"We shan't forget you, dear," said Mrs. Hewlitt to Loveday, as she saw them off. "You must come and see us again some time—perhaps inAmerica. Take care of my little Diana for me—won't you?"
"I will—I will, indeed! Oh, I don't know how to thank you! It's been just the absolute time of my life!" said Loveday, leaning out of the carriage window as she waved good-bye.
With the summer term came a period of great outdoor activity at Pendlemere. Miss Chadwick, Miss Carr, and Miss Ormrod were tremendously busy on the land, and gave the school a thorough initiation into the principles of gardening. The girls studied birds, noted what insects they ate, and how useful they were in a garden; they learned the life-histories of certain insects, and the causes of some plant diseases; they organized an amateur weather bureau, and kept charts of the progress of their crops. Everybody agreed that the new regime was much more interesting than that of the old days when the gardening had all been done for them, and they had only lounged about the lawn and played tennis. Each flower seemed twice as beautiful when they had helped to grow it, and the vegetables of their own cultivation were voted prize-winners.
Diana, in consideration of her great love for horses, was allowed to give some assistance in Baron's toilet, and even sometimes to drive him, a privilege (dependent on good behaviour) which made her supremely happy.
On the whole, though Miss Todd was undoubtedly rather strict, the girls decided that the school was jollier than in Mrs. Gifford's days. They did not forget their former Principal, who wrote to them sometimes from her new home and told them about her life in Burma, but they had accepted the changed conditions, and had grown to like them. The outdoor department seemed to bring a much wider current of life into Pendlemere. Miss Chadwick and her two assistants were thoroughly modern, and would discuss all sorts of up-to-date problems, so that the school kept in touch with the outside world instead of living in the narrow rut of its own little round of lessons and amusements. This term four elder students had come, principally to study gardening under Miss Chadwick. They were girls of eighteen and nineteen, who, instead of being placed among the school, took somewhat the position of the old-fashioned "parlour boarder" of sixty years ago, and were on terms of intimacy with the mistresses. Naturally they were the envy and admiration of those less fortunate beings who were still only ordinary pupils. They were good-natured to the schoolgirls, but held themselves a little aloof. Sometimes, in a rather superior manner, they would condescend to be friendly. Each had her own train of worshippers. The prettiest and most attractive of the four was Adeline Hoyle, a tall, fine-looking girl with dark eyes, a very fair skin, and thick coils of brown hair twisted into a classicknot. There was a calm dignity about her and a charm of manner that was exceedingly taking. It bowled over Diana's heart entirely. She took a sudden and most violent affection for Adeline. She would hang about to try to get a word with her, flush crimson at the slightest notice from her idol, and was ready to perform anything in the way of odd jobs. She even took up sewing—a much neglected part of her education—in order to embroider a handkerchief-case as a birthday offering. It is an exhilarating, but rather wearing process to be violently in love, especially when you are decidedly doubtful as to whether the loved object in the least appreciates your attentions. Adeline would accept Diana's sweets or flowers with a kind "Thank you", and then pat her on the shoulder and tell her to run away. She would sometimes allow her to link arms in the garden, but it was suffered with an air of amused tolerance. It was obvious that she very much preferred the society of Hilary, who was nearer her own age, and that she regarded intermediates as mere children. Diana, who was eccentric in her likes and dislikes, but very keen when she took a fancy to anybody, went through all the stages of longing, hope, elation, despair, and jealousy. When she saw Hilary received into supreme favour, the green-eyed monster swooped down and took possession of her. Loveday, who had watched the progress of the affair with some distress, offered what consolation she could in the sanctuary of the ivy room.
"Adeline's really very good to you," she comforted.
"Yes, but she doesn't care twopence," raged Diana. "I know she's nice and kind and all that, but she loves me with the love she'd give to a distressed negro or a starved cat. I want her towantme—and she doesn't one little bit! She just tolerates me sometimes, and that's all. What she can see in Hilary I can't imagine. I think Hilary's the most detestable girl in the school. I always have disliked her. Ihateher now!"
"Some people say that hating anybody sends out 'thought-forms' like hideous daggers into the invisible world, and they do dreadful harm, and in the end they come back to their owners like curses. Can't you manage to send out some prettier thoughts?"
"No, Loveday Seton; I can't, and won't, and shan't!" said Diana emphatically, screwing up mouth and eyes into one of her ugliest faces. "I'm not going to pretend I like Hilary when I don't—that would be a fiblet and worse than red daggers. Yes, you can call me naughty if you like. I've got to the stage when I don't care."
Knowing by experience that Diana generally received suggestions in this way, but sometimes ruminated over her remarks afterwards, Loveday shelved the question of thought-forms and their possible ill effects, and petted her spoilt room-mate instead till she cajoled her into a better temper. The green-eyed monster still reigned, however,and Diana sat at tea-time flashing, if not red daggers, very obvious untoward glances, as she caught a smile of comprehension pass between Adeline and Hilary. Nobody had time to take much notice of her heroics.
Everyone was too busy discussing school affairs. The very latest news was that the boat-house was at last to be unlocked, the boat thoroughly overhauled and painted, and that mistresses and students would go rowing on the lake. A rumour even began to circulate that certain favoured members of the school might be taken as passengers.
"We used when Mrs. Gifford was here," said Wendy. "She often got Mr. Thwaites from the village to come and row us. It was top-hole. And once he let Tattie and me try to row, but I 'caught a crab' and dropped the oar. I'd soon learn though, if I'd another chance."
"We ought to have two or three boats," decided Sadie.
"One for each form," amended Vi.
"You bet it's only seniors who'll have any luck," groused Diana, who was still in the depths of despondency.
"There's no knowing," said Jess hopefully.
Though they might not be certain of sharing in the pleasure of navigating the lake, there was at least an element of anticipation in the matter. It was just possible that some fine day Miss Todd might say to one of them: "Put on your jersey and you may go for a row". They felt it wasone of those sporting chances that sometimes turn up in a life. They hung about the boat-house wistfully when Mr. Appleton from Glenbury did his task of overhauling, and if he went away for a few minutes they took advantage of his absence to scramble in and sit inside the boat and imagine how delightful it would feel to be really on the water. They began to practise boat-songs, just to be ready for any emergency, and would sit on the landing-place singing "Row, brothers, row!" or "My barque is on the shore".
It was very exciting when repairs got to the painting stage, especially when Diana did not notice, and took a leap inside, with equal disaster to Mr. Appleton's nice coat of paint and her own serge skirt. Great was the day when thePeverilat last was dry, and Mr. Appleton launched her himself on the lake, and took Miss Todd, Miss Beverley, and Miss Chadwick for a trial trip. The school, watching enviously from the bank, decided that nothing but a steamer, or a small fleet of rowboats could satisfy its demands. They considered rowing ought to be a part of every girl's education.
As Diana had prophesied, the intermediates came in for no luck. Miss Chadwick and her assistants, with the four gardening students, monopolized thePeveril. They took Miss Todd, Miss Beverley, and Miss Hampson out for airings on the lake; occasionally a senior was invited, and once the four youngest girls in the school were given a brief treat. All the rest had just to look onand long. Diana, indeed, extorted a sort of half promise from Adeline that some time, when it was convenient, and if she was not too busy, and if nobody else wanted the boat, she would let her realize her ambition, but so far this promise had remained an empty one, a vague invitation that meant nothing. Diana, catching Adeline in the garden one afternoon, made a desperate effort to obtain its fulfilment.
DIANA CALLED AND SHOUTED TO THEM. THEY TOOK NO NOTICE.DIANA CALLED AND SHOUTED TO THEM. THEY TOOK NO NOTICE.
"Just for ten minutes," she pleaded.
"I'm so busy," evaded Adeline. "I've got seedlings to plant out, and really haven't time to take people on the lake. What a bother you are, Diana!"
"You said you would some time."
"Well, so I will; but the time isn't to-day. I've other things to do."
"May I help you to plant the seedlings?"
"No indeed! They need very delicate handling, and I'm responsible to Miss Chadwick for them. Why don't you go and help Miss Carr?"
With a decidedly snubbed feeling Diana strolled away, not to help Miss Carr, for it was recreation hour, and she felt at liberty to employ her leisure as she liked, but to find Wendy or some other congenial spirit. Wendy, Sadie, and Vi, however, had gone to the village with Miss Ormrod, and Tattie, Jess, Magsie, and Peggy occupied the tennis-court. Diana was the only one of the intermediates left out. She felt exceedingly aggrieved. She stood for a while watching the set; but lookingon at tennis is never very amusing, so she wended her solitary way into the house to fetch a book. Down the corridor bustled Miss Hampson in a hurry.
"Diana! I was just wanting somebody, and you'll do. Will you go and tell Adeline that Miss Todd wishes to speak to her as soon as she's finished in the greenhouse?"
Miss Hampson, with her arms full of exercise books to correct, disappeared into the senior room, and Diana departed on her errand. Adeline was not in the greenhouse. She had not even begun to transplant the seedlings, though the pots and the soil were ready. Diana waited a few minutes to see if she would come, then went in quest of her. Bobbing briskly down the shrubbery path were two heads, a dark one with hair in a classic knot, and a fair one with a pig-tail. They could just be distinguished above the line of the laurels. Diana put her hands to her mouth and called:
"Ad—el—ine!"
The heads turned for a moment to look, then scuttled on with the utmost rapidity. Diana, following, caught a glimpse of two figures whisking past the boat-house to the landing-place. She stopped dead.
"So it's Hilary Adeline's taking with her. And they're going in the boat. Well, of all mean things this is the limit! Adeline hadn't time to take people on the lake, and wanted to plant seedlings. That's why she was so anxious to send me off to help MissCarr. If she won't listen when I call to herI'm not going to bother to give her Miss Hampson's message. I don't suppose Miss Todd wants her about anything important. I'm fed up!"
A very disconsolate and indignant Diana once more walked up the garden; the green-eyed monster was sitting on her back and digging in his disagreeable talons pretty deeply; he was anything but a bright companion. She wandered aimlessly round the orchard, and finally came across Miss Carr and Loveday carrying out food to the chickens. They were chatting as she met them, and the words drifted to her between the apple-trees.
"So Mr. Appleton said it really wasn't safe at all, and Miss Todd had better let nobody take her out till he could come up. He'd try to come this evening, but he wasn't sure if he'd manage it because—why, Diana, what's the matter?"
"Is it the boat you're talking about?" demanded a breathless, excited little figure.
"Yes—but why? Diana! What is it? Di—an—a!"
Loveday spoke to the winds, for already her room-mate was half-way down the orchard. Diana's feet were trying to keep pace with her whirling brain. The boat was unsafe! That, no doubt, was the message that Miss Todd had intended for Adeline. If she had not already started it might be possible to stop her, or at any rate to call her back. She raced along the shrubbery and down the bank to the landing-place. But Adeline andHilary had wasted no time, and were already quite a considerable way out on the lake. Diana called and shouted to them. They turned their heads to look, evidently laughed, and took no notice. It was plain that they thought Diana wished them to return and take her for a row, and that they had no intention of any such philanthropic course of action. On the landing-place Diana raged. If thePeverilwere really unsafe every stroke of the oar was taking Adeline and Hilary into greater danger. How could she possibly make them understand? The more she called, the more they would row away.
Then a very desperate idea occurred to her, so desperate that only a harum-scarum like Diana would have thought of it. She would swim out towards them, and when they saw her in the water they would probably turn and come back. She pulled off her skirt and her shoes. Now Diana was not a very expert swimmer; it was indeed two years since she had had any practice, and that had been in the sea, which is easier than fresh water. She never thought of these particulars, however, but, putting her hands together, dived off the landing-place just as Loveday turned the corner of the boat-house. It was very cold, indeed, in the water, far colder than she had expected; it made her gasp for breath, and sent a numbness into her limbs. She struggled on, however, with brave strokes.
"Di—ana!" screamed Loveday's agitated voice behind her.
The girls in the boat were not even looking. How fearfully cold it was! It was difficult to hold up her head properly and see where she was going. She had thought swimming was so easy. A few more strokes and something seemed to be twining round her. She had dashed into some waterweeds, and their clammy stems clutched her like dead fingers. She made a desperate effort to free herself; down went her head, and next moment she was gulping, struggling, and shrieking for help. There was a splash behind from the landing-place as Loveday plunged to the rescue; the occupants of the boat also, at last looking and realizing the seriousness of the situation, began to row in her direction as fast as they could pull. They were some distance off, however, and Loveday won the race. She caught Diana just as she was sinking, and held her up until the boat arrived.
A very draggled, agitated pair of girls made their way up the shrubbery walk to the house, leaving a wet trail to mark their path. Adeline tied up thePeverilbefore she followed them.
"I'm sure nobody can blameus," she remarked to Hilary.
Loveday and Diana, warmed, dried, and clad in fresh garments, scolded by Miss Todd, and cosseted by Miss Carr, the heroines of a real adventure, and for the moment the centre of interest in the school, discussed the event in private.
"I've explained, but Adeline doesn't see it," said Diana. "She says the boat wasn't as bad asall that, and they were in no real danger, and that I did a very silly, idiotic, foolhardy thing. She doesn't understand I was trying to save her life. But Iwas!"
"I know," nodded Loveday. "I don't think somehow, though, that Adeline's the kind of girl whom you could ever make understand. Why do you lavish all this love on her, Di? She's not worth it."
Diana was plaiting her skirt into little gathers. She looked at her fingers and not at Loveday.
"Ididlike her so! But it's all ended now—drowned in the water, I think. She doesn't care twopence about me. Well! Ifshedoesn't, no more doI! She may go to Hong-Kong as far as I'm concerned."
Loveday glanced anxiously at her friend. There was a suspicious tremble in the usually cheerful voice. Were those drops shining on the long eyelashes?
"It takes a good deal of riddling before we sort out the wheat and the chaff in our friendships," ventured Loveday.
"You're'honest grain', at any rate!" said Diana, winking rapidly, as she rose and ended the conversation.
There was very little doubt in the minds of Miss Todd and of other mistresses at Pendlemere Abbey that Diana was a spoilt child. Her parents, far away in Paris, made up for their enforced absence by sending her a larger assortment of presents than usually falls to the lot of a schoolgirl. She had practically everything that she could want, and a great many things beside. There was one subject, however, upon which she had coaxed her father for a long time. In every letter she had written lately she had assured him that life was not liveable in the summer term without a pony. Diana had a passion for horses. She had ridden much in America, and her ideal of happiness was to be on ponyback. She was occasionally allowed to mount Baron, but, as Miss Todd would not permit her to take him into the lanes alone, she had to confine her gallops to the paddock, which she considered very poor sport. She thought the matter over till she evolved an idea; then she confided it to Miss Carr. Miss Carr was also an enthusiast about horses, and was secretly longing to ride Baron.Diana's scheme was that she should ask her father to allow her to hire a pony for the rest of the term, have it stabled at the farm near, and go with Miss Carr for rides. When she made up her mind to a thing she was apt to press the subject hotly. A series of such very urgent letters went to Paris that Mr. Hewlitt yielded, and wrote to Miss Todd asking her to be so kind as to arrange the matter. Very fortunately for Diana the idea appealed to Miss Todd; she wished to encourage riding amongst her girls, and was quite willing to allow the experiment to be tried. She commissioned Mr. Greenhalgh, a neighbouring farmer, to procure a suitable mount for a young lady of fourteen, and to take charge of it in his stable. Diana had to wait a week, in great impatience, while he made enquiries and interviewed horse-dealers; then one red-letter afternoon she was taken by Miss Todd to the farm, and introduced to the prettiest possible little white pony. "Lady" was getting on in years, but still had some spirit left in her, and she was accustomed to the saddle. Her owner, considering that she needed a rest, was glad to hire her out for such light work. Diana flung her arms round the pony's neck, and at once began the process of making love to her, cementing the new friendship with several lumps of sugar which she had brought in her pocket.
Then began a series of perfectly delightful rides. Miss Carr and Diana would start out after tea, and explore all the bridle-roads in the neighbourhood.Sometimes they would go up on the moors, and enjoy a canter over the soft grass, or ride alongside the beautiful little lakes that lay like gems among the hills. Diana did not much mind where they went, so long as she could be upon Lady's back. Her new possession naturally aroused wild longing in the breasts of a considerable number of her schoolfellows. If it had been possible Miss Todd would have arranged for a riding-master to bring horses to Pendlemere and give lessons to some of the girls, but matters had not yet adjusted themselves sufficiently after the war for such an ambitious scheme as that, so she did the next best thing, hired a second pony, and sent certain girls, whose parents wished them to learn riding, out in relays. These elect few were regarded as favourites of fortune, but they were obliged to take their luck in turns. They could only have one ride a week each, and that was not nearly enough to content them. They wanted at least two.
"If Miss Todd could hire another pony," sighed Wendy, "that would mean we each got in a second lesson a week."
"Mr. Greenhalgh has tried, and says he can't hear of one anywhere," lamented Tattie. "Horses are scarce since the war, and ponies seem particularly wanted in the summer. It's very difficult to get riding-ponies."
"Glad I secured Lady," chuckled Diana.
"I think it's very mean of you to keep Lady all to yourself," retorted Sadie, airing a grievance."Why can't you let her be the second school pony, and take your turn with the rest of us? It would be far fairer."
"Give up Lady? Well, I like that! Coolest idea I've ever heard! Why, I thought of the whole thing, and wrote to Dad, and she was hired specially for me.Yourriding lessons were only a copy of my idea. Get a third pony if you can, but I guess I'm not going to give up Lady to anybody. Why should I? Dad said she was to be mine."
"It's not sporty of you, though," grumbled Sadie. "You know perfectly well wecan'tget a third pony, and everybody in the school is saying how hard it is for you to monopolize one entirely to yourself. There are six other girls who'd be glad to learn riding if they could get a mount."
"Then let them write home to their fathers to send them ponies."
"As if they could! But their fathers would let them take lessons if there were a school pony for them. I know that for a fact."
"Well, they shan't have mine, at any rate," rapped out Diana defiantly. "You just needn't think it, so there!"
One afternoon it was Wendy's turn for the school pony. She and Diana and Miss Carr rode away together down the road to Chapelrigg. It was a gloriously fine day. Wild roses starred the hedgerows, and the beautiful blue speedwell borderedthe lanes. Larks were singing, and, though the cuckoo had changed his tune, blackbirds still fluted in the coppices.
They had come out on an errand—not a particularly romantic one, as it happened, only to pay a bill for Miss Todd at a farm-house a few miles away. If the errand was prosaic the farm and its surroundings looked attractive; it stood on a hill with a beautiful group of birch-trees behind it, and a small stream came rippling down at the bottom of the garden. The path from the high road was blocked by a cart left standing with a load of straw, so it would be impossible to ride the horses up to the door. The three riders dismounted, and Miss Carr, tying Baron to the fence, said she would walk up the lane and pay the bill while the girls waited for her in the road. Allowing Lady and Topsy to crop the grass in the hedge bottom, Diana and Wendy sat on the bank lazily enjoying themselves. It was very pleasant that afternoon to be alive. In that northern district although summer came late she made up for it by the extreme beauty with which she clothed the landscape; the view from the hill-side was like one of Turner's pictures.
As the girls sat chatting, watching the ponies, and idly plucking flowers, they heard footsteps coming along the road, and presently a woman carrying a baby appeared round the corner. She was young and dark and gipsy-looking, and wore large ear-rings and a red cotton handkerchiefknotted loosely round her brown throat. She stopped at the sight of Diana and Wendy and the ponies, and seemed to consider a moment. Then she walked boldly up to them, looked keenly in their faces, and evidently chose Diana.
"Could you do me a kindness, miss?" she asked. "I've to go up to the farm for a basket. I don't want to carry the baby with me; she's so heavy. If I leave her here on the grass would you keep an eye on her till I come back? I shan't be gone five minutes."
Now Diana was fond of babies, and the little dark-eyed specimen, wrapped up in the plaid shawl, was pretty and attractive and fairly clean. For answer she held out her arms, received baby, shawl, and feeding-bottle on to her knee, and constituted herself temporary nurse.
"She'll be good till I come back," said the woman, turning up the lane that led to the farm.
The small person with the brown eyes was probably accustomed to be handed about. She did not jib at strangers, as might have been expected, but accepted the situation quite amiably. She gurgled in response to Diana's advances, and allowed herself to be amused. Perhaps the vicinity of horses was familiar to her, and she felt at home. Diana, hugging her on her knee, freed her from the folds of the shawl and allowed her to kick happily. She was certainly a fascinating little mortal.
In the course of about ten minutes Miss Carr,who had been having a chat at the farm about gardening prospects, returned leisurely down the lane, and was electrified to find Diana sitting by the roadside nursing a baby.
"I didn't see any gipsy woman come up to the farm," she said, in answer to the girls' explanations. "You'd better go, Wendy, and see if you can find her, and tell her to come at once and fetch her baby."
So Wendy went up the lane to the farm, and asked at the front door and the back door, and looked round the stack-yard and the buildings, but there was never a trace of the gipsy girl. A little boy playing by the pond, however, declared that he had seen a woman crossing the field and climbing over the fence on to the road. Wendy returned with this report. Miss Carr looked annoyed.
"We must go along the road, then, and follow her. We can't wait here till she chooses to come back."
So Diana carried the baby, and Wendy led Lady and Topsy, and Miss Carr, with an anxious wrinkle between her eyebrows, followed with Baron in the direction that the small boy had pointed out. They walked a mile, and enquired at cottages and from passers-by, and from men working in the fields, but nobody had seen the gipsy woman. Then they went back to the trysting-place to see if she had returned, but she was not there. They asked again at the farm, and went back to the cottages, and Miss Carr begged to leave the baby there,because its mother would be sure to enquire for it and find it. The occupants of the cottages, however, shook their heads, and were not at all prepared to accept the responsibility. Neither were the people at the farm. They utterly refused to take it in. Then Diana realized that it is one thing to offer to nurse a baby, and quite another to get rid of it again. What were they to do?
"We can't dump the poor mite down by the roadside and leave it," said Miss Carr distractedly. "Whatevercanhave become of its mother?"
No answer was forthcoming to her question, and matters were urgent. She decided that the only thing to be done was to take the baby with them to Pendlemere, leaving messages at the farm and the cottages for the mother to follow on and claim it. Naturally it made a great sensation in the school when Diana arrived holding her foundling in her arms. Miss Carr explained at full length to Miss Todd, who was utterly aghast, but consented to take in the small stranger till it was claimed. Miss Chadwick, who had studied hygiene at the Agricultural College, and had once assisted at a crèche, constituted herself head nurse, mixed a bottle, and left Miss Ormrod to feed the fowls while she sat in a rocking-chair and soothed the foundling to sleep.
"Surely the mother'll turn up before dark," she said.
But nobody turned up, and Miss Chadwick, who had had to guess at the baby's age and requirements, and had mixed too strong a bottle, spent a wakeful night patting her small guest on the back and endeavouring to still her wails. Next morning Miss Todd reported the matter at the police station, enquiries were made, and it was ascertained that a girl answering to the description given had been in the company of a band of hawkers, but had disappeared and left no trace of her whereabouts. The baby was not hers, but belonged to a woman who had just been arrested on a serious charge and taken to Glenbury jail; the hawkers with whom she had associated disclaimed all responsibility for the child.
"The only thing to be done is to send it to the Union," said the police sergeant.
But by that time the school in general, and Diana in particular, had fallen in love with the poor little baby. They raged at the idea of sending it to the workhouse. They had borrowed clothes for it; and, nicely bathed and dressed and recovered from its fit of indigestion, it looked a sweet thing, and was ready to make friends with anybody and everybody.
"Bless her, sheshan'tgo the workhouse!" declared Diana, kissing the small fist that clung round her finger.
There was a wild idea among the girls that the foundling might be kept as a "school baby".
"We're taught gardening, and poultry-keeping, and bee-keeping," said Wendy quite seriously, "so why not the care of children? We couldlearn to bathe her, and mix her bottle, and do heaps of things for her."
Miss Todd, however, thought otherwise. Theoretical hygiene of infants was all very well as part of the curriculum, but the practical side of it was disturbing to the school. Miss Chadwick had other duties besides that of nursing a baby. Rows of plants needed attention, and young chickens claimed her care.
"If the mother gets a heavy sentence," said Miss Todd, "I think the child would be received into a 'Home for Destitute Children'. In the meantime——"
"Notthe workhouse!" pleaded Diana. "Isn't there anybody in the village who'd take her in?"
"Mrs. Jones would have her, but she would charge twelve and sixpence a week; nobody will take in a baby for less now."
"What's that in dollars? About three, isn't it? Dad will fix that up easily. I'll write to him to-night. It's as good as settled."
"Diana," said Miss Todd emphatically, "I shallnotallow you to write to your father and ask him for anything more. If you care to give up your pocket-money for the baby's sake that's another matter; but you're getting into a bad habit of expecting your father to pay for every whim that comes into your head. It's cheap charity to suggest something that's to costyounothing. You want to have all the credit of the generosity at your father's expense."
Diana flushed up to her hair, and down over her neck.
"Do you think me a slacker?" she asked.
"Yes; in this respect I certainly do. If you were prepared to deny yourself anything it would be different, but you're not. You like to call the childyourfoundling, but personally you've done nothing for her. It's Miss Chadwick who's had the wakeful nights."
Diana did not urge in self-defence that she would willingly have taken the baby to bed with her if she had been allowed; she knew it was useless to offer arguments or excuses. She was busy thinking. Miss Todd's reproaches stung her like a whip. She would let the school see that she was not the pampered, spoilt darling that they imagined. On that score she was determined. Sacrifices! She was quite prepared to make sacrifices if they were necessary. Nobody should again have the chance of telling her that she did her generosity at other people's expense. An idea swept through her mind, and she set her teeth.
"Does it cost more than twelve and six a week to keep Lady?" she asked.
"Considerably more; though I don't suppose you've ever concerned yourself about the cost," returned Miss Todd sarcastically.
"Might I hand Lady over to the school for the rest of the term, then, and pay for the baby instead? I'd square it up with Father. He wouldn't mind about the riding when I explained."
Miss Todd looked Diana squarely in the face. Pupil and mistress met each other's eyes. The Principal's voice softened when she spoke.
"Yes; if you like to do this, Diana, I could arrange it. We want another school pony. You could take your turn with Lady once a week, the same as the other girls. By the end of the term we should know whether the 'Home' would receive the baby. Meantime, Mrs. Jones would take good care of her."
"Then I guess it's fixed," said Diana rather hoarsely.
The poor little foundling, pending her mother's trial at the Assizes, was boarded out in the village with Mrs. Jones, and Diana had permission to see her twice a week. Miss Todd communicated with the "Home for Destitute Children", and received the reply that, should the mother be convicted, as seemed only too probable, they would be ready to receive the baby, and would apply to the judge for an order for entire charge, so that it should not be claimed and taken away to a possibly criminal life when the mother's term of penal servitude was over.
For the present, therefore, there was nothing more to be done except take an interest in their protégée. Diana set to work to make her a dress—a really heroic effort, for she hated sewing—and sat stitching at it on those afternoons when the other girls were riding Lady. It was typical of Diana that she would not discuss her arrangement about the pony with anybody, not even Wendy.
"I've done it for reasons of my own, and that's enough!" she said rather crossly. "You've noneed to thank me—it wasn't particularly to pleaseyou! I suppose I can do as I like!"
"Of course youcan, but you needn't flare up so!" retorted Sadie. "Mostpeople wouldexpectto be thanked. What a queer girl you are, Diana!"
At which remark Diana grunted and turned away.
It is a funny thing that a burst of self-sacrifice often leaves us in a bad temper. Diana was no model heroine, only a very ordinary and rather spoilt girl. The reaction after giving up her pony had sent her spirits down to zero, and if all her doings are to be faithfully chronicled, it must be confessed that for a day or two she did not display herself at her best. She was snappy even with Loveday, and matters came to an open quarrel with Hilary, who, as prefect, was inclined to be dictatorial. A war of words followed; Hilary threatened to appeal to Miss Todd, and Diana, defeated but unrepentant, retired vowing vengeance.
"I'll pay you out some day; see if I don't!" she declared hotly.
"You're not worth noticing!" retorted Hilary, shrugging her shoulders.
Diana retired to the ivy room, had a thoroughly good cry, and came down with red eyes, but feeling better. She did not speak to Hilary again, however, for days.
Meantime, examinations were drawing near. Although Miss Todd conducted her school onabsolutely modern lines, she still clung to examinations as being some test of a girl's attainments. The seniors in especial were anxious to distinguish themselves. It was their last chance before they left, and all, with the exception of Stuart and Ida, who were to remain as gardening students, were leaving at the end of the term. The breaking up of her school-days meant an anxious time for Loveday. When they were alone in the ivy room she sometimes confided her troubles to Diana.
"I don't know what I'm to do next. Uncle Fred has told me plainly that the little sum of money my father left has been nearly all spent on my education, and that he himself can't do anything for me. I'd like to go and take a proper training for something—kindergarten, or horticulture, or domestic economy. But how can I when there's nothing to do it on? I suppose it'll end in my going out as a nursery governess."
"Oh, Loveday!"
"Well, what else can I do? I daresay I'd love the children, and be quite happy in a way, but the worst of it is, it's such a blind alley, and leads to nothing. It's all very well to be a nursery governess when you're eighteen, but I'd like to be something better at thirty-six. If you want to get anything decent in the way of a post you have to train."
Diana, to whom all these ideas were fresh and bewildering, was trying to adjust her brains to the new problems. She wrenched her mind from thenear present, and took a mental review of Loveday's far future.
"But aren't you going to get married?" was the result of her cogitations.
Loveday, busy plying her hair-brush, shook her long flaxen mane dolefully.
"I don't say I wouldn'tliketo. But I don't think it's at all likely. I'm not an attractive kind of girl; I know that well enough. I'm so shy. I never know what to say to people when they begin to talk to me. They must think me a silly goose. You should see my cousin Dorothy; she's always the very life and soul of a party. If I were likethatnow! I don't suppose anybody'll ever trouble to look at me twice. I'm sure Auntie thinks so. No; I expect I've just got to make up my mind to be a nursery governess for the rest of my days."
Diana, still in a state of mental bewilderment, looked at pretty Loveday sitting on the bed brushing out her silky fair hair, and her memory switched itself back suddenly to the last evening of their motor trip. She had been sitting in the lounge of the hotel, and through the open door could see Giles standing in the hall. Loveday had come running downstairs. Diana would never forget the look that for an instant flashed across Giles's face. It contained something that she had not yet altogether grasped or realized.
"I wouldn't make up my mind too soon if I were you," she said slowly. "You might change it some day."
Whatever the future might hold in store, the present was the most immediate concern. Loveday wished to take back a good report to her uncle and aunt, and studied hard so as to obtain a fair place in the examination lists. She had just a faint hope that if they thought she showed any intellectual promise they might consider it worth while to have her trained. They had never made much of her attainments, but if she could come out third or fourth in the school she felt they would be pleased. It would be impossible to overstep Geraldine or Hilary, but her work was tolerably on a level with Ida's and Stuart's, and certainly above Nesta's.
It was just at this crisis that Miss Todd offered a prize for the best essay on "The Reconstruction of England after the Great War, and its Special Application to Women's Labour and Social Problems".
It was rather an ambitious topic for girls to tackle, but the seniors attacked it with the crude courage of seventeen. It is often easier at that age to state our opinions than later, when our minds wobble with first-hand experience of the world. At any rate, it gives a force and style to an essay to be absolutely sure that what you write in it is the final thing to be said on the subject. The girls scribbled away, tore up many sheets, showed bits to admiring friends, and felt themselves budding authoresses. Public opinion, surging round the school, had already fixed the laurel wreath on the head of Hilary. Hilary exhibited decided literaryability; she had quite a clever knack of writing, and had composed several short stories. When she read these aloud—in bed—her thrilled listeners decided that they were worthy of appearing in print.
"Why don't you send them to a magazine?" urged Peggy, who slept in Dormitory 4.
"Perhaps I may some day—but please don't tell anybody a word about it," said Hilary, putting the cherished stories away again inside her dispatch-case.
In the ivy room Loveday also wrote and burnt, and wrote and tore up, and wrote again. Composition was her strong point, and though she knew she could never rival Hilary in mathematics or languages, she might possibly match her in the matter of an essay. In imagination Loveday took home the prize and showed it to her uncle and aunt, who were so overcome with amazement that they at once decided to send her to college on the strength of it.
On Wednesday afternoon the school had planned a mountain walk; but the weather, with its usual northern perversity, turned on the water-tap, and sent down deluges of rain. July can be quite as wet as February, and through the steaming window-panes the disappointed girls watched little rivers racing down the walks, and black clouds driving over the fells. The pent-up energy that wanted to spend itself in walking must find some other vent. The seniors, with one accord, retired to their form-room to copy out their essays. Miss Chadwick charitably conducted the juniors, clad in mackintoshes and goloshes down to the stable, and let them climb the ladder on to the hay in the loft, where she sat and told them stories. She did not invite the intermediates, so they were left to their own devices.
Diana, suffering from a cold, annoyed with the weather, and cross that she was not allowed to go out into the rain, raged up and down the room, and finally, for lack of any other form of physical exercise, organized a jumping competition.
The girls scrambled over the desks and took leaps on to the floor. They squealed as they did so, and every now and then broke into hallos or bursts of song. It was certainly not a quiet occupation. In the midst of the riot the door opened, and Hilary, in a towering temper, made her appearance.
"I never heard such a disgraceful noise in my life!" she stormed. "It sounds like a menagerie or an infants' tea-party. Great girls of your age to be jumping about like babies. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! Here are we all trying to copy our essays; and how d'you think we're going to write with that racket going on over our heads? If you don't stop I shall fetch Miss Todd. She'll hear it for herself very soon, if you don't take care, and then there'll be squalls. She's working in her study."
There was truth in Hilary's remarks. Though they would not acknowledge there was anythingderogatory to the dignity of intermediates in indulging in the pastime of jumping, they knew full well that should the noise penetrate to the precincts of the study Miss Todd would issue forth like a dragon. But Diana was cross, and not disposed to take reproof lightly. She pulled one of her most impossible faces, and stormed back at Hilary.
"You seniors want to have the school all to yourselves! It's a holiday afternoon; and why shouldn't we do as we like? We've just as good a right to amuse ourselves in our own way as you have. I don't see why you should tyrannize over us. You're always interfering! What business is it of yours what we do?"
"Very much my business, Diana Hewlitt, considering I'm prefect," said Hilary grimly. "If I've any more cheek from you you'll march down and report yourself in the study. This noise must stop. I give you warning that if it begins again I shall go straight to Miss Todd."
"You'll be a sneak then," retorted Diana. "I've a great many scores to settle withyou, Hilary. You'll have a very unpleasant surprise before long, so look out!"
Hilary did not deign to answer, but stalked away in majestic silence, leaving gloom behind her. The girls knew perfectly well that even for a holiday afternoon they had exceeded the noise limit. Visions of a surprise visit from Miss Todd kept them silent. Tattie brought out her sewing, and Peggy her painting. Sadie went down to thelibrary for a book. Wendy and Jess began a game of halma. Even Diana, after staring disconsolately out of the window, settled to readIvanhoe. Downstairs the seniors, in peace and quiet, finished copying out their essays.
"They look so neat now they're done," rejoiced Geraldine. "Shall you keep your old copy?"
"What's the use?" said Hilary. "Mine's all alterations and corrections. I shall just tear it up."
"Well, so shall I."
Most of the others followed suit, and made a bonfire in the empty grate with the originals of their essays. The fair copies they placed inside their desks. Hilary put hers away with the short stories she had written, and, happening to be in a rather communicative mood, she confided the secret of these literary efforts to Stuart. Stuart was much impressed.
"Why don't you try to publish them?" she asked.
"Well, I would if I could," admitted Hilary.
"I saw a little bit in the end of theBlue Magazinesaying that the editor would be glad to consider contributions."
"Oh, did you? Where is it?"
"I'll find it for you."
Stuart hunted up the magazine, found the paragraph in question, and tendered good advice.
"I'd certainly send them if I were you. Why shouldn't you try as well as anybody else? They might be accepted. Just think of having a story ina magazine! I'd die of swelled head if it were mine."
"I suppose there's no harm in trying," fluttered Hilary. "It would be a joke to see one's own story in print."
"Send some of them off to-day."
"Shall I?"
"Why not?"
"I don't know which to choose."
"Oh, any of them!"
Thus urged, Hilary drew three of her manuscripts at a venture, put them inside a long envelope, wrote a short note offering them to the editor, enclosed it, fastened, addressed, and stamped her letter, and placed it in the post-box in the hall.
"What fun if you have some luck!" said Stuart.
"I drew a tiny little swastika inside the envelope, and I made three crosses over it with my right forefinger," confessed Hilary, "but I don't suppose it's any use; they'll probably come packing back."
"Well, if they do you must send them to some other magazine," said Stuart hopefully.
Diana felt a little cheered up after reading three chapters ofIvanhoe, but she was still angry with Hilary. She felt that she would like to play a trick upon her. It would really serve her right for being so generally disagreeable. There was no need at all for prefects to take advantage of their office and ride roughshod over the intermediates. How could she possibly pay her out and settle the score between them? She pondered for a while,then had a sudden brain-wave and chuckled. First, she ascertained that the senior room was empty, then she paid a surreptitious visit to the pantry and purloined a pepper-pot. Hiding this for safety in her pocket she went back to the senior room, opened Hilary's desk, and put a plentiful sprinkling of pepper inside.
"It'll make Hilary just sneeze her head off to-morrow!" triumphed Diana. "She'll think she's got a touch of 'flu', and she'll be insucha scare! I'd give worlds to see the fun. Only, of course, I daren't show myself, or she'll find out. No, that would never do."
Putting the pepper-pot back in her pocket, she was in the act of leaving the room, when in the dusk she collided with Geraldine. The astonishment was mutual.
"What are you doing here, Diana?" asked the head prefect sharply.
"Oh, nothing in particular. I was just taking a roam round the school, that's all."
"You've no business to roam into the senior room. Keep to your own quarters. We can't have juniors coming in here!"
"I'm not a junior!"
"Well, intermediates are quite as bad, if not worse!"
Diana beat a retreat, for the supper-bell was ringing. She marched into the dining-room with a defiant twinkle in her eyes, and meeting Wendy, could not refrain from whispering:
"Done 'em brown for once! Hilary'll get the surprise of her life to-morrow."
"Sh! Sh!" warned Wendy too late.
Geraldine, who was exactly behind, and who had evidently overheard, glared at the couple, but forbore to speak. Indeed there was not time for her to do so, for the girls were taking their seats, and Miss Todd was waiting to say grace. It is undignified for a head prefect to take too much notice of the chance remarks of intermediates, so Geraldine let the matter pass, and, whatever her private thoughts might be, did not revive the subject after supper.
Loveday and Diana went to bed that evening just as usual. They performed their customary hair-brush drill, twisted Diana's light-brown locks in curl-rags, and plaited Loveday's flaxen mane in two long braids, folded their clothes neatly, read their Bible portions, said their prayers, and blew out the candle. Then they lay chatting quietly till Miss Beverley came on her nightly round of dormitory inspection.
"Only a few weeks more and we shall be saying good-bye to the ivy room," said Loveday. "I shall be back in Liverpool; and where will you be, Diana?"
"Crossing the Atlantic, I hope. Dad's had our names down for passages for ever so long, and they told him our turn might come early in August. We're crazy to get home again."
"I don't wonder! ButhowI'll miss you! I shall want heaps of letters."
"Rather! And so shall I. I'll want to know what you're doing."
"Answering advertisements about posts as nursery governess," said Loveday bitterly. "Noluck ever comes to me. I had a sort of wild idea that if I won the prize for that essay Uncle Fred might think it worth while sending me somewhere to train; but IknowI shan't get it now. Hilary read us bits out of hers, and it's just splendid—far better than mine. I'm not in the innings."
"Oh, Loveday, what a shame! The prize means so much more to you than to Hilary."
"I know it does. She'll win the maths prize too, and the Latin one."
"It doesn't seem fair she should get everything. I wonder if she'd hold back her essay so as to give you a chance?"
"Not she!"
"But if——"
At that identical moment Miss Beverley opened the door, and, candle in hand, looked round the room to see that all was left tidy. Her inspection was swift; she said "Good night, girls!" shut the door, and went downstairs to drink cocoa in Miss Todd's study. After her evening round the silence rule was a point of honour in the dormitories. Loveday and Diana turned over and went to sleep.
Some time in the middle of the night Diana woke with a start, just in time to see Loveday in a blue dressing-gown, with their bedroom candle in her hand, disappearing through the door. Where could Loveday be going? Had she heard burglars? Was she ill? Why had she not roused her room-mate? Could she by any chance be walking in her sleep?
All these questions raced through Diana's brain, and, as the quickest way to solve them, she jumped up, fumbled in the dark for her bedroom slippers and dressing-gown, and hurried after Loveday. She could see by the glimmer of light that the candle was going downstairs. She followed, flopping along in her woollen slippers, for she had not had time to draw them on properly. She nearly lost one on the landing, and had to stop. When she reached the hall the light had gone into the seniors' room. Diana walked softly, and peeped cautiously in. She had rather an idea of saying "Boo!" suddenly, and giving Loveday a scare, but she wanted to reconnoitre first. Her friend's back was turned towards her; she was bending over a desk, not her own desk, but Hilary's. She quickly drew out a roll of manuscript, tore it across and across, carried it to the fire-place, put it inside the grate, and applied the candle. Diana, standing in the dark outside the doorway, watched her in utter amazement. So many questions began to rush into her mind that the hall did not seem the best place to answer them. She fled upstairs again, jumped into bed, and lay thinking. In a minute or two Loveday came quietly back, blew out the candle at the door, and, treading softly, also went to bed. Diana did not speak, or betray by any movement that she was awake. It was an hour, however, before sleep came to her. She was on the early practising list, so she went downstairs next morning before her room-mate was stirring.
Breakfast passed over as usual; the post-bag came in; Miss Todd sorted and distributed the contents, and the girls retired to read their letters. At ten minutes to nine something happened. Hilary, with wide open eyes and flushed cheeks, came running along the hall.
"Somebody's gone and taken my essay out of my desk!" she declared excitedly.
Her fellow-seniors wrenched their thoughts from home news.
"Impossible!" said Geraldine.
"You've misplaced it!" said Stuart.
"No, I haven't! I know just where I put it yesterday."
"Go and look again!"
"I've turned the whole desk out, I tell you, and it simply isn't there!"
"Where is it, then?"
"That's what I want to know!"
"Has anyone taken it for a joke?"
"I expect so, but I'll reckon with whoever has!"
"It's probably one of those intermediates," suggested Stuart.
"Anybody who's got it must just turn it up at once!" said Geraldine grimly. "We can't allow this sort of thing to happen. I'll ask who's taken it."
The head prefect made an instant tour of the school, proclaiming the loss, and demanding instant restoration. The school, as one girl, utterly denied the accusation.
"But look here!" persisted Geraldine. "Somebodymust have taken it. It couldn't walk out of Hilary's desk by itself! Sheknowsshe left it there yesterday. If anybody's hiding it for a joke, please give it back at once. If it's not brought back by nine o'clock I shall tell Miss Todd. Yes, I'm in earnest! Dead earnest!"
Seniors, intermediates, and juniors, very much astonished, retired to their form rooms and talked the matter over; but nobody produced the missing manuscript. During the course of the morning Miss Todd entered the intermediate room.
"A disagreeable thing has happened, girls," she said. "Somebody has taken Hilary's essay from her desk. If it was done as a joke, I consider it a very sorry joke! Does anyone in this room know anything about the matter? If so, she must speak out at once and tell me."
Miss Todd looked searchingly at the faces before her, and waited for an answer; but nobody spoke. There was a flush of annoyance on her cheeks, and that firm set about the mouth which generally indicated a danger signal.
"I intend to get to the bottom of it. It can't possibly be overlooked," she remarked, as she left the room to go and catechize the juniors.
For the rest of the morning lessons went on as usual. Immediately after dinner, however, Diana received a message to report herself in the study. She went slowly. She was still thinking; she had been doing nothing else but think since that midnight excursion down the stairs. It wasrather a white-faced, anxious-eyed little Diana who entered the study. Miss Todd was sitting at her desk, and Hilary and Geraldine stood near her. They looked half resentful and half nervous.
"Diana," began Miss Todd, "I've sent for you because I believe you're the only girl who can throw any light on this most distressing business. I'm going to ask you a straight question. Have you taken Hilary's manuscript? I expect a straight answer."
"No," breathed Diana, looking down on the floor.
"Look me in the face, Diana. Do you know where it is? Or anything at all about it?"
Diana's eyes raised themselves to the level of the Principal's knee, and then fell to the floor. She did not answer.
"Geraldine tells me that she saw you at Hilary's desk yesterday evening."
No answer.
"You are known to have threatened to play a trick on Hilary!"
Still no answer.
"Very well, Diana. Until you condescend to explain, I can't allow you to mix with the rest of the school. We have rules here, and I intend they shall be obeyed. I make no exception for any pupil. You're inclined to think you have licence to do as you like, and play any pranks you choose here. I'm going to teach you a lesson for once. You'll stay in the attic until you chooseto answer my question. I've dealt with obstinate girls before. Come along with me!"
Miss Todd rose, and, taking a key from her desk, led the way to the attic at the top of the little narrow staircase. The room was very simply furnished, and was always kept in readiness as a hospital in case any girl should be suddenly taken ill. It was not a particularly cheerful apartment; it had a skylight window, there were no pictures on the walls, and the floor was of scrubbed boards. It looked, as it was intended to be, arranged with the main object of being easily disinfected if necessary. Miss Todd ushered in Diana, and pointed to a chair.
"You may sit there and think it over," she remarked. Then she shut the door, and locked it on the outside.
Left alone, Diana took a seat on one of the small iron bedsteads. Her face was a mixture of bewilderment and consternation.
"Diana Hewlitt, it seems to me you've got yourself intosomefix," she said to herself. "What's puzzling me is that I can't believe the evidence of my own eyes. Did IdreamI saw Loveday go downstairs and take a roll of papers out of Hilary's desk? Goodness, I was only too horribly awake! The queerness of the thing bothers me. It doesn't fit in, somehow. Loveday! Loveday's the last person in the world, as I should have thought, to do a trick like that. I can't understand it. It's the sort of stupid thing that girls do in books. Inever believed they did it in real life. Well, one thing's certain. I'm not going to tell about her—not if Miss Todd keeps me shut up here till I'm a hundred. Loveday shielded me when I ran away to say good-bye to Lenox, and I vowed I'd do the same for her if ever I got the chance. Well, I've got it now, and no mistake. Only—Loveday! Loveday! I don't understand! You've toppled down somehow off a pedestal. I feel as if something I liked had got broken."
It was anything but a cheerful afternoon for Diana. The only literature in the room was a catalogue of the Stores and some reports of charitable institutions. She read the cost of tins of sardines, pots of jam, table linen, household china and hardware, and tried to take some faint interest in the annual statements of the "District Nursing Association" and "The Society for Providing Surgical Appliances for the Sick Poor". To amuse herself she was reduced to choosing a word at random and seeing how many other words she could make out of it, but as she had no pencil in her pocket to write them down, it was rather difficult to keep count, and the occupation soon palled. Shortly after four o'clock she heard a scrimmage on the little landing outside the door. A deep-toned voice, that sounded like Miss Beverley's, said, "Come away this minute!" and a high-pitched, excited voice—undoubtedly Loveday's—protested, "If you'donlylet me speak to her, I'm certain——"
Then a sound followed like somebody sliding down three steps at once, and Loveday's voice, with words indistinguishable, but tone still highly indignant, grew fainter and farther away till it ceased altogether. Diana smiled rather bitterly.
"It's not much use her coming and talking to me," she thought. "If she wants to tell anybody, she can tell Miss Todd. She needn't think I'll give her away. Don't suppose she knows, though, what I saw last night. It's a queer world! I'll be glad when I'm back in America. If Dad gets those passages he'll come and cart me off, Miss Todd or no Miss Todd. I'd like to see his face if he found me locked up in an attic."
Diana's tea was brought to her at five o'clock, and an hour later she was visited by the Principal, who again urged confession.
"What's the use of keeping this up?" asked the mistress impatiently. "You'll have to make a clean breast of it some time, so you may just as well do it at once. It's perfectly evident that you know where the essay is. You don't even deny that. What have you done with it?"
And again Diana stood with the same unyielding look on her face, and stared at the floor, and did not answer a word.
There is nothing so irritating as a person who utterly refuses to speak. Miss Todd glared at her, then turned towards the door.
"Very well; you may spend the night here. I'm not going to waste any more time on you now.Perhaps by to-morrow morning you'll be in a different frame of mind. I intend to know the truth of this; so it's merely a matter of waiting. You can leave here the moment you decide to confess; so you're punishing yourself by staying."
Once more the key turned in the lock, and Diana was a prisoner. At eight o'clock Miss Beverley, in strict silence, brought in a tray with supper, placed it on the table, departed, and secured the defences. After that nobody else even came up the stairs.
"They might some of them have managed to push a note under the door," sighed Diana. "I guess I'd have got a message in somehow if it had been Wendy shut up here. What a set of thick-heads they are! There isn't one of them ever has a decent brain-wave. Wonder how long I'll have to stick in this attic? I've not lost my bounce yet. But I guess, all the same, I'll go to bed now."
Miss Beverley, with the supper tray, had also brought Diana's night-gear in a small bundle. As there was no candle in the attic, it seemed wise to disrobe while there was still light enough to see by. The little bed was rather hard, the pillow was a lumpy one, and the spring mattress squeaked when she moved. Diana watched the room grow gradually darker and darker till stars appeared through the skylight. It was a very long time before she slept. The early sunshine, however, woke her in the small hours of the morning. There was no blind to the window, and the room facedeast. Diana sat up in bed. Her eyes fell on the pictureless walls. Perhaps the very fact of their bareness made her look at them more particularly. She did not admire the pattern of the paper. In places it had been badly fitted together, especially in that corner. Why, the magenta roses actually overlapped! They did it in a sort of curve, almost as if they were outlining the top of a door.Wasit by any chance a door?
At this stage of her inspection she sprang out of bed, went over to the corner, and ran her hand along the portion in question. It certainly felt as if the edge of a door were beneath. She rapped, and there was a hollow sound, very different from that given forth from the wall when she tried it a few yards farther on.
"I'm going to solve the problem for myself," she decided.
There was a knife left on the supper-tray. She thrust it through the paper, and began to cut round the seeming door. And most undoubtedly it was a door, though only a small one, with a curved top that came to the height of her shoulder.
"It must lead somewhere!" she thought excitedly. "Suppose I could get out on to the leads, climb down the ivy, and go off to Petteridge. Cousin Coralie wouldn't let me be brought back here to be shut up in an attic, I know!"
She worked away laboriously, tearing at the paper to free the door. It flashed across her mind that Miss Todd might have something to say aboutthe disfigurement of the wall, but as she had gone so far, that did not deter her.
"Might as well finish it now," she smiled.
More hacking and tearing, then a gigantic shove, and the door suddenly opened inwards. She was looking into another attic, a larger and much darker room, lighted only by a tiny little skylight in the corner. It seemed full of furniture—chairs and tables piled together, and something that looked like a small grand piano. They were so thickly coated with dust that it was difficult in the dim light to distinguish more than upturned legs and general outlines. There did not appear to be the least possibility of escape in this direction. The skylight was more inaccessible than the one in her own attic. She sighed, went back, washed her dusty hands, and got into bed again.
"I guess there'll be a fine old shindy when Miss Todd sees what I've done," she soliloquized.
Miss Todd, who was thoroughly out of patience with Diana, did not hurry to send her breakfast up early that morning. She decided that the prisoner might very well wait until the school had finished its meal. She even distributed the post first, and began to read her own letters. She intended to carry the tray upstairs herself, and have another talk with Diana. It was an unpleasant duty, and could be deferred for a few minutes. Meantime the school also read its letters. There were two for Hilary. One in the well-known home writing, and the other a long envelope addressed in astrange hand. She opened this first. It contained three manuscripts, and a printed notice to the effect that the editor of theBlue Magazinemuch regretted his inability, owing to lack of space, to make use of the enclosed, for the kind offer of which he was much obliged.
"My stories packed back by return of post. How disgusting!" groused Hilary. "He might have taken one of them. Are they all here, by the by? Yes; 'The Flower of the Forest', 'The Airman's Vengeance', and—Good Heavens! What's this? Why—why, it's actually my essay on 'Reconstruction'!"
Hilary was so utterly dismayed that at first she could only stare aghast at her recovered manuscript; then she tore straight off to Miss Todd.