'Save a bun,And do the Hun!'"
'Save a bun,And do the Hun!'"
'Save a bun,And do the Hun!'"
improvised Marjorie.
"Look here!" said Betty, studying a pamphlet; "it says: 'If a man is working hard he needs a great deal more food than when he is resting. There are no exceptions to this rule. It follows that workers save energy by resting as much as they can in their spare time.' If that's true, the less work we do the smaller our appetites will be.I vote we petition the Empress, in the interests of patriotism, to shorten our time-table by half."
"She'd probably suggest knocking off cricket and tennis instead, my Betty."
"Well, at any rate, it says: 'large people need more food than small', and I'm taller than you, so I ought to have half of your dinner bread, old sport!"
"Ah, but look, it also says: 'people who are well covered need much less food than thin people', so I score there, and ought to have half of your dinner bread instead."
"We'll each stick to our own allowances, thanks!"
Mrs. Morrison, who was on the committee of the Whitecliffe Food Control Campaign, was glad to have secured the co-operation of her girls in the alterations which she was now obliged to make in their dietary. On the whole, they rather liked some of the substitutes for wheat flour, and quite enjoyed the barley-meal bread, and the oatcakes and maize-meal biscuits that figured on the tables at tea-time.
"They're dry, but you feel so patriotic when you eat them," declared Marjorie.
"I believe you'd chump sawdust buns if you thought you were helping on the war," laughed Chrissie.
"I would, with pleasure."
It was just at this time that potatoes ran short. So far Brackenfield had not suffered in that respect, but now the supply from the large kitchen gardenhad given out, and the Whitecliffe greengrocers were quite unable to meet the demands of the school. For a fortnight the girls ate swedes instead, and tried to like them. Then Mrs. Morrison received a message from a farmer that he had plenty of potatoes in his fields, but lacked the labour to cart them. He would, however, be prepared to dispose of a certain quantity on condition that they could be fetched. Here was news indeed! The potatoes were there, and only needed to be carried away. The Principal at once organized parties of girls to go with baskets to the farm. Instead of sending Seniors, Intermediates, and Juniors separately, Mrs. Morrison ordered representatives from the three hostels to form each detachment. She considered that lately the elder girls had been keeping too much aloof from the younger ones, and that the spirit of unity in the school might suffer in consequence. The expedition would be an excellent opportunity for meeting together, and she gave a hint to the prefects that she had noticed and deprecated their tendency to exclusiveness.
As a direct result of her suggestions, Marjorie one afternoon found herself walking to the farm in the select company of Winifrede Mason. It was such an overwhelming honour to be thus favoured by the head girl that Marjorie's powers of conversation were at first rather damped, and she replied in monosyllables to Winifrede's remarks; but the latter, who was determined (as she had informed her fellow prefects) to "do her duty by those Intermediates",persevered in her attempts to be pleasant, till Marjorie, who was naturally talkative, thawed at length and found her tongue.
There was no doubt that Winifrede, when she stepped down from her pedestal, was a most winning companion. She had a charming, humorous, racy, whimsical way of commenting on things, and a whole fund of amusing stories. Marjorie, astonished and fascinated, responded eagerly to her advances, and by the time they reached the farm had formed quite a different estimation of the head girl. The walk in itself was delightful. Their way lay along a road that led over the moors. On either side stretched an expanse of gorse and whinberry bushes, interspersed with patches of grass, where sheep were feeding. Dykes filled with water edged the road, and in these were growing rushes, and sedges, and crowfoot, and a few forget-me-nots and other water-loving flowers. Larks were singing gloriously overhead, and the plovers flitted about with their plaintive "pee-wit, pee-wit". Sometimes a stonechat or a wheatear would pause for a moment on a gorse stump, flirting its brown tail before it flew out of sight, or young rabbits would peep from the whinberry bushes and whisk away into cover. Far off in the distance lay the hazy outline of the sea. There was a great sense of space and openness. The fresh pure air blew down from the hills, cooler and more invigorating even than the sea breeze. Except for the sheep, and an occasional collie dog and shepherd, they had the world to themselves. Winifrede took longsighing breaths of air. Her eyes were shining with enjoyment.
"I like the quiet of it all," she told Marjorie. "I can understand the feeling that made the mediæval hermits build their lonely little cells in peaceful, beautiful spots. Some of the Hindoos do the same to-day, and go and live in the forests to have time to meditate. When I'm getting old I'd like to come and take a cottage on this moor—not before, I think, because there's so very much I want to do in the world first, but when I feel I'm growing past my work, then will be the time to arrange my thoughts and slip into the spirit of the peace up here."
"What kind of work do you want to do?" asked Marjorie.
"I'm not sure yet. I'm leaving school, of course, at the end of this term, and I can't quite decide whether to go on to College or to begin something to help the war. Mrs. Morrison advises College. She says I could be far more help afterwards if I were properly qualified, and I dare say she's right, only I don't want to wait."
"I'm just yearning to leave school and be a V.A.D., or drive an ambulance wagon," sympathized Marjorie.
"My sister is out in France at canteen work," confided Winifrede. "It makes me fearfully envious when I have her letters and think what she's doing for the Tommies. I've three brothers at the front, and five cousins, and two more cousins were killed a year ago. My eldest brother has been woundedtwice, and the youngest is in hospital now. I simply live for news of them all."
The girls had now reached the farm, a little low-built, whitewashed house almost on the summit of a hill. Though the principal occupation of its owner lay among sheep, he had a clearing of fields, where he grew swedes, potatoes, and a little barley. In a sheltered place behind his stable-yard he had a stock of last year's potatoes still left; they were piled into a long heap, covered with straw and then with earth as a protection. He took the girls round here, measured the potatoes in a bushel bin, and then filled the baskets.
"They won't keep much longer," he informed Miss Norton. "I'd have carted them down to Whitecliffe, only I've no horse now, and it's difficult to borrow one; and I can't spare the time from the sheep either. Labour's so scarce now. My two sons are fighting, and I've only a grandson of fourteen and a daughter to help me."
"Everybody is feeling the same pinch," replied Miss Norton. "We're only too glad to come and fetch the potatoes ourselves. It's a nice walk for us."
The girls, who overheard the conversation, felt they cordially agreed. It was fun wandering round the little farm-yard, looking at the ducks, and chickens, and calves, or peeping inside the barns and stables. Several of them began to register vows to work on the land when school-days were over.
"They've got a new German camp over there,"volunteered the farmer. "I suppose their first contingent of prisoners arrived yesterday. Hadn't you heard about it? Oh, they've been busy for weeks putting up barbed wire! It can't be so far from your place either. You'd pass it if you crossed the stile there and went back over the moor instead of round by the road."
At the news of a German camp a kind of electric thrill passed round the company. The girls were wild with curiosity to see it, and pressed Miss Norton to allow them to return to Brackenfield by the moorland path. The mistress herself seemed interested, and consented quite readily. It was a much quicker way back to the school, and would save time; she was grateful to Mr. Briggs for having pointed out so short a cut.
The camp lay on the side of a hill about half-way between the farm and Brackenfield, near enough to distinguish the latter building quite plainly in the distance. It was surrounded by an entanglement of barbed wire, and there were sentries on duty. Within the circle of wire were tents, and the girls could see washing hanging out, and a few figures lying on the ground and apparently smoking. They would have liked to linger and look, but Miss Norton marched them briskly past, and discipline forbade an undue exhibition of curiosity. They had gone perhaps only a few hundred yards when they heard the regular tramp-tramp of footsteps, and up from the dell below came a further batch of prisoners under an escort of soldiers. Miss Norton hastily marshalledher flock, and made them stand aside to allow the contingent room to pass. They were a tall, fine-looking set of men, stouter, and apparently better fed, than their guards. They had no appearance of hard usage or ill treatment, and were marching quite cheerily towards the camp, probably anticipating a meal. The girls, drawn up in double line, thrilled with excitement as they passed.
"If one tried to run away would they shoot him?" asked Betty in an awed voice.
"Yes, the guards have their rifles all ready," replied Marjorie; "if one tried to escape he'd have a bullet through his back in a second—and quite right too! What's the matter, Chrissie?"
"Nothing—only it makes me feel queer."
"I feel queer when I remember how many of our own men are prisoners in Germany," declared Winifrede.
"Quietly, girls! And don't stare!" said Miss Norton. "We ought to pity these poor men. It is a terrible thing to be a prisoner of war."
"I don't pity them," grumbled Marjorie fiercely under her breath. "Perhaps they're the very ones who've been fighting Leonard's regiment."
"Yes, when one thinks of one's brothers, it doesn't make one love the Germans," whispered Winifrede.
"Love them!" flared Marjorie. "I wouldn't consciously speak to a German for ten thousand pounds, and if I happened by mistake to shake hands with one—well, I'd have to go and disinfect my hand afterwards!"
"Miss Norton's welcome to them if she pities them," said Betty from behind.
"Go on, girls, now!" came the teacher's voice, as the contingent tramped away into the camp.
"I'm disgusted with Miss Norton!" groused Marjorie. "Come along, Chrissie! What's the matter with you, old sport? Anybody'd think you'd seen a ghost instead of a batch of Germans. Why, you've gone quite pale!"
"I'm only tired," snapped Chrissie rather crossly. "You're always making remarks about something. I'm going to walk with Patricia."
"Oh, all right! Just as you please. I don't press myself on anybody. I'll walk with Winifrede again if she'll have me."
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The direct result of the potato walk to Mr. Briggs's farm was that a friendship sprang up between Winifrede and Marjorie. It was, of course, rather an exceptional friendship, involving condescension on the part of the head girl and frantic devotion on Marjorie's part. Six months ago it would not have been possible, for Winifrede's creed of exclusiveness had discouraged any familiarity with her juniors, and it was only in accordance with Mrs. Morrison's wishes that she had broken her barrier of reserve. She had, however, taken rather a fancy to Marjorie, and sometimes invited her into her study. To go and sit in Winifrede's tiny sanctum, to see her books, photographs, post cards, and other treasures, and to be regaled with cocoa and biscuits, was a privilege that raised Marjorie to the seventh heaven of bliss. Her impulsive, warm-hearted disposition made her apt to take up hot friendships, and for the present she worshipped Winifrede. To be singled out for favour by the head girl was in itself a distinction; but, apart from that, Marjorie keenly appreciated her society. She would wait about to do any little errand for her, would wash her brushes after theoil-painting lesson, sharpen her pencils, set butterflies for her, mount pressed flowers, or print out photographs. Winifrede was fond of entomology, and Marjorie, beforetime a lukewarm naturalist, now waxed enthusiastic in the collection of specimens. She was running one day in pursuit of a gorgeous dragon-fly through the little wood that skirted the playing-fields, and, with her eyes fixed on her elusive quarry, she almost tumbled over Chrissie, who was sitting by the side of the stream.
"Hallo!" said Marjorie, drawing herself up suddenly. "I didn't see you. As a matter of fact I wasn't looking where I was going."
"What are you doing here?" asked Chrissie.
Marjorie pointed to her butterfly-net.
"What are you doing here?" she returned.
"Reading."
Chrissie's eyes were red, and she blinked rapidly.
"You've been crying," said Marjorie tactlessly.
Her chum flushed crimson.
"I've not! I wish you'd just let me alone."
"Cheer oh! Don't get raggy, old sport!"
Chrissie turned away, and, opening her book, began to read.
"Will you come round the field with me?" asked Marjorie.
"No, thanks; I'd rather stay where I am."
"Oh, very well! I'm off. Ta-ta!"
This was not the first little tiff that had taken place between the two girls. Chrissie seemed to have changed lately. She was moody and self-absorbed, and ready to fire up on very slight provocation.Her devotion to Marjorie seemed to have somewhat waned. She scarcely ever made her presents now or wrote her notes. She was chatty enough in the dormitory, but saw little of her in recreation hours. Marjorie set this down to jealousy of her friendship with Winifrede. In her absorption in her head girl she had certainly not given Chrissie so much of her time as formerly. She walked along the field now rather soberly. She disliked quarrelling, but her own temper was hot as well as her chum's.
"I can't help it," she groused. "Chrissie's always taking offence. Everything I do seems to rub her the wrong way. She needn't think I'm going to give up Winifrede! I wish she'd be more sensible. Well, I don't care; I shall just take no notice and leave her to herself, and then she'll probably come round."
Marjorie's surmises proved correct, for Chrissie placed a dainty little bottle of scent and an enthusiastic note on her dressing-table that evening, the clouds blew over, and for a time, at any rate, matters were quite pleasant again. Constant little quarrels, however, wear holes in a friendship, and it was evident to St. Elgiva's that some cleavage had taken place.
"Chrissie and Marjorie seem a little off with the David and Jonathan business," commented Francie.
"Too hot to last, I fancy," returned Patricia. "Marjorie's got a new idol now."
One reason for the separation between the two girls was that, while Chrissie cared chiefly for tennis,Marjorie was a devotee of cricket, and was spending most of her spare time under the coaching of Stella Pearson, the games captain. She showed much promise in bowling, and was not without hopes of being put into her house eleven. To play for St. Elgiva's was an honour worth working for. It would be a great triumph to be able to write the news to her brothers.
Dona had not taken violently either to cricket or tennis, and beyond the compulsory practice never touched bat or ball, giving herself up entirely to Natural History study and Photography. She was not so energetic as her sister, and did not much care for running about. At half term, however, a new interest claimed her. The head gardener was taken ill, and Sister Johnstone assumed the responsibility for his work. She asked for helpers, and a number of girls volunteered their services, and occupied themselves busily about the grounds. They rolled and marked the tennis-courts, earthed up potatoes, put sticks for the peas, planted out cabbages, and weeded the drive.
It was the kind of work that appealed to Dona, and her satisfaction was complete when Mrs. Morrison excused her cricket practices for the purpose.
"I like gardening much better than games," she confided to Marjorie. "There's more to show for it. What have you got at the end of a whole term's cricket, I should like to know?"
"Honour, my child!" said Marjorie.
"Well, I shall have six rows of cauliflowers, and that's more to the point, especially in these hardtimes," twinkled Dona. "I consider it's I who am the patriotic one now. You're not helping the war by bowling with Stella, and every cauliflower of mine will go to feed a soldier."
"I thought the school was to eat them."
"They won't be ready till the holidays, so Sister Johnstone says they'll have to be sent to the Red Cross Hospital. We're going to gather the first crop of peas, though, to-night. You'll eat them at dinner to-morrow."
Two of the prefects, Meg Hutchinson and Gladys Butler, had joined the band of gardeners, and carried on operations with enthusiasm.
"I mean to go on the land as soon as I leave school," declared Meg. "My sister Molly's working at a farm in Herefordshire. She gets up at six every morning to feed the pigs and cows, breakfast is at eight, and then she goes round to look after the cattle in the fields. Dinner is at twelve, and after that she cleans harness, or takes the horses to be shod, and feeds the pigs and calves again. She loves it, and she's won her green armlet from the Government."
"My cousin's working at a market garden," said Gladys. "She bicycles over every morning from home. It's three miles away, so she has to start ever so early. She's got to know all about managing the tomato houses now. Once she'd a very funny experience. They sent her out for a day to tidy somebody's garden. She took a little can full of coffee with her, and some lunch in a basket. An old gentleman and lady came out to superintendthe gardening, and they seemed most staggered to find that she was a lady, and couldn't understand it at all; but they were very kind and sent her some tea into the greenhouse. Evidently they had debated whether to invite her into the drawing-room or not, but had turned tail at the thought of her thick boots on the best carpet. Nellie was so amused. She said she felt far too dirty after digging up borders to go indoors, and was most relieved that they didn't invite her. She had a tray full of all sorts of things in the greenhouse—cakes and jam and potted meat. The old lady asked her ever so many questions, and it turned out that they knew some mutual friends. Wasn't it funny?"
Mrs. Morrison was very pleased with the results of the girls' work in the garden. She declared that the tennis-courts had never looked better, and that the crop of vegetables was unusually fine.
"I can't give you armlets," she said, "though you thoroughly deserve them. I should like to have your photos taken in a group, to keep as a remembrance. I shall call you my 'Back to the Land Girls'."
At Brackenfield any wish expressed by the Empress was carried out if possible, so Muriel Adams, who possessed the best and biggest camera, was requisitioned to take the gardeners. They grouped themselves picturesquely round a wheelbarrow, some holding spades, rakes, or watering-cans, and others displaying their best specimens of carrots or cabbages. Sister Johnstone, in the middle, smiled benignly. The plate was duly developed,and a good print taken and handed round for inspection. Each girl, of course, declared that her own portrait was atrocious, but those of the others excellent, and it was unanimously decided to have a copy framed for presentation to Mrs. Morrison.
There was one advantage in belonging to the "Back to the Land Girls", they might visit the kitchen garden at any time they wished. It was forbidden ground to the rest of the school, so it was rather nice to be able to wander at will between the long lines of gooseberry bushes or rows of peas. Dona loved the fresh smell of it all, especially after rain. She spent every available moment there, for it was an excellent place for pursuing natural history study. She had many opportunities of observing birds or of catching moths and butterflies, and generally had a net handy. With a magnifying glass she often watched the movements of small insects. She had come in one afternoon for this purpose, and wandered down to a rather wild spot at the bottom of the garden. It was a small piece of rough ground surrounded by a high hedge, on the farther side of which the land sloped in a sharp decline. As Dona hunted about among the docks for caterpillars or other specimens, greatly to her surprise she saw a figure come pushing through the hedge. It wore a gym. costume and a St. Elgiva's hat, and, as the leaves parted, they revealed the face of Chrissie Lang. Her astonishment was evidently equal to Dona's. For a moment she flushed crimson, then turned the matter off airily.
"I've often thought I should like to see what was on the other side of that hedge," she remarked. "You get a nice view across the country."
"You'll lose three conduct marks if you're caught in the kitchen garden," remarked Dona drily. She was not remarkably fond of Chrissie, and did not see why anyone else should enjoy the privileges accorded to those who were working in the garden. "Meg Hutchinson's weeding cabbages up by the cucumber frames," she added.
"Thanks for telling me. I'll go out the other way. I've no particular wish to be pounced upon."
"What's that in your hand?" asked Dona. "A looking-glass, I declare! Well, Chrissie Lang, of all conceited people you really are the limit! Did you bring it out to admire your beauty?"
"I want to try a new way of doing my hair, and there's no peace in the dormitory."
"Can't you draw the curtains of your cubicle?"
"They'd peep round and laugh at me."
"Well, anyone would laugh at you more for bringing out a looking-glass into the garden. I think you're the silliest idiot I've ever met!"
"Thanks for the compliment!"
Chrissie strolled away, whistling jauntily to herself, and picking a gooseberry or two from the bushes as she passed. Dona frowned as she watched her—it was a point of honour with the Back to the Land Girls never to touch any of the fruit. By a heroic effort she refrained from running after Chrissie and giving a further unvarnished opinion of her. Instead, however, shewalked back up the other path. She found Meg Hutchinson and Gladys Butler sitting on the cucumber frame. It was in a high part of the garden, and commanded a good view over the country. Gladys had a pair of field-glasses, and with their aid could plainly make out the German camp on the hill opposite. She was quite excited.
"I can see the barbed wire," she declared, "and the tents, and I believe I can make out some things that look like figures. The focus of these glasses isn't very good. I wish we had a telescope."
"If they've field-glasses I expect they can see the school," said Meg.
"Oh, but they wouldn't let them have any, you may be sure!"
"Are they kept very strictly?" asked Dona.
"Of course. They're under military discipline," explained Meg.
"Would you like to take a peep?" said Gladys, offering the glasses. "You must screw this part round till it focuses right for your eyes. Can you see now?"
"Yes, beautifully. What are they doing?"
"Just lounging about I expect. I believe they have to do a certain amount of camp work, keep their tents tidy, and clean the pans and peel potatoes and that kind of thing, and they may play games."
"It's a pity we can't set them to work on the land," said Meg.
"They do in some places. I'm afraid it couldn't be managed here. So near the sea it would be far too easy for them to escape."
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Letters arrived at Brackenfield by an early post. They were inspected first by the house mistresses, and delivered immediately after breakfast to the girls, who generally flew out into the quadrangle or the grounds to devour them. Mrs. Anderson made it a rule to write to Marjorie and Dona alternately, and they would hand over their news to each other. On Tuesday morning Marjorie received the usual letter in her mother's handwriting, but to her surprise noticed that the postmark was "London" instead of "Silverwood". With a sudden misgiving she tore it open. It contained bad tidings. Larry, who had lately been sent to the front, had been wounded in action, and was in a military hospital in London. His mother had hurried up to town to see him, and had found him very ill. He was to undergo an operation on the following day.
"I shall remain here till the operation is over," wrote Mrs. Anderson. "I feel I must be near him while he is in such a dangerous condition. I will send you another bulletin to-morrow."
Marjorie went to find Dona, and in defiance of school etiquette walked boldly into Ethelberta's.She knew that on such an occasion she would not be reprimanded. Miss Jones, who happened to come into the room, comforted the two girls as best she could.
"While there is life there is hope," she said. "Many of our soldiers go through the most terrible operations and make wonderful recoveries. Surgeons nowadays are marvellously clever. My own brother was dangerously wounded last autumn, and is back in the trenches now."
"I shall think of Larry all day," sobbed Dona.
"Are they ever out of our thoughts?" said Miss Jones. "I believe we all do the whole of our work with the trenches always in the background of our minds. Most of us at Brackenfield simply live for news from the front."
There was great feeling for Marjorie in Dormitory No. 9. Betty had had a brother wounded earlier in the war, and Sylvia had lost a cousin, so they could understand her anxiety. Chrissie also offered sympathy.
"I know how wretched you must be," she said.
"Thanks," answered Marjorie. "It certainly makes one jumpy to have one's relations in the army."
"Isn't your brother fighting, Chrissie?" asked Betty.
"No," replied Chrissie briefly.
"But he must surely be of military age?"
"He's not very well at present."
Betty and Sylvia looked at each other. There was something mysterious about Chrissie's brother.She seldom alluded to him, and she had lately removed his photograph from her dressing-table. The girls always surmised that he must be a conscientious objector. They felt that it would be a terrible disgrace to own a relative who refused to defend his country. They were sorry for Chrissie, but it did not make them disposed to be any more friendly towards her.
To Marjorie the news about Larry came as a shock. It was the first casualty in the family. She now realized the grim horror of the war in a way that she had not done before. All that day she went about with the sense of a dark shadow haunting her. Next morning, however, the bulletin was better. The operation had been entirely successful, and the patient, though weak, was likely to recover.
"The doctor gives me very good hopes," wrote Mrs. Anderson. "Larry is having the best of skilled nursing, so we feel that everything possible is being done for him."
With a great weight off her mind, Marjorie handed the letter to Dona, and hurried off to look for Winifrede to tell her the good news. As she was not in the quadrangle, Marjorie went into the library on the chance of finding her there. The room was empty, though Miss Duckworth had just been in to put up fresh notices. Almost automatically Marjorie strolled up, and began to read them. A Roll of Honour was kept at Brackenfield, where the names of relations of past and present girls were recorded. It was rewritten every week, so as to keep it up to date. She knew that Larry would bementioned in this last list. Thank God that it was only among the wounded. The "killed" came first.
Adams, Captain N. H., 4th Staffordshires (fiancé of Dorothy Craig).Hunt, Captain J. C., Welsh Borderers (brother of Sophy Hunt).Jackson, Lieut. P., 3rd Lancashires (husband of Mabel Irving).Keary, Private P. L., Irish Brigade (brother of Eileen Keary).Preston, Private H., West Yorks (brother of Kathleen and Joyce Preston).
Adams, Captain N. H., 4th Staffordshires (fiancé of Dorothy Craig).
Hunt, Captain J. C., Welsh Borderers (brother of Sophy Hunt).
Jackson, Lieut. P., 3rd Lancashires (husband of Mabel Irving).
Keary, Private P. L., Irish Brigade (brother of Eileen Keary).
Preston, Private H., West Yorks (brother of Kathleen and Joyce Preston).
Marjorie stopped suddenly. Private Preston—the humorous dark-eyed young soldier whose acquaintance she had made in the train, and renewed in the Red Cross Hospital. Surely it could not be he! Alas! it was only too plain. She knew he was the brother of Kathleen and Joyce Preston, for he had himself mentioned that his sisters used to be at Brackenfield. Also he was certainly in the West Yorkshire regiment. This bright, strong, clever, capable young life sacrificed! Marjorie felt as if she had received a personal blow. Oh, the war was cruel—cruel! Death was picking England's fairest flowers indeed. A certain chapter in her life, which had seemed to promise many very sweet hopes, was now for ever closed.
"They might have put his V.C. on the list," she said to herself. "I wish I knew where he's buried. I shall never forget him—though I only saw him twice. He was quite different from anyone else I've ever met."
Somehow Marjorie did not feel capable of mentioningPrivate Preston to anybody, even to Dona. She had kept the little newspaper photograph of him which had been cut out of theOnlooker, when he won his V.C. She enclosed it in an envelope and put it within the leaves of her Bible. That seemed the most appropriate place for it. She could not leave it amongst the portraits of her other war heroes, for fear her room-mates might refer to it. To discuss him now with Betty or Sylvia would be a desecration. His death was a wound that would not bear handling. For some days afterwards she was unusually quiet. The girls thought she was fretting about her brother, and tried to cheer her up, for Larry's bulletins were excellent, and he seemed to be making a wonderful recovery.
"He is to leave the military hospital in a fortnight," wrote Mrs. Anderson, "and be transferred to a Red Cross hospital. We are using all our influence to get him sent to Whitecliffe, where Aunt Ellinor and Elaine could specially look after him."
To have Larry at Whitecliffe would indeed be a cause for rejoicing. Marjorie could picture the spoiling he would receive at the Red Cross Hospital. She wondered if he would have the same bed that had been occupied by Private Preston. It was No. 17, she remembered. "One shall be taken, and the other left," she thought. For Larry there was the glad welcome and the nursing back to life and health, and for that other brave boy a grave in a foreign land. Some lines from a little volume of verses flashed to her memory. Theyhad struck her attention only a week before, and she had learnt them by heart.
"For us—The parting and the sorrow;For him—'God speed!'One fight,—A noble deed,—'Good-night!'And no to-morrow.Where he is,In Thy PeaceTime is not,Nor smallest sorrow."
"For us—The parting and the sorrow;For him—'God speed!'One fight,—A noble deed,—'Good-night!'And no to-morrow.Where he is,In Thy PeaceTime is not,Nor smallest sorrow."
"For us—The parting and the sorrow;For him—'God speed!'One fight,—A noble deed,—'Good-night!'And no to-morrow.Where he is,In Thy PeaceTime is not,Nor smallest sorrow."
Marjorie was almost glad that on her next exeat at The Tamarisks Elaine was away from home. She was afraid her cousin might speak of Private Preston, and she did not wish to mention his name again.
"I'm afraid you'll be dull this afternoon without Elaine," said Aunt Ellinor; "and I'm obliged to attend a committee meeting at the Food Control Bureau. I've arranged for Hodson to take you out. Where would you like to go? To Whitecliffe, and have tea at the café? You must choose exactly what you think would be nicest."
As the girls wished to do a little shopping, they decided to visit Whitecliffe first, have an early tea at the café, and then take a walk on the moor, ending at Brackenfield, where Hodson would leave them.
"That's all right, then," said Mrs. Trafford. "I'm sorry I can't be with you myself to-day. Get some sweets at the café and have some ices ifyou like. I must hurry away now to my committee. Hodson won't keep you waiting long; I've told her to get ready."
Left alone, the girls grumbled a little at the necessity of taking an escort with them.
"At fourteen and sixteen we surely don't need a nursemaid," sniffed Marjorie. "It's a perfectly ridiculous rule that we mayn't walk ten yards by ourselves, even when we're out for the afternoon. We might be interned Germans or conscientious objectors if somebody always has to mount guard over us. What does the Empress think we're going to do, I wonder?"
"Ask airmen for autographs, or snowball soldiers!" twinkled Dona.
"Oh, surely she's forgotten those old crimes now!"
"I wouldn't be sure. The Empress has a long memory. Besides, the rule's for everybody, not only for us."
"I know. Patricia was horribly savage last week. An officer cousin was over in Whitecliffe, and she wasn't allowed to go and meet him, because no one could be spared to act chaperon."
"Some friends asked Mona to tea to-day, and the Empress wouldn't let her accept. We only go to Auntie's every fortnight because Mother specially stipulated that we should."
"I'm jolly glad she did. It makes such a change."
"I wish Hodson would hurry up!"
Hodson, the housemaid, took a considerable timeto don her outdoor garments, but she proclaimed herself ready at last. She was a tall, middle-aged woman in spectacles, with large teeth, and showed her gums when she talked. She spoke in a slow, melancholy voice, and, to judge from her depressed expression, evidently considered herself a martyr for the afternoon. She was hardly the companion the girls would have selected, but they had to make the best of her. It would be amusing, at any rate, to go in to Whitecliffe. Marjorie had her camera, and wished to take some photographs.
"I've just two films left," she said, "so I'll use those on the way down, and then get a fresh dozen put in at the Stores. Let us go by the high road, so that we can pass the kiosk and ask about Eric."
The attendant at the lemonade stall smiled brightly at mention of the little fellow.
"I saw his pram go by an hour ago, and ran out and gave him your last parcel," she informed them. "You'll very likely see him down in Whitecliffe. He left his love for you."
"I hope we shan't miss him," said Dona.
Round the very next turn of the road, however, the girls met the invalid carriage coming up from the town. It was loaded as usual with many packages, over the top of which Eric's small white face peered out. He waved a gleeful welcome at the sight of his fairy ladies.
"I've read all the stories you sent me," he began, "and I've nearly finished chalking the painting-book. I like those post cards of fairies. I've put them all in the post-card album."
"He thinks such a lot of the things you send him," volunteered Lizzie. "His ma says she doesn't know how to thank you. It keeps him amused for hours to have those chalks and puzzles. He sings away to himself over them, as happy as a king."
"I'd like to take his photo while I've got the camera with me," said Marjorie. "Can you turn the pram round a little—so? That's better. I don't want the sun right in his face, it makes him screw up his eyes. Now, Eric, look at me, and put on your best smile. I'm just going——"
"Wait a moment," interrupted Dona. "Look what's coming up the road. You've only two films, remember!"
A contingent of German prisoners were being marched from the station to the camp on the moors. They were tramping along under an escort of soldiers.
"Oh, I must snap them!" exclaimed Marjorie. "But I'll have Eric in the photo too. I can just get them all in."
She moved her position slightly, and pressed her button, then, rapidly winding on the films to the next number, took a second snapshot.
"The light was excellent, and they ought to come out," she triumphed. "How jolly to have got a photo of the prisoners! Eric, you were looking just fine."
"We must be getting on home," said Lizzie. "I've a lot of cleaning to do this afternoon when I get back. Say good-bye to the ladies, Eric."
The little fellow held up his face to be kissed,and Marjorie and Dona hugged him, regardless of spectators on the road.
"You dear wee thing, take care of yourself," said Dona. "Call at the kiosk next time you pass, and perhaps another parcel will have arrived from fairyland."
"I know who the fairies are!" laughed Eric, as his perambulator moved away.
Escorted by the melancholy Hodson, the girls passed a pleasant enough afternoon in Whitecliffe. They visited several shops, and had as good a tea at the café as the rationing order allowed, supplementing the rather scanty supply with ices and sweets. It was much too early yet to return to Brackenfield, so they suggested making a detour round the moors, and ending up at school. Hodson acquiesced in her usual lack-lustre manner.
"I'm a good walker, miss," she volunteered. "I don't mind where you go. It's all the same to me, as long as I see you back into school by six o'clock. Mrs. Trafford said I wasn't to let you be late. I've brought my watch with me."
"And we've got ours. It's all right, Hodson, we'll keep an eye on the time."
It was a relief to know that Hodson was a good walker. They felt justified in giving her a little exercise. They were quite fresh themselves, and ready for a country tramp. They left the town by a short cut, and climbed up the cliff side on to the moors. Though they knew Eric would not be there that afternoon, they nevertheless determined to visit their favourite cove. It was an excellent place forflowers, and Dona hoped that she might find a few fresh specimens there.
The girls had reached their old trysting-place, and were gathering some cranesbill geraniums, when a figure suddenly climbed the wall opposite, and dropped down into the road. To their immense amazement it was Miss Norton. She stopped at the sight of her pupils and looked profoundly embarrassed, whether at being caught in the undignified act of scrambling over a wall, or for some other reason, they could not judge.
"Oh! I was just taking a little ramble over the moors," she explained. "The air's very pleasant this afternoon, isn't it?"
"Yes," replied Marjorie briefly. She could think of nothing else to say.
Miss Norton nodded, and passed on without further remark. The girls stood watching her as she walked down the road.
"What's Norty doing up here?" queried Marjorie. "She's not fond of natural history, and she doesn't much like walks."
"She's going towards the village."
"I vote we go too."
They had never yet been to the village, and though Elaine had described it as not worth visiting, they felt curious to see it. It turned out to be a straggling row of rather slummy-looking cottages, with a post office, a general shop, and a public-house. Miss Norton must have already passed through it, for she was nowhere to be seen. Dona stood for a moment gazing into the window of theshop, where a variety of miscellaneous articles were displayed.
"They've actually got Paradise drops!" she murmured. "I haven't bought any for months. I'm going to get some for Ailsa."
Followed by the faithful Hodson, the girls entered the shop. While Dona made her purchase, Marjorie stood by the counter, staring idly out into the road. She saw the door of the post office open, and Miss Norton appeared. The mistress looked carefully up and down the village, then walked hurriedly across the road, and bolted into "The Royal George" opposite. Marjorie gasped. That the august house mistress of St. Elgiva's should visit an obscure and second-rate public-house was surely a most unusual circumstance. She could not understand it at all. She discussed it with Dona on the way back.
"Wanted some ginger pop, perhaps," suggested Dona.
"She could have got that at the shop. They had a whole case of bottles. No, Dona, there's something funny about it. The fact is, I'm afraid Miss Norton is a pro-German. She was sympathizing ever so much with those prisoners who were being marched into camp. She may have come here to leave some message for them. You know it was never found out who put that lamp in the Observatory window; it was certainly a signal, and I had seen Norty up there. I've had my eye on her ever since, in case she's a spy."
"She can talk German jolly well," observed Dona.
"I know she can. She's spent two years in Germany, and said it was the happiest time of her life. She can't be patriotic at heart to say that. Do you know, Winifrede told me that a few days ago she and Jean had noticed such a queer light dancing about on the hills near the camp. It was just as if somebody was heliographing."
"What's heliographing?"
"Dona, you little stupid, you know that! Why, it's signalling by flashing lights. There's a regular code. It's done with a mirror. Well, Brackenfield is right opposite the camp, and it would be quite possible for Norty to be helioing to the prisoners. They're always on the look-out for somebody to communicate with them and help them to escape. I suppose there are hundreds of spies going about in England, and no one knows who they are. They just pass for ordinary innocent kind of people, but they ask all kinds of questions, and pick up scraps of information that will be useful to the enemy. How is it that most of our secrets appear in the Berlin papers? There must be treachery going on somewhere. It's generally in very unsuspected places. One of the teachers in a school might just as well as not be a spy."
"How dreadful!" shuddered Dona.
"Well, you never know. Of course, they don't go about labelled 'In the pay of the Kaiser', but there must be a great many people—English too, all shame to them!—who are receiving money from Germany to betray their country."
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When Marjorie took an idea into her head it generally for the time filled the whole of her mental horizon. She had never liked Miss Norton, and she now mistrusted her. The evidence that she had to go upon was certainly very slight, but, as Marjorie argued, "Straws show how the wind blows", and anyone capable of sympathizing with Germans might also be capable of assisting them. She felt somewhat in the position of Hamlet, doubting whether she had really surprised a dark secret or not, and anxious for more circumstantial evidence before she told others of her suspicions. She strictly charged Dona not to mention meeting Miss Norton in the little hamlet of Sandside, which Dona readily promised. She was not imaginative, and was at present far more interested in rows of cauliflowers or specimens of seaweeds than in problematical German spies.
Marjorie, with several detective stories fresh in her memory, determined to go to work craftily. She set little traps for Miss Norton. She would casually ask her questions about Germany, or about prisoners of war, to judge by her answers where hersympathies lay. The mistress, however, was evidently on her guard, and replied in terms of caution. One thing Marjorie learned which she considered might be a suspicious circumstance. Miss Norton received many letters from abroad. She had given foreign stamps to Rose Butler, who had seen her tear them off envelopes marked "Opened by the censor". The stamps were from Egypt, Malta, Switzerland, Spain, Holland, and Buenos Ayres, a strange variety of places in which to have correspondents, so thought Marjorie.
"Of course they're opened by the censor, but who knows if there isn't a secret cipher under the guise of an ordinary letter? They may have all kinds of treasonable secrets in them. Norty might get information and send it to those friends in foreign countries, and they would telegraph it in code through a neutral country to Berlin."
She ascertained through one of the prefects that Miss Norton intended to spend her holidays in the Isle of Wight. This again seemed extraordinary, for the teacher notoriously suffered greatly from the heat in summer, and yearned for a bracing climate such as that of Scotland; further, she was nervous about air raids, so that the south coast would surely be a very unsuitable spot to select for one who wished to take a restful vacation. Patricia, whose parents had been on a visit to Whitecliffe, and had taken her out on a Saturday afternoon, reported that at the hotel some foreigners—presumably Belgians—were staying, and that she had noticedMiss Norton drinking coffee with them in the lounge.
"Are you sure they were Belgians?" asked Marjorie with assumed carelessness.
"Why, the people in the hotel said so."
"What were they like?"
"Oh, fair and rather fat! One of them was a Madame Moeller. She played the piano beautifully; everybody came flocking into the lounge to listen to her."
"Moeller doesn't sound like a French name."
"Well, I said they were Belgians."
"It has rather a German smack about it. What language were they speaking to each other?"
"Something I couldn't understand. Not French, certainly."
"Was it German?"
"I don't know any German, so I can't tell. It might have been Flemish."
Marjorie several times felt tempted to confide her suspicions to Winifrede, but her courage never rose to the required point. She had an instinct that the head girl would pooh-pooh the whole matter, and either call her a ridiculous child, or be rather angry with her for harbouring such ideas about her house mistress. Winifrede liked to lead, and was never very ready to adopt other people's opinions; it was improbable that she would listen readily to the views of an Intermediate, even of one whom she was patronizing. A head girl is somewhat in the position of the lion in Æsop's fables: it is unwise to offend her. Knowing Winifrede's disposition,Marjorie dared not risk a breach of the very desirable intimacy which at present existed between them. She yearned, however, for a confidante. The burden of her suspicions was heavy to bear alone, and she felt that sometimes two heads were better than one. Except on exeat days she saw little of Dona, and discussing matters with that rather stolid little person was not a very exhilarating performance. In her dilemma she turned to Chrissie. The two had shared the secret of the Observatory window, and Chrissie, one of the most enthusiastic members of their patriotic society, would surely understand and sympathize where Winifrede might laugh or scold. Marjorie felt that she had lately rather neglected her chum. Their squabbles had caused frequent coolnesses, and each had been going her own way. She now made an opportunity to walk with Chrissie down the dingle, and confided to her the whole story of her doubts. Her chum listened very attentively.
"It looks queer!" she commented. "Yes, more than queer! I always set Miss Norton down as a pro-German. Those foreign letters ought to be investigated. I wish I could get hold of some of them. It's our duty to look after this, Marjorie. You're patriotic? Well, so am I. We may be able to render a great service to our country if we can track down a spy. We'll set all our energies to work."
"What are we going to do?" asked Marjorie, much impressed.
"Leave it to me, and I'll think out a plan ofcampaign. These things are a battle of brains. She's clever, and we've got to outwit her. Who were those foreigners she was talking to in the hotel, I should like to know?"
"That was just what I thought."
"For a beginning we must try to draw her out. Oh, don't ask her questions about her German sympathies, that's too clumsy! She'd see through that in a moment. Let's work the conversation round to military matters and munitions, and get the girls to tell all they've heard of news from the front, and watch whether Norty isn't just snapping it up."
"Wouldn't that be letting her get to know too much?"
"Well, one's obliged to risk something. If you're over-cautious you never get anything done."
"Yes, I suppose you're right. We'll try on Sunday evening after supper. She always comes into the sitting-room for a chat with us then."
Chrissie seemed to have taken up the matter with the greatest keenness. She was evidently in dead earnest about it. Marjorie was agreeably surprised, and on the strength of this mutual confidence her old affection for her chum revived. Once more they went about the school arm in arm, sat next to each other at tea, and wrote each other private little notes. St. Elgiva's smiled again, but the girls by this time were accustomed to Marjorie's very impulsive and rather erratic ways, and did not take her infatuations too seriously.
"Quarrelled with Winifrede?" enquired Patriciahumorously. "I thought you were worshipping at her shrine at present."
"Marjorie is a pagan," laughed Rose Butler. "She bows down to many idols."
"I should call Winifrede a more desirable goddess than Chrissie," added Irene.
"Go on, tease me as much as you like!" declared Marjorie. "You're only jealous."
"Jealous! Jealous of Chrissie Lang! Great Minerva!" ejaculated Irene eloquently.
It was about two days after this that Marjorie, passing down the corridor from Dormitory No. 9, came suddenly upon Chrissie issuing out of Miss Norton's bedroom. Marjorie stopped in supreme amazement. Mistresses' rooms were sacred at Brackenfield, unless by special invitation. Miss Norton was not disposed to intimacy, and it was not in the knowledge of St. Elgiva's that she had admitted any girl into her private sanctum.
"Did Norty send for you there?" questioned Marjorie in a whisper.
"Sh, sh!" replied Chrissie. "Come back with me into the dormitory."
She drew her friend inside her cubicle, looked round the room to see that they were alone, then patted her pocket and smiled.
"I've got them!" she triumphed.
"Got what?"
"Norty's foreign letters, or some of them at any rate."
"Chris! You never went into her room and took them?"
"That's exactly what I did, old sport! I'm going to look them over, and put them back before she finds out."
Marjorie gasped.
"But look here! It doesn't seem quite—straight, somehow."
"Can't be helped in the circumstances," replied Chrissie laconically. "We've got to outwit her somehow. It's a case of 'Greek meets Greek'. How else are we to find out anything?"
"I don't know."
The idea of entering a teacher's bedroom and taking and reading her private correspondence was intensely repugnant to Marjorie. Her face betrayed her feeling.
"You'd never do on secret service," said Chrissie, shaking her head. "I thought you were patriotic enough to dare anything for the sake of your country. Go downstairs if you don't want to see these letters. I'll read them by myself."
"I wish you'd put them back at once," urged Marjorie.
"Not till I know what's in them. Here comes Betty! I'm going to scoot. Ta-ta!"
Marjorie followed Chrissie downstairs, but did not join her in the garden. She was not happy about this latest development of affairs. It was one thing to watch Miss Norton by legitimate methods, and quite another to try underhand ways. She wondered whether the service of her country really demanded such a sacrifice of honour. For a moment she felt desperately tempted to run to Winifrede'sstudy, explain the whole situation, and ask her opinion, but she remembered that Winifrede would be writing her weekly essay and would hardly welcome a visitor, or have time to listen to the rather lengthy story which she must pour out. After all, it was an affair that her own conscience must decide. She purposely avoided Chrissie all the evening, while she thought it over. Having slept upon the question, she came to a decision.
"Chris," she said, catching her chum privately after breakfast, "I vote we don't do any more sneaking tricks."
"Sneaking?" Chrissie's eyebrows went up high.
"Yes, you know what I mean. We'll keep a look-out on Norty, but no more taking of letters, please."
Chrissie gazed at her chum with rather an inscrutable expression.
"Right oh! Just as you like. We'll shelve that part of the information bureau and work on other lines. I'm quite agreeable."
That particular day happened to be Miss Broadway's birthday. She lived at St. Elgiva's, so the girls determined to give a little jollification that evening in her honour. There would not be time for much in the way of festivities, but there was a free half-hour after supper, when they could have the recreation room to themselves. It was to be a private affair for their own hostel, and only the mistresses who resided there were invited. The entertainment was to consist of a magic lantern show. Photography had raged lately as a hobbyamong the Intermediates, and several of them had taken to making lantern slides. Patricia—an indulged only daughter—had persuaded her father to buy her a lantern; it had just arrived, and she was extremely anxious to test its capabilities. She put up her screen and made her preparations during the afternoon, so that when supper was over all was in readiness, and her audience took their places without delay.
Miss Norton, Miss Parker, and Miss Broadway had specially reserved chairs in the front row, and the girls filled up the rest of the room. Some of them, to obtain a better view, squatted on the floor in front of the chairs, Chrissie and Marjorie being among the number. The lantern worked beautifully; Patricia made a capital little operator, and managed to focus very clearly. She first of all showed sets of bought slides, scenes from Italy and Switzerland and photos of various regiments, and when these were finished she turned to the slides which she and her chums had made themselves. There were capital pictures of the school, the cricket eleven, the hockey team, the quadrangle in the snow, the gardening assistants, and the tennis champions. They were received with much applause, Miss Norton in particular congratulating the amateur photographers on their successful efforts.
"We haven't had time to do very many," said Patricia, "but I've got just a few more here. This is a good clear one, and interesting too."
The picture which she now threw on the screen showed the road leading to Whitecliffe, up which acontingent of German prisoners appeared, guarded by soldiers. In the foreground was a long perambulator holding a little boy propped up with pillows. It was an excellent photograph, for the contingent had been caught just at the right moment as it faced the camera; both prisoners and guards had come out with remarkable clearness. Something impelled Marjorie to glance at Miss Norton. The house mistress was gazing at the picture with an expression of amazed horror in her eyes. She turned quickly to Irene, who was squatting at her feet, and asked: "Who took that photo?"
"Marjorie Anderson took it, but I made the lantern slide from her film," answered Irene proudly. "We think it's quite one of the best."
"I suppose it was just a snapshot as she stood by the roadside?"
"Yes; it was a very lucky one, wasn't it?"
Marjorie, sitting close by, nudged Chrissie, but did not speak. Miss Norton made no further remark, and Patricia put on the next slide. Afterwards, in the corridor, Marjorie whispered excitedly to Chrissie:
"Did you notice Norty's face? She was quite upset by my photo of the German prisoners."
"Yes, I noticed her."
"Significant, wasn't it?"
"Rather!"
"It's like the play scene inHamlet. It seems to me she gave herself away."
"She was taken unawares."
"Just as the King and Queen were. You remember how Hamlet watched them all the time? What's happened to-night only confirms our suspicions."
"It does indeed!"
"Perhaps some of her German friends were among the prisoners and she recognized them."
"It's possible."
"Well, it evidently gave her a great shock, and that would account for it."
"The plot thickens!"
"It thickens very much indeed. I'm not sure if we oughtn't to tell somebody."
"No, no! Not on any account!"
"You think so?"
"I'm certain of it. You'll spoil everything if you go blabbing!"
"Well, I won't, if you'd rather not; but I'm just longing to ask Winifrede what she thinks about it all," said Marjorie regretfully.
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