cliffs. They left a supply of little presents, however, at the kiosk, so that something could be given to Eric every time he passed. The assistant was almost as interested as Marjorie and Dona.
"He looks out for those parcels now," she assured them. "You should just see his face when I run out and give them to him. I believe he'd be ever so disappointed if there was nothing. The girl that wheels him left a message for you. His mother thanks you for your kindness; and will you please excuse his writing, because it isn't very good for him and takes him such a long time. He's never been able to go to school."
"Poor little chap!" laughed Dona. "I expect someone has to sit by him and tell him how to spell every word. Never mind, he can draw fairieson the notepaper we sent him. We'll get him a red-and-blue chalk pencil."
"I dare say he'd like a post-card album and some cards to put in it," suggested Marjorie.
"Oh yes! I saw some of flower fairies at the Stores. We'll ask Elaine to get them."
"And those funny ones of cats and dogs. I've no doubt it's anything to amuse him when he has to lie still all the day long."
As the summer wore on, and submarines sank many of our merchant vessels on the seas, the food question began to be an important problem at Brackenfield. Everyone was intensely patriotic and ready to do all in her power to help on the war. Mrs. Morrison believed in keeping the girls well abreast of the important topics of the moment. She considered the oldfashioned schools of fifty years ago, where the pupils never saw a newspaper, and were utterly out of touch with the world, did not conduce to the making of good citizens. She liked her girls to think out questions for themselves. She had several enthusiastic spirits among the prefects, and found that by giving them a few general hints to work upon she could trust them to lead the others. Winifrede in particular realized the gravity of the situation. Armed with a supply of leaflets from the local Food Control Bureau, she convened a meeting of the entire school in the Assembly Hall.
Winifrede was a girl whose intense love of her country and ready power of fluent speech would probably lead her some day to a public platform.Meantime she could always sway a Brackenfield audience. She was dramatic in her methods, and when the girls entered the hall they were greeted by large hand-printed posters announcing:
"THE GERMANS ARE TRYING TO STARVE US.GERMAN SUBMARINES ARE REDUCING SUPPLIES.YOU MUST ECONOMIZE AT HOME."
There were no teachers present on this occasion, and the platform was occupied by the prefects. Winifrede, with an eager face and fully convinced of the burning necessity of rationing, stood up and began her speech.
"Girls! I think I needn't tell you that we're fighting in the most terrible war the world has ever seen. We're matched against a foe whose force and cunning will need every atom of strength of which we're capable. They are not only shooting our soldiers at the front, and bombing our towns, but by their submarine warfare they are deliberately trying to reduce us by starvation. There is already a food crisis in our country. There is a serious shortage of wheat, of potatoes, of sugar, and of other food-stuffs. Perhaps you think that so long as you have money you will be able to buy food. That is not so. As long as there is plenty of food, money is a convenience to buy it with, but no more. Money is not value. If the food is not there, money will not make it, and money becomes useless. Food gives money its value. We can do without money; but we cannotdo without food. People see the bakers' shops full of bread, the butchers' shops full of meat, the grocers' shops full of provisions, and they believe there is plenty of food. This is merely food on the surface. The stock of food from which the shops draw the food is low, seriously low, already. Unless we ration ourselves at once, and carefully, there will come days when there may be no bread at all at the baker's. There is a shortage of wheat all over the world, not only in Europe, but also in North and South America. Millions of the men who grew the wheat we eat are fighting, hundreds of thousands of them will never go back to the fields they ploughed. If the present waste of bread and wheat flour continues, there will be hardly enough to go round till next harvest time. Great Britain only produces one-fifth of the bread it eats. Four-fifths of the wheat comes from abroad. Hundreds of the ships that brought it are now engaged in other work. They are carrying food and munitions to France, Italy, and Russia. The ships that brought us food are fewer by those hundreds.
"It is the women of the country who must see to this. By careful rationing we can make our supplies hold out until after the harvest. Our men are out at the front, fighting a grim battle, but, unless we do our part of the business at home, they may fight a losing battle. It is for us to see that our noble dead have not died in vain. With martyred Belgium for an object lesson, it is the duty of every British girl to make every possible sacrifice to keep those unspeakable Huns out ofour islands. I appeal to you all to use the utmost economy and abstinence, and voluntarily to give up some of the things that you like. Remember you will be helping to win the war. There is a rationing pledge on the table near the door, and I ask every girl to sign it and to wear the violet ribbon that will be given her. It is the badge of the new temperance cause. The freedom of the world depends at the present time on the food thrift and self-restraint of our civilians, no less than on the courage of our soldiers. Please take some of the leaflets which you will find on the table, and read them. They have been sent here for us by the Food Control Bureau."
After Winifrede's speech every girl felt in honour bound to comply with her request, and turn by turn they signed their pledges and sported their violet ribbons.
"It'll mean knocking off buns, I suppose," sighed Sylvia mournfully.
"Certainly.