Though Avelyn, as a weekly boarder, was not quite in the innermost heart of the Silverside clique, she was nevertheless considered one of the elect. Her room-mates rubbed it into her that shewasa boarder, and as such must be very thankful for her privileges. On the whole, they treated her rather well. They included her as much as they could in what fun was going on, helped her to plait her hair, showed her their private treasures, and shared their occasional boxes of chocolate impartially round the dormitory. Avelyn felt that she was living two lives: one began at nine o'clock on Monday morning, and lasted till four on Friday, and the other occupied the intervening time. Each circled independently in its own orbit. The school life was quite fascinating and absorbing, especially now she was getting used to it. It was jolly to sit on the beds in the dormitory and compare experiences with the other girls. They generally had something interesting to talk about, especially Irma Ridley. Irma had an inventive mind, and a keen appetite for romance. She read every novel she could gethold of, though only a very few, and those of a strictly classical character, were allowed in the Silverside library. She had a good memory, was an excellent raconteuse, and would sit in the gloaming and tell thrilling tales to anybody who was prepared to listen. To her room-mates she supplied the place of a monthly magazine of fiction. It was Irma who first started the rumour about Miss Hopkins. The girls were dressing for supper when she made her amazing statement.
"Do you know," she remarked, pausing with her hairbrush in her hand, "I verily believe that Hopscotch either already is, or is just about to be—engaged!"
If Cupid himself had darted in through the window, bow and arrows in hand, the occupants of the Cowslip Room could not have been more electrified.
"What!"
"Hopscotch?"
"You're ragging!"
"It's the limit!"
Miss Hopkins, the mathematics mistress, had never struck the school as a likely subject for romance. She was middle-aged, nippy, determined, brusque, and a disciplinarian. There was a slight burr in her speech, acquired north of the Tweed, and she had a habit of saying, "Come, come, girrls!" She had never yet been seen without her pince-nez, and it was a tradition that she slept in them. In the minds of her pupils she was indissolubly intertwined with decimals, equations,and problems of geometry. They connected her with triangles, not hearts, though of course there was no telling where the little blind god might suddenly elect to shoot.
"I'm not ragging!" declared Irma earnestly. "I tell you I really mean it. What's more, I've seen him!"
"When?"
"Where?"
Irma enjoyed an audience. She sat down on Janet's bed with the pleasant consciousness that she had gripped her listeners.
"I went into the study this afternoon to fetch Miss Kennedy's fountain-pen, and I found Hopscotch there—alone with a gentleman. I'm afraid I surprised them."
"Did they look embarrassed?"
"Well, they both stopped talking, and stared at me while I hunted about for the pen.Ifelt embarrassed!"
"What's he like?"
"Middle-aged, with a moustache that's growing grey—not bad-looking on the whole."
"It would be very suitable," decided the others.
They were trying to readjust their mental attitude towards Miss Hopkins, and transfer her from the mathematical plane to the sentimental. To do so required a wrench, but it was decidedly thrilling. They all suddenly began to remember symptoms of incipient romance on the part of the mistress.
"She wears a locket on her watch-chain. It's probably got his photo inside," decided Ethelberga.
"And she always snatches up her letters in a frantic hurry," added Janet sagely.
"Has she known him long?" asked Avelyn.
Irma nodded doubtfully.
"I should think it's probably quite an old affair. They may have been boy and girl together."
"Perhaps they've been separated for years and years, and have only just cleared up their misunderstandings," suggested Laura.
"Was he holding her hand?" asked Janet.
"N—no, I can't say he was holding her hand; but then, you see, I'd knocked at the door first, and she'd said 'Come in!'"
"That would give them time," agreed Janet.
A silence followed, and the girls looked pensively at one another. The atmosphere seemed charged with romance. The ringing of the first bell for supper brought them back with a disagreeable thud to reality. They had not yet changed their dresses, and a wild scramble ensued. Whether a mistress in the bonds of Cupid would overlook such details as unpunctuality was an experiment too risky to be tried. They passed on their information in the course of the evening, and by 11.30 next morning even the day girls had digested the news.
Miss Hopkins could not understand the changed attitude which the school suddenly adopted towards her. There was an undercurrent of something inexplicable. The girls gazed at her in form with a kind of tender interest. If she toyed with the locket on her watch-chain, they visibly thrilled. Once,when she dropped a letter from her pocket, Irma, who picked it up, actually blushed as she handed it back. When the twelve gates of Jerusalem were mentioned in the Scripture lesson, Laura Talbot asked whether a jasper stone was ever used as an engagement ring in Hebrew times. Being a practical, sensible sort of person, Miss Hopkins decided that the war—that national bond of union—was bringing her into closer touch with her pupils. The girls, meanwhile, were discussing a possible wedding present, and wondering who would be her successor as mathematical mistress.
Several of them were already beginning to work little good-bye souvenirs for her. They hustled them out of the way in a hurry if she chanced to come into the room. For at least a fortnight nothing happened, and speculations were rife.
"Why doesn't she wear an engagement ring?" asked Mona Bardsley.
"Doesn't want to publish it yet, I suppose," opined Minnie Selburn.
"Do you think she'll be leaving at Christmas?"
"One can never tell."
"Has Tommiekins said anything?"
"Not a word."
One Thursday afternoon an event happened. Irma, looking out at the fifth-form window, watched a masculine form walk up the drive and ring the front-door bell. She instantly identified him with the stranger whom she had seen in the study with Miss Hopkins.
"I knew him again in a moment," she assuredthe others. "I never forget faces, and his was unmistakable."
The flutter among the boarders was immense. It was known that Miss Hopkins was in the study interviewing the gentleman. Little Daisy Garratt had been in the first-form room reworking a returned sum, when the maid had entered and announced: "Mr. Judson is in the study, please, m'm," and Miss Hopkins had risen immediately from her desk, and told Daisy she might go, an opportunity of which that round-eyed junior had instantly availed herself.
So his name was Judson! It was not highly romantic, indeed it suggested gold paint; but after all, what's in a name? Everybody decided at once that he had brought the engagement ring, and that Miss Hopkins, blushing and conscious, would wear it upon the third finger of her left hand at tea-time. They began to search about for suitable speeches of congratulation. Several daring spirits, heedless of conduct marks, hung about the hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Judson as he said good-bye. There was competition for front places at the windows that overlooked the steps. Twenty interested pairs of eyes watched his coat-tails disappear down the drive. There was much speculation as to why he had not stayed longer, and what he was carrying inside his little black bag. When Miss Hopkins came in to tea an electric wave of excitement surged round the room, then broke in disappointment. Her left hand was ringless. She seated herself in the most matter-of-fact manner,and began to eat bread and butter and talk about the last air raid in London.
Before preparation it had all leaked out. Mr. Judson was traveller for a large firm of scholastic publishers, and on both occasions he had called to interview Miss Hopkins about some new arithmetic books. She had decided that they were suitable, and had ordered copies for the fifth and sixth forms. That was the whole of the business. In the minds of the boarders Cupid flew out of the window with a bang. He left blank desolation behind.
"Were there only arithmetic books inside that little black bag?" asked Mona disgustedly.
"It's too sickening when I'd nearly finished my pin-cushion cover!" broke out Minnie Selburn.
"Mine was to be a nightdress case!" lamented Alice Webster.
The inmates of the Cowslip Room, as originators of the whole romance, felt particularly flat. In disconsolate spirits they went to bed. It was not nice to be told by Adah Gartley that they were silly geese, whose heads were filled with a pack of sentimental rubbish. Their injured feelings seethed, rallied, and finally bubbled up.
"There's something disagreeable about Adah!" remarked Janet tartly.
"It isn't only Adah, it's Joyce and Consie," corrected Laura.
"They deserve something for their nastiness!" ventured Ethelberga.
"Something strong!" agreed Avelyn.
Irma, half undressed, paused in the act of pulling off her stockings, and made the important suggestion:
"I say, let's play a trick on the prefects!"
"What a blossomy idea!"
"They richly deserve it!"
"It would be just top-hole!"
"What could we do?"
"Ah, that's just the question, my good child!" said Laura, putting a thoughtful finger to her forehead. "There's an art in ragging. It ought to be done delicately. We don't want clumsy tricks, such as apple-pie beds. As for booby traps, they're vulgar and dangerous; I wouldn't soil my fingers with making one. It must be something that will annoy them, but not harm them or anybody else. I haven't got a brain wave yet, but perhaps ideas may come."
"Suppose we go and reconnoitre," proposed Avelyn.
"A very jinky notion. We might get an idea on the spot."
The four prefects slept in the Violet Room at the end of the passage. They were allowed to sit up later than the rest of the school, and at this moment were downstairs finishing some preparation. It was an easy matter, therefore, to visit their quarters. Laura, Irma, Janet, Ethelberga, and Avelyn made a dash down the passage, turned up the gas, and began an inspection. The Violet Room was quite the prettiest of the dormitories; it was also the largest, and had a round table and four easy chairswith comfortable cushions. The table was spread with a white cloth, on which were set forth four cups and saucers, a tin of cocoa, a small basin of sugar, and a plate of biscuits. The prefects were working overtime for an examination, and were allowed this special indulgence to refresh their tired brains before they went to bed. They boiled a tin kettle on a gas ring, and brought it upstairs with them. They considered their nightly cocoa party one of their greatest privileges.
"Looks jolly comfortable!" sniffed Avelyn, regarding the preparations with envy.
"It's well to be a prefect!" agreed Janet.
"Shall we eat the biscuits?" suggested Irma.
"Certainly not!" replied Ethelberga.
Laura had taken up the cocoa tin, and was plunged in thought.
"I've got it!" she announced suddenly. "I don't mean the tin, but an idea. Wait half a second for me!"
She dashed back to the Cowslip Room, and was away several minutes. When she returned, her face beamed triumph.
"They won't enjoy their cocoa to-night!" she chuckled. "I've mixed two teaspoonfuls of Gregory's powder with it! It will be a nice little surprise for them, won't it?"
"Sophonisba! I should rather think so! I say, let's turn down the gas and scoot. We shall have Miss Kennedy coming along in a minute."
The prefects came upstairs at ten o'clock, carrying their kettle. They retired into their dormitoryand shut the door. Two scouts from the Cowslip Room, arrayed in dressing-gowns and bedroom slippers, presently tiptoed down the passage, and listened outside. The door was thick, and denied them the full benefit of the conversation, but they caught such words as "cheek", "disgusting", and "abominable", so retreated satisfied. They expected a storm next morning, but, rather to their surprise, the prefects took no notice of the matter. Adah had decided that it would be undignified to make a fuss.
"It will fall flat if we say nothing!" she urged.
"We'll just jolly well lock up our cocoa tin in future, though!" announced Consie indignantly.
If David Watson had not been notoriously careless and forgetful, the events which will be narrated in this chapter might never have happened. He was a bright boy, and well on in his form, but he had occasional lapses of memory. In one of these he left his Latin dictionary in the train. Now, if you are on the classical side of a large school, it is not only a difficult but an impossible matter to get along without a Latin dictionary of your own. To attempt to prepare your work by borrowing your neighbour's book is like essaying to live on charity. David realized this point immediately, and, instead of proceeding home as usual by the 4.45 train, he turned into the town instead. There was a second-hand book-stall in the market, which he thought might be worth a visit. It had been recommended to him by one of the other boys, who guaranteed the cheapness of its goods. Anthony, who stuck to David like a Jonathan, went to help him to look.
"I've just eighteen pence in my pocket," admitted David. "But I may get one at that. Itneedn't be a particularly spanky one. Miller got a ripping atlas last week for one and two. He showed it to me. It only had Norway and Sweden lost out, and a few of the maps blotted."
"I can lend you threepence," said Tony, "and you could leave your watch or your penknife or something, I suppose."
The market was a large covered hall, containing rows of stalls of all kinds. The boys heroically resisted the attractions of oranges, chestnuts, and sweets, and made for the second-hand books. A pile of these, all jumbled together, were marked:
BARGAINS. EDUCATIONAL, 1s.each.
David and Anthony began to turn them over and look at them. They were certainly an assorted lot. There were ancient geographies and grammars dating back fifty or sixty years, catechisms of Scripture or history, guides to knowledge, botanical questions, and even an odd volume or two of sermons. A few of them were older still, and had long "S's" and calf bindings. Regarded as educational ammunition, they were as antiquated as flint-lock pistols. The boys rummaged among them for some time in vain, but, at last, almost from the bottom of the pile, they disinterred a fairly respectable Latin dictionary. It had lost its back cover and its title page, but otherwise it seemed intact and clean. David took it to the old man who presided over the stall, and tendered him a shilling. He accepted it with reluctance.
"Didn't know I'd let this slip in among the bargains," he grumbled. "It's worth two and six if it's worth a penny. It came with a lot of other books from a good house. Well, I suppose, as it was among the shillings, you'll have to have it. You may thank your luck I made a mistake."
"A bargain's a bargain," said David, as he put the volume into his satchel.
Trains to Netherton were not very frequent, and the boys had to wait some time at the station. They sat down on one of the seats, and David opened his satchel and took out the Latin dictionary. He agreed with the old book-stall man that he had got it cheap, and felt decidedly satisfied with his purchase. As he turned over the leaves, a letter fell out on to the platform. Anthony picked it up. It was a square envelope sealed with red wax, and addressed: "To my son, Leonard."
"Hallo," said Tony, "we've got hold of some chap's letter here!"
"Great Judkins! So we have!"
"Whom did the book belong to?"
David turned to the cover, and there, in rather faded ink, he found written:
"George Reynolds, Parkhurst Academy, January, 1858."
He gave a long-drawn whistle.
"Here's a bit of stunt," he said. "Shouldn't mind guessing it belonged to old Squire Reynolds."
"Pamela's grandfather?"
"You bet!"
"Was his name 'George'?"
"So Ave said. And Pam's father's name was Leonard."
"Then the letter was for him?"
"I suppose it was—only he's dead."
"What'll you do with it, then?"
"Give it to Pamela."
"What do you think's inside it?"
"Don't I wish I knew!"
"Suppose it's a will?"
"Exactly my brain wave. Wouldn't it be priceless if it left everything to Pamela?"
"And turned old Hockheimer out of The Hall? Rather!"
"One never knows. I'll put it in my pocket, and give it to Pam to-morrow morning."
The Watson boys sometimes overtook Pamela on the road to the station, and every day they travelled by the same train to Harlingden. They made a point of meeting her next morning, and David handed her the envelope, explaining how it came into his possession.
"I suppose you couldn't open it and see what's inside?" suggested Anthony.
Pamela looked doubtfully at the seal.
"I think I ought to give it to Mother," she said. "I expect she'll show it to me."
"Don't let that precious uncle of yours get hold of it, that's all!" warned David.
"No, indeed! I'll be careful."
"You'll tell us what it's about, won't you?" begged Tony the curious.
"If Mother will let me."
"Some day, perhaps, you'll be mistress of Lyngates Hall."
"No such luck!" declared Pamela bitterly.
Though she might disclaim any expectation of good fortune, the remembrance of the letter nevertheless haunted Pamela all day long. She kept feeling in her pocket to see that it was safe. In spite of herself, bright fairy dreams floated through her mind, and mixed themselves up with her lessons. Miss Peters had to tell her twice to pay attention. She missed the explanation of a problem while she imagined herself living at The Hall and riding a white pony, and got utterly wrong in geology through planning how her mother should go up to London and buy new clothes.
Dream castles are the most delightful of possessions. We build them according to our own pattern, and live in them as our fancy pleases us. Those more sober dwellings that fate sends us are never half so beautiful, though we generally have to put up with them. The day seemed longer than usual to Pamela. She hurried off at four o'clock, though her train did not start till 4.45, and she only had to wait at the station. She did not happen to see the Watson boys, for they ran up so late that they had to jump into the guard's van, and at Netherton they went into the booking office to enquire about a lost parcel.
Pamela walked home at a good pace, though the road was all uphill. Moss Cottage, the little place which had been lent by Mr. Hockheimer to Mrs.Reynolds, was not a particularly attractive residence. It was rather dark and damp, and much shaded by trees. It had no beautiful view, such as there was at Walden. Its front windows faced the road, and the light was obstructed by a large "monkey-puzzle". Poor Mrs. Reynolds had made everything look as nice as she could, and was busying herself in trying to get the neglected garden back into a state of cultivation. She was burning weeds when her daughter arrived. Pamela opened the door and entered the sitting-room, where the table was ready spread for tea. She took the precious letter from her pocket, and smiling with pleasant anticipation, put it upon her mother's plate. She would tell her all about it at tea-time, over the bread and jam. Smelling the burning weeds, she ran into the garden. Mrs. Reynolds paused in her occupation of forking fresh fuel on to the bonfire.
"Is that you, child? Then I'll go in and make the tea. How the evenings are closing in! It will soon be dark when you get home. I wish you could be a weekly boarder at school like Avelyn Watson."
"I don't! I'd far rather come back to you every evening, Mummie."
"I can't let you walk back from the station alone in the dark. I shall soon have to begin to come and meet you in the afternoons."
"Oh, Mummie, it's too far for you! I don't in the least mind walking alone. Shall I go and shut up the fowls now, or have you done it?"
"Not yet; so you may run and shut them up while I make the tea."
"You'll find a big surprise on the table, Mummie darling. Don't touch it till I come, will you? I'll tell you all about it at tea."
"Very well," smiled Mrs. Reynolds, who was used to Pamela's little surprises.
She was in the act of pouring on the boiling water when there was a rap at the door, and her brother-in-law entered. Mr. Hockheimer generally admitted himself in this fashion, without waiting for the door to be answered—a lack of courtesy which invariably annoyed Mrs. Reynolds.
"I was passing, so I came for that parcel I left the other day," he explained. "You put it by in the cupboard, didn't you? Yes, there it is. I'll take it with me. By the by, have you any paraffin to spare? I happen to want a little."
"I have some in the shed outside."
"Can you give me some in a bottle?"
"Yes, I'll go and fetch it."
Mrs. Reynolds placed the teapot to keep hot on the hob and left the room. Mr. Hockheimer came over to the fire, and stood warming his back and humming snatches from an opera. Presently his eye caught the letter on the table. He picked it up, looked narrowly at the handwriting, turned it over and examined the seal. Then he thought for a moment with narrowed eyes. Finally he slipped the envelope into his breast pocket, and, catching up his parcel, made his way outside to the shed.
"Is that bottle of paraffin ready?" he shouted. "I'm in a hurry, and can't stay."
"It's here. I was just looking for a piece of paper to wrap it in," replied Mrs. Reynolds. "Won't you stop for tea?"
"Haven't the time to-day. Never mind any paper, I don't want to wait. The bottle will do well enough in my pocket. I must be off now. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye!" returned his sister-in-law, rather relieved at the shortness of his visit. She washed her hands after pouring out the paraffin, and came into the sitting-room, Pamela, who had been tidying herself upstairs, entering at the same moment.
"I'm glad we've got rid of Uncle!" smiled the latter. "I heard his voice, and kept out of the way."
"Naughty child!"
"Well, Mummie, I can't help it. You know I don't like him. I don't care if we are dependent on him; what I feel is, that we oughtn't to be. There, I won't upset you by talking of him. I've something else I want to tell you. Why, where's the letter?"
"What letter?"
"The letter that I put on your plate. Mummie, what have you done with it?"
There was an agony of apprehension in Pamela's voice.
"I haven't seen it, dear," replied Mrs. Reynolds. "Why, yes, I remember now I did notice a letter lying on the plate when I was making the tea.I was just going to look at it when your uncle came in. It's certainly not there now."
Two red spots mounted to Pamela's cheeks, and her eyes blazed sparks.
"This is just about the limit!" she exploded. "There's not the least shadow of a doubt! Uncle Fritz has stolen that letter!"
While these events were taking place at Moss Cottage, David and Anthony Watson were walking home from the station. They had lingered at the booking office, and had loitered on the platform to talk to some friends, and, when they finally made a start, they determined to take a path through the woods instead of keeping to the high road. There were two motives for this decision. In the first place, the woods belonged to the Lyngates estate, and, though the public had an old-established right of way, Mr. Hockheimer objected greatly to the foot-path being used, and had several times vainly tried to close it. The boys felt that they would cheerfully go out of their way to annoy Mr. Hockheimer. They almost hoped they might meet him, and, in imagination, stood firmly on the path, discussing the legal aspect of the matter, and quoting the ancient county map as their authority.
There was, however, another reason which led them from the high road. During the last few days a curious and persistent rumour had circulated in the neighbourhood as to a "something" that had appeared in the woods. Whether supernatural or physical nobody knew, but several peoplevouched for having seen it. Their stories, allowing a natural margin for exaggeration, tallied wonderfully. The apparition wore dark clothes and a black mask, and, instead of walking, careered along in a series of mighty leaps and bounds. Owing to this extraordinary mode of progression, it had been nicknamed "Spring-heeled Jack", and its appearance had excited considerable terror. It was reported to be abroad at dusk, and to haunt the more lonely portions of the woods.
David and Anthony, having a thorough boyish love of adventure, thirsted to get a sight of this mysterious personage. They climbed the hill over the quarry, therefore, and struck up through the woods, keeping at first to the foot-path, but they encountered nobody, not even Mr. Hockheimer. When you are out for excitement, it is disappointing to have a perfectly tame and uneventful walk. In the thickest part of the wood they paused with one consent.
"It's all bunkum about the trespassing! Let's go and explore!" tempted David.
"Right you are!" agreed Anthony, succumbing as readily as Eve yielded to the serpent.
It was a most interesting wood, with tall trees and smooth glades. It undulated, and held crags here and there, so that you could never quite see where you were going. The ground was strewn with acorns and beech mast and horse-chestnuts, quite worth picking up. The boys wandered for some little time, enjoying themselves immensely. They had no idea in what direction they weregoing till they found themselves on the crest of the hill. Behind them was the wood, but in front was a range of open country looking towards the sea. They were standing on a platform of rock, which shelved sharply down to a patch of gorse and heather.
"Jolly view here——" began Anthony, but stopped with his sentence unfinished, for David suddenly gripped his arm and forced him on his knees behind a bush. Somebody was walking at the foot of the rock, and one brief glimpse had been sufficient to identify the plump figure and blond moustache of their arch-enemy, Mr. Hockheimer. It would never do for him to catch them so far from the foot-path. He might wish to settle up scores with them. They remembered the gleam in his eye when he had shaken his fist and said he would not forget. If they waited quietly he would probably go, and then they would hurry back to the path.
But instead of going he waited, humming a tune. He was musical and fond of operatic airs. There were other sounds, too, which the boys could not understand. They grew curious and wanted to know what he was doing. They dared not speak, but, agreeing by signs, they both crawled very cautiously to the edge of the rock, and, concealed by some branches, peeped over.
Mr. Hockheimer was exactly below them. He was kneeling on the grass, and had evidently just untied a parcel. A large bicycle lamp lay on the paper. In his hand he held a bottle, with thecontents of which he proceeded to fill the lamp. He felt in his pocket for matches, lighted it, and placed it on a ledge of the rock. The dusk was falling fast, and its glow shone brightly. From its position on the crest of the hill it would be visible over miles of country, probably right out to sea. Mr. Hockheimer hummed in a satisfied voice, as if he were pleased with himself. He presently lighted a cigar; the fragrant smoke rose upwards to the boys' nostrils. They could see him with extreme plainness, and indeed could follow his every movement. He fumbled again in his pocket and drew out an envelope, holding it in the glow of the lamp so as to inspect it. David and Anthony gasped, for they recognized in a moment the letter which they had given to Pamela only that morning. How had she been so foolish as to allow her uncle to get hold of it? they asked themselves. They were full of wrath at her stupidity. Mr. Hockheimer turned over the envelope several times; he looked at the handwriting and surveyed the seal, then he deliberately tore it open. He drew out a piece of note-paper and began to read it. The boys, peering through the brambles above, watched him narrowly, though they could not see the document well enough to decipher it. Its contents seemed to disturb Mr. Hockheimer. He said several untranslatable things in the German tongue. Then he brought out his smart little silver box, hesitated, and struck a match. The boys were in an agony of mind. He simply must not be allowed to burn the paper. Soonerthan that they would drop from the crag and try to rescue it.
The wind had risen and blew out the match. For a moment they breathed again, but it was only a temporary respite, for he immediately struck another. He shaded it carefully this time, and, taking the paper, applied the corner to the flame.
At that same moment a terrific and unearthly yell sounded in the wood above. Mr. Hockheimer started and turned, dropping blazing letter and match to the ground. There was a rustle among the bushes, and with an enormous bound a dark figure sprang sheer from the rocks on to the platform of grass, made a grab at the paper, seized it, put out the fire, and leaped away with it into the gathering dusk of the undergrowth below.
It happened with such extraordinary rapidity and suddenness that it was all over in a flash, and the boys only caught a glimpse of a black mask, and two long legs that hopped with the agility of a spider-monkey. Considerably scared, they crept back from their position of vantage, and, rushing through the darkening wood, managed to regain the pathway. It was not till they had finally crossed the stile and got into the high road that they began to compare notes.
"Well! We've seen it!" ejaculated David meaningly.
"What is it?" whispered Anthony in awestruck tones. "Teddy Jones says it's Old Nick himself. It was terrible when it yelled!"
"Those legs were human," maintained David."I can't guess who it is, or how he manages to jump like that, but I bet he's not a spook."
Anthony, who inclined to the supernatural theory of the apparition, shook his head doubtfully.
"Spook or not, he's no friend to old Hockheimer," added David.
"He's taken the letter—what was left of it."
"Only a bit was burnt."
"I wonder what was in it?"
"Something that Hun wanted safely out of the way."
"It must be Squire Reynolds's will!"
"Well, Spring-heeled Jack's got it, at any rate, and whether he'll ever turn it up again is the question. If we could find out who he is we might get on the track of it."
"We'll try, for Pamela's sake—though she's a bally idiot to let her uncle take that letter!"
"It strikes me we've got on the track of something else to-night," continued David. "Did you notice that lamp?"
"Yes, I did."
"And where he stuck it?"
"Rather!"
"The light would shine right out to sea."
"And aeroplanes could see it too, from there."
"I've always suspected old Hockheimer. He ought to have been interned long ago. I can't think why they let him be at large. The Government's very lax with these Germans. If I were in Parliament I'd clear out the whole set of them."
Anthony drew a long breath.
"We must watch him. Don't say too much to Pamela, in case the silly goose blabs. Shall we tell her what we've seen to-night?"
"On the whole I think we'd better not. She hates him, and yet perhaps she might not altogether want to get him into trouble. We'll go cautiously, and hunt about, and see what more we can find out."
For a few days the boys purposely avoided Pamela, and she, on her part, did not seek speech with them. She was intensely chagrined at the loss of the letter, and did not like to acknowledge the humiliating fact to them. She searched everywhere in the cottage, in case the wind might have blown it from the table on to the floor, but it was not forthcoming. Her mother vetoed the suggestion that Mr. Hockheimer had taken it.
"Surely, dear, he would never be so dishonourable! You must have put it somewhere yourself."
"But, Mummie, I know I didn't. And you said yourself that you saw it on the table."
"It's very mysterious," sighed Mrs. Reynolds. "We might ask your uncle next time he comes if he took it by mistake."
"He'd only deny it."
"Pamela, you misjudge him."
"I hate him, Mummie; he bullies us both."
"We're entirely dependent on him, remember. He gives us the whole of our little income, and pays your school bills. We mustn't quarrel with our bread and butter. What should we do if he were to turn us out?"
"I don't know. I sometimes think I'd rather be a crossing-sweeper than take his money. Oh, life's horrid, and I hate it all! I wish we'd stayed in Canada, and never come to England. Wait till I'm a little older, Mummie, and I'll get a post as teacher, and work for you. I wish I were twenty-one!"
"That's many years off, child, and in the meantime you've to get your education. You must be civil to your uncle, Pamela."
"I will, on the outside, but I can't help my feelings inside. They're boiling!" demurred Pamela, rather defiantly, scrubbing the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief, and settling down to her lesson books.
The Silverside boarders had what might perhaps be termed rather "genteel" hockey practices on Saturday afternoons. They played half-heartedly. They were not extremely keen, and they gleefully put off play in favour of a walk or of the cinema. Isobel even broached the suggestion that hockey was a rough game, but that was when she was suffering from the effects of an ugly whack across the shins, and her opinion was naturally biased. Consie's tastes were all for quiet, and she would have spent her holidays over a book if she had not been forcibly dragged out. Joyce would have preferred a dancing class on Saturday afternoons.
In the meanwhile the day-girls' hockey club prospered exceedingly. They had secured their old field, and had made fixtures with several other clubs. Their elation over their successes did not tend to promote the unity of Silverside. The school seemed more divided than ever.
In November came the Sale of Work. It was an annual affair held in aid of a Children's Home, and the Silverside girls worked the whole yearbeforehand for it. They considered it a great event. People in Harlingden were kind in coming to buy, and generally quite a nice little sum was cleared. As the time drew near, Adah began to make preparations.
"Will anyone who has contributions kindly bring them to me by the end of the week?" she announced one day at "break".
"Why should we bring them toyou?" asked Annie Broadside, with a glint of battle in her blue eyes.
Adah's manner at once stiffened into the peculiar mixture of firmness and patronage which she deemed it desirable to adopt towards day girls.
"Why? What a question to ask! So that they can be put on the stall, of course."
"Thanks! But we'd rather arrange them for ourselves."
"You can't do that. The boarders always arrange the bazaar."
"But why, whenwemake the things, shouldyoutake them all and arrange them? They're notyourwork!"
Annie certainly had a most aggravating habit of asking questions. Adah coloured with annoyance.
"I'm a prefect, you see!" she shuffled.
"There were no prefects last year, and you quote what you've always done as your authority."
"Well, really, the few things the day girls have brought have never mattered much before. I'll keep a space for you, if you're so particular, andyou can arrange them as you like, as long as you don't spoil the general look of the stall," conceded Adah, with a show of magnanimity.
"Thankssomuch, your Majesty! It's really most kind of you to keep a little room for our poor contribution!" curtsied Annie, with mock gratitude.
When the prefect's back was turned, she fizzed over to a sympathetic and outraged circle. Adah's disdainful condescension was more than could be brooked.
"The boarders have always hadthestall, and the day girls have humbly helped!" said Gladys witheringly.
"How delightful for us!"
"They're to be the patricians, and we the plebeians!"
"They expect us to dust their very boots!"
"Look here," said Annie, "things are really getting beyond the limit. I vote we get up a deputation, and go to Miss Thompson about this."
"What a brain wave!"
Miss Thompson listened, attentive and rather astonished, while the deputation, very shy and red-faced, blurted out their request. She tapped her desk thoughtfully with her fountain-pen, as if some new and disturbing idea had suddenly risen on her horizon.
"Certainly there will be ample room for two stalls, and if the day girls want to have one to themselves, I can see no objection. Arrange itjust as you like, and bring your own decorations. Yes, you may have a variety entertainment in one of the schoolrooms, and charge admission, if you wish. It will make extra money."
"You'll excuse our coming and asking?" apologized Gladys.
"I'm always ready to hear you, and to make any concessions that are for the good of the school," replied Miss Thompson, gazing at the delegates as if they provided her with considerable food for thought.
The deputation departed, feeling that they had scored their first real triumph.
"Look here!" preached Annie to the Hawthorners, "we've just got to brace up. The boarders may put what they like on their stall, but our stall is going to be bigger and handsomer, and have far prettier things, and take ever so much more money than theirs. Every single girl of you has got to do her bit. There must be no slackers over this business."
The motive—if not strictly in accordance with the best morality—appealed to the day girls. They responded gallantly, and set all their home-folks working for the bazaar, as well as doing what they could in their own spare time. They kept their activities strictly secret from the ears of the boarders, but in private they compared notes and rejoiced.
"The new Lady Mayoress is to open the sale," announced Gladys one day.
"Mrs. Parker? Why, surely she's aunt to little Violet Parker, isn't she?"
"Of course she is."
"I'm going to get hold of Violet and be decent to her," nodded Annie sagely. "She's a sweet kid. I see possibilities through Violet. By the by, can you find me a copy of the Harlingden city arms?"
"It's a lion holding a broken chain. I saw it on a letter of Father's the other day. I can easily get it for you."
"Thanks! I've got a blossomy idea."
The day of the bazaar was to be a whole holiday. The large schoolroom was reserved for the sale, and the stalls were put up first thing in the morning. The day girls had elected a committee of management, and six of their number came to arrange their part of the fancy fair. They brought flags, draperies, flowers, and pots of plants, and set to work to decorate their stall. In the course of about half an hour it began to look a most artistic production. The boarders, busy setting out their wares at the other end of the room, cast surreptitious glances at it. It was a humiliating fact for them, but they were forced to acknowledge that it far surpassed their own efforts. They had never thought of a canopy of white and gold, with a border of autumn leaves, or of borrowing maidenhair ferns and forced Roman hyacinths.
But the decorations were only the beginning of the day girls' triumph. Their committee soon began to unpack boxes and spread out goods, most beautiful work of every description, which left their rivals gasping. The day girls, living at home,had really had a much better opportunity of asking their friends to help, and had made a very special effort.
Gertrude Howells's cousin had contributed various dainty articles in poker work; Lucy Smith's elder sister, who was learning jewellery work at the School of Art, sent some most artistic little silver brooches and chains made by her own hands. Iris Harden's aunt gave Venetian beads and foreign curiosities; Monica Golding's family had plaited raffia baskets in barbaric, but most effective combinations of colour. Maggie Stuart caused a sensation by producing little boxes of delicious toffee—yes, real home-made toothsome toffee, in spite of the sugar rationing!
The boarders went on with their own preparations, and pretended not to take much notice, but really the spirit was knocked out of them. They had never expected the day girls to rise to such heights. They dressed rather quietly for the festivities that afternoon.
The sale was to open early, and at half-past two Miss Thompson, in her best voile dress, and with her most affable company manner, was welcoming the Lady Mayoress, a smiling, florid, rather flurried personage in velvet and rich furs, who had another function at half-past three, and wanted to get away as soon as was politely possible.
"So kind of you to ask me," she fluttered. "I'm really interested in schools—and education, you know. I'm afraid I'm not much of a speaker, but—oh, yes, I'll just say a few words to open the sale.Kind? Not at all. It's a great pleasure to me to come, I assure you."
The poor Lady Mayoress was new to her work, and palpably shy. Perhaps she thought a crowd of schoolgirls an embarrassing audience. She hummed and hawed and stammered a little in her speech, and glanced several times at a piece of paper concealed behind her muff, but she nevertheless managed to say something appropriate about the object of the bazaar, and to wish it success.
"I am very pleased to declare the Sale of Work open," she concluded with a sort of gasp, as if thankful that her duty was done, and smiled nervously at Miss Thompson, whose convex eyeglasses had been fixed upon her with appreciation during the speech.
"Perhaps you would like to look at the work now," murmured the Principal.
"Oh, certainly! I'dloveto see it. What pretty things!"
And the Lady Mayoress, though she was standing within two feet of Adah Gartley and Consie Arkwright, actually turned her back on the boarders and made for the day girls' stall! Her eyes were fixed upon the central object displayed there, a satin cushion with the city arms embroidered upon it. She examined it with admiration.
"So beautifully done! And the colours are so effective! It will just match my drawing-room. I shall be delighted to have it. How clever your girls are, Miss Thompson! I suppose these are the prefects," smiling graciously at Annie Broadsideand Gladys Wilks. "My little niece tells me about the school. She's so happy here."
"These are not our prefects," demurred Miss Thompson. "They are at the boarders' stall. Perhaps you would like to look at some of their work, too."
"Oh, with pleasure! Though I can't stay more than a minute. It's so tiresome; I have another engagement, and mustn't be late. But I've time for just a look, at any rate. Yes, the things are charming; they do the girls credit, I'm sure! May I have this tray cloth and this tea cosy? I'm so sorry to rush away, but I really must say good-bye."
The Lady Mayoress departed, feeling no doubt that she had successfully accomplished a civic and social duty, and quite unaware of the storm she had left behind. The boarders were staring at their prefects in shocked sympathy. The whole business seemed almost incredible. That they, the old-established original Silversiders, who had always in former years run the sale of work, should be overlooked and passed over in favour of mere upstart day girls, was little short of an insult to the school.
"She never even said 'How d'you do?' to Adah, and she shook hands with Annie!" gasped Ethelberga to Janet.
"And she spent three times as much at their stall as at ours!"
"It's a shame!"
The boarders felt that the afternoon had openedbadly, and subsequent events did not tend to soothe their outraged feelings. Nearly all the day girls had invited relations or friends, who naturally went first to their stall to buy, with the result that the pretty things soon began to be cleared, and the money-box to grow heavy. Miss Thompson, anxious to preserve a due balance in affairs, did her best by taking her own special visitors to buy from the disconsolate prefects, and the mistresses also nobly purchased many totally undesirable articles, for which they would find no possible use. If it had not been for this help, the boarders' stall would have had a poor innings. As it was, they barely scored one-third of the whole proceeds of the sale.
The Principal, in a pretty little speech next morning at nine o'clock, spoke of the very gratifying results of the happy spirit of unity in a school where all worked together for a good object, and the pleasure of being able to send such a large cheque to the Children's Home. Adah, with her eyes fixed on the bows of her shoes, listened grimly. It was all nice enough, she thought, for head mistresses to make soothing speeches, but boarders and day girls knew perfectly well that the welding of rival factions at Silverside would not be accomplished yet a while.
Quite apart from the warring of opposite parties, there seemed to be an element of unrest in the school. Formerly the boarders had been quite content to spend the leisure of their evenings at sewing, games, or over some of their numerous guilds.Now, incited by the accounts of the day girls, they were always asking to be taken in to Harlingden to concerts or picture palaces. Miss Thompson considered that such expeditions upset their preparation, and only allowed a very occasional outing. It was irritating to the boarders to hear the day girls discussing various entertainments, and to be openly pitied because they could not attend them. The Cowslip Room in particular grumbled privately.
"We never go to anything!"
"Life's just a round of lessons!"
"There's the most gorgeous thing on at the cinema this week."
"I'd give my ears to see it!"
"It's not our turn this week."
"Strafe the wretched old turns!"
Miss Thompson, in her efforts to avoid too much dissipation, had established a new rule, by which the dormitories in regular sequence were allowed leave. Every Wednesday afternoon certain little parties of boarders trotted off to the town under escort of a governess, doing shopping and often visiting amatinée. No girl might go without showing an exeat signed by the Principal. The chaperon-mistress was expected to examine and file these permits before marshalling her flock.
On this particular Wednesday, Laura, Janet, Irma, and Ethelberga had set their hearts on seeing "The Temple Bells" at the cinema. The fact that they had duly had their turn a fortnight before, and had witnessed a wildly exciting performance of "Love and War in the East", only made themkeener for more thrills. When Avelyn, a little tired of the general atmosphere of lamentation, suggested palliating circumstances, their wrath blazed out in her direction.
"It's all very well foryouto talk!"
"You can go on Friday evening or Saturday, if you like."
"You're half a day girl, after all!"
"You don't really sympathize withus!"
"All right! Don't get baity! As a matter of fact, I never come in to Harlingden on Saturdays, so you've no need to envy me!"
"Envy you! Envy aweeklyboarder!" sneered Laura, with a whole world of condescension in her voice. "My dear child, I think you really don't understand what you're talking about! After all, you've only been at Silverside two months!"
It is not a particularly pleasant matter to find the public opinion of your dormitory dead against you. You are apt to get awkward knocks in consequence. Avelyn put up with some very withering remarks that Tuesday evening, and consequently felt sore.
"They're absolute blighters to-day," she thought. "I wish I could play a rag on them! It would just serve them jolly well right!"
Avelyn, I regret to say, was no ideal heroine of fiction, but a particularly human girl, with a strong spice of mischief in her composition. She considered that she owed her room-mates a grudge, and she cast about for a suitable opportunity of paying the debt. As it happened, fortune favoured her. Miss Kennedy sent her to the study to fetch a book that was required. She knocked at the door, and as nobody answered she turned the handle and went in. The room was empty. She found Volume III of theEncyclopædia Britannica, and as she turned from the bookcase she cast an eye on Miss Thompson's desk. It was spread with papers, and in front, just beside the inkpot, was a whole pile of exeat forms. They were little printed sheets bearing the words: