With a certain amount of help from Miss Joyce Lesbia contrived to make a really very nice stencil design of water-lilies. It was submitted to Miss Tatham, who gave her approval and permission for it to be transferred to the walls ofVa. It was a proud occasion for Lesbia when Tuesday afternoon saw her installed in her own form room with stencil, paints, and brushes, actually beginning the delightful task of decoration. The room was vacant only on that one afternoon in the week, and Miss Tatham would not allow her to stay and work after school hours, so her plan must proceed piecemeal with about a couple of yards painted at a stretch. It gave an added interest to spread out the enjoyment from week to week, though the wall looked horribly unfinished with a half-completed design. She had been a little doubtful as to how the form would receive her handiwork, and whether they would consider it an improvement or an eyesore. Fortunately, they liked it, and told her to hurry up and get along withit as fast as she could. The girls whose desks adjoined the finished portion even crowed over those who sat near bare walls. Miss Pratt—practical, hard-headed, inartistic Miss Pratt—after carefully ascertaining that the work did not trespass upon Lesbia's preparation hours, condescended to approve, though she added grimly that she would like to see an equal amount of care and attention put into the Latin exercises and the Algebra classes. Every rose has its thorn, and Miss Pratt's praises were never without a sting.
Meantime the exponents of song-drama had waxed wildly enthusiastic over the preparation ofThe King of Tara, which they intended to produce before the school at Christmas. They had already held one or two practices with the orchestra, and were much thrilled to hear how well their choruses sounded in conjunction with the instruments.
"We've just been learning the music so far, but we're to begin the acting next week," purred Marion to Lesbia, "and when we get the dresses it will be absolutely tip-top. I wish you were in it."
"So do I," said Lesbia half wistfully, "but Miss Tatham won't let us swop; besides I've got to finish the lotus pattern. It'll take me till very nearly the end of the term. I have to do it so carefully. If I try to hurry I don't get the edges neat. It's my nightmare that some day I'll let the stencil slip and make a smudge on the wall."
"Aren't you getting tired of everlasting waterlilies?"
"No—not the teeniest, weeniest bit!"
Though the girls were perhaps keenest upon what Miss Tatham termed the "emotional" side of her new department of self-expression, they nevertheless found something to attract them on the "mental" side. The Antiquities Section, for which Lesbia had put down her name, held out fascinating attractions. As a part of its activities the girls were to form a "Scheduling party" to visit any interesting old buildings in the city, to write full particulars of them in notebooks, and if possible to add photographs and drawings. Under the escort of Miss Chatham, companies of a dozen at a time made expeditions of inspection, and were as a rule kindly received by curators and caretakers, and were shown over extra rooms and premises that were not generally open to the public. The girls scribbled their notes on the spot, then wrote them out carefully afterwards in exercise books. There was rivalry as to who should produce the best book. Lesbia made an artistic cover for hers, out of dull-green paper, with a pen-and-ink drawing of the picturesque Bolingbroke Arms Inn, and the title "Antiquities of Kingfield" printed in old English characters. She wrote the text neatly, pasted in photos which she had taken, and cut out any pictures she could find in the local papers to supplement themas illustrations. It was whispered in the school that when the books were finished they were to be shown to the Kingfield Archæological Society, who had hinted at giving prizes for the best efforts.
It was amazing when the girls really began to study their city how much information came to light. The very names of the streets revealed ancient history. Long, long ago the ownership of the town had been divided between the Earl of Dudley and the monks of the Abbey, and lord and abbot waged continual war over the boundaries of their respective properties. It was significant to notice in one quarter of the city such names as Earl Street, Castle Gate, Dudley Gate, Tower Lane, Castle Moat, Earl's Barn, The Butts, Falcon Mews, and Bull Ring, telling their tale of mediæval castle, where archery, hawking, and bull-baiting were favourite pursuits, and in the other quarter ecclesiastical names, Abbot's Orchard, Pilgrims' Inn, Greyfriars' Yard, Monks End, Whitefriars Street, and Priory Gardens, all showing that they had formerly been part of the church lands. The girls each bought a street map of Kingfield, and marked with coloured chalks the old boundaries of earl and abbot, and the course of the city wall, large pieces of which were still left standing in spite of Oliver Cromwell's cannon. Carrie Turner covered herself with immortal glory for the ancient wall actually ran through her father's garden, and she invited the members of her schedulingsection and Miss Chatham not only to come and inspect it, but actually to have tea upon the top of it. It was nine feet wide, so there was quite room to accommodate a table and some chairs and stools. The girls, in a flutter of delight, mounted by a ladder, and sat aloft drinking tea and eating cakes, with a fine view over neighbouring gables and gardens, and a romantic feeling that they ought to be garbed in coif and wimple, and watching the prowess of their knights who fought in tournament in the lists below.
The antiquarian section really caught "mediæval fever", and visited the Free Reference Library to consult books which would tell them the ancient history of Kingfield. They copied out the most interesting stories into their notebooks, and anybody who could borrow an out-of-print guide-book, and collect any fresh legends to add to the list, scored considerably.
Another valuable and well-nigh inexhaustible source of information was discovered by the girls in their friends at home. Grandfathers and grandmothers recalled tales of their childhood, and would relate how, as youngsters of ten, they had hurried past Greyfriars Gate in the twilight, because the ghost of a wicked abbot was supposed to haunt the vicinity, and you might see his grey robes gliding among the shadows when the sun set. Some of them remembered when Miller's Pond, now quite a suburban piece of water, was known as Dragon's Pool, and hadbeen a romantic spot half-smothered in willows, with a legend of a dragon who lived there and would come to the castle walls to demand victims.
"Legend hunting is almost like treasure seeking," declared Lesbia. "You never know what you may find."
Lesbia was very happy at school this term, in spite of skirmishes with Miss Pratt over Latin and Algebra, her two worst subjects. She felt she was taking an active part in the school life, and contributing her quota in a very substantial measure to the benefit ofVa, whose walls looked already much improved. The hockey season had begun also, and though she had not yet won special distinction in the playing-field, she had occasionally wrung a word or two of encouragement from Rose Stirling, the Games Captain, sufficient to elate her for the moment, and make her keener at next practice. She loved those Wednesday afternoons when she donned her short blue skirt and scarlet blouse and pads, and went with her team to the big field rented by the school. The autumn nip in the air made exercise pleasant, and the love of sport, inherent in everyone of even diluted British blood, brought all her Anglo-Saxon tendencies to the fore.
As the mediæval dwellers in Kingfield must have fought in the lists, and shot arrows at the butts, and wrestled, or cudgelled with quarter-staffs in the meadows, so their descendants enjoyed themselves inthe playing-fields, demonstrating the modern theory that girls need physical training as much as boys, and can play a game with equal keenness and observance of rules.
October, with its whirling leaves and bursts of fitful sunshine, had worn itself away and given place to November mists. Hallow-e'en had come and gone, and the half-term holiday was over. Already everybody was beginning to think about Christmas and to make plans for the term-end festivities. Lesbia, sitting at the supper table in Denham Terrace, gave Paul and Minnie a highly-coloured account of the entertainment to which they would be invited.
"You'll love it. It's to be the best thing we've ever given at Kingfield High," she concluded.
For a moment there was an embarrassing silence. Minnie was looking at Paul beseechingly. He cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we'd really better tell her now," he remarked.
"Tell me what?" asked Lesbia.
"Well, the fact of the matter is we shall none of us be here for Christmas. By the time your song-drama—or whatever you call it—comes off, we shall all be many thousands of miles away. We're going out to Canada."
"To Canada!" gasped Lesbia, utterly overwhelmed. "All of us?"
"Yes, the whole family. I've accepted an appointment there, and we start in a fortnight."
"Isn't it—isn't it very sudden?" faltered Lesbia.
"Paul knew some months ago, dear," said Minnie, "and our passages have been booked quite a long time."
"And you never told me!" Lesbia's voice was most reproachful.
"We were afraid it would unsettle you at school if you knew you were leaving. I spoke to Miss Tatham about telling you, and she quite agreed with us."
"But do you mean I'm to leave Kingfield and the High School and everything in a fortnight?" asked Lesbia, her eyes suddenly swimming with tears.
"Come, cheer up!" said Paul. "You'll like Canada well enough when you get there. Girls have rather a good time I believe."
Later on, when Lesbia was alone with Minnie, she heard fuller particulars.
"Paul is very glad to get the appointment. It's so difficult to make any headway in England nowadays. There seems more scope in a new country. It'll be a good thing for the children too, when they begin to grow up. England's overcrowded. They'll have better prospects in Canada."
"What's the place like? Are there great forests and lakes and rivers and Red Indians?" asked Lesbia, calling to mind any stories she had read of the Dominion.
"No, Belleville's not at all romantic. It's quite a new city, and it's on the plains, not near any forests or rivers, I believe."
"O-o-h!" (disappointedly). "Are Nurse and Mrs. Carter going with us?"
"Nurse doesn't want to leave England. She's to be married next year. And Mrs. Carter is too old to emigrate, and has two sons settled in Kingfield. You and I can look after the children on the voyage, can't we?"
"I suppose so!" gulped Lesbia.
She was appalled at the whole idea. Emigration to Canada sounded about as cheerful as banishment to Siberia. To leave Kingfield, with its quaint buildings and old associations, and the High School where she was so happy, and to be whisked away over the sea to a bare new city and a winter of snow and ice—oh, it was horrible! And only a fortnight in which to get ready. They ought to have told her before. It was too bad to keep her—a girl of nearly sixteen—in the dark, as if she were one of the children. Minnie and Paul had had plenty of time to make their preparations, but for herself everything would be a scurry. She would not even be able to finish the decoration ofVa. She carried the bad news to school next morning. Marion received it with a perfect outburst of indignation.
"What an atrocious shame! To think of springingit upon you in this sudden fashion. Oh, it's too bad to take you away from the High School! Where are you going to finish your education? Is there a school at this place you're going to?"
"I don't know."
"You probably won't have time for school when you get there. Servants are scarce in Canada and you'll have to turn to and help!"
"We're not taking nurse or anyone with us," volunteered Lesbia.
"Thenyou'llbe nursemaid on the voyage?"
"I suppose so."
"I like that!" flamed Marion. "Why can't they leave you behind in Kingfield, to finish at the High?"
"Oh, I wish they would!"
"I wish they'd leave you withus," said Marion impulsively. "Mother'd adore to have you—she likes you awfully—and as for me I'd dance a jubilee. I've always wanted a sister, and we get on so well together, don't we? Oh, itwouldbe sport!"
"It would indeed!" agreed Lesbia wistfully.
She ventured to mention the great idea to Minnie, who laughed, and then looked suddenly hurt.
"Nonsense, Lesbia child," she said. "We're not going away and leaving you behind. I'm sure the Morwoods don't want you as a legacy."
"Marionsaidthey did!"
"Girls like Marion talk a great deal of rubbish, sodon't listen to her. I've put a packing-case in your bedroom, and you may fill it with books and any other things you like to take. It will go in the hold of the vessel. Your clothes must be packed in the tin box and the cabin trunk. We'll buy our fur coats when we get over. They'll be cheaper in Canada than in England."
The Hilton household was naturally deep in preparations for the forthcoming upheaval. Clothes, books, and a few special treasures were to go with them, but they were leaving the furniture to be sold, and would re-furnish when they found a house in Belleville. The children, who now shared the open secret, ran about in much excitement, anxious to start at once on what seemed to them a second summer holiday.
"We shall have an awful time looking after these three scaramouches on board ship," groaned Lesbia, picking Steve out of the packing-case where he had climbed, and rescuing various fragile articles from Julie's and Bunty's prying little fingers.
The more she thought of the prospect the more her heart sank. She did not wish to leave Kingfield at all, but if emigration were a necessity, she would have preferred some beautiful place such as California, or the hot springs district of New Zealand, or certain parts of Australia where the climate was adorable and oranges and peaches hung in your garden.
There were of course many leave-takings before theirdeparture. Lesbia had to go one afternoon to say good-bye to the Pattersons. They were distant cousins, and her only relations in Kingfield. They lived at the opposite side of the city, and she did not see them very often. They had not been consulted about Lesbia's future, and were ready to find fault with her stepbrother's arrangement for her.
"Well, Lesbia! This will be a great change for you," began Mrs. Patterson. "If I'd been asked I should have said 'leave you to finish off at the High School'. It seems a pity to stop your education just when you're getting on nicely."
"I wish they would leave me behind," said Lesbia. "I don't want to go at all."
"We might easily have taken you in," continued Mrs. Patterson. "All three of the boys are away at present. It would have been far better for you. But our advice has never been asked. Paul Hilton goes his own way. Yet really you're more our relation than his. I hope you'll be happy out in Canada. You must write to us sometimes and tell us how you're getting on. Your cousin, Mrs. Baynes, will be very surprised to hear the news. Have you written to tell her? Or to your aunt Mrs. Newton? They really ought to know. It hardly seems right you should go away in this sudden fashion and leave all your kith and kin behind you. You must write to-morrow, Lesbia, and tell them."
Lesbia assented apathetically. She was not very deeply interested in Mrs. Baynes or Mrs. Newton. She had only met the former twice in her life, and Mrs. Newton, her mother's aunt, was not a remarkably attractive old lady. On the few occasions when she saw Lesbia she invariably said she was just going to send her a present and would buy her a book, but she never remembered to keep her promise and the parcel had not yet arrived. Lesbia, who had waited for it since her sixth year, was of the opinion that it never would come.
With school friends and relations bemoaning her departure it was rather hard to take a hopeful view of the future. The only person who encouraged her was Miss Pratt.
"Going to Canada," she commented. "You lucky girl! I wish I could go myself. It's a splendidly go-ahead country. There's some chance for people out there."
"That's what Paul and Minnie say," thought Lesbia, "but of course they have each other and the children. I'm sure Miss Pratt would be welcome to go in my place. I'd much rather stay in dear old England if I was asked."
There was so much to be done before the Hiltons set sail for Canada that the brief fortnight seemed to slide away like a few days. Lesbia attended school, but her lessons went to the winds, amply justifying Miss Tatham's decision that the news of her impending departure would unsettle her work. Unsettle her? How was it possible to do any work at all when she could count the days and say "This time next week I shall be upon the ocean"? She dreaded the voyage. On the few occasions, during summer holidays, that she had been for a sea trip, she had proved a poor sailor. Though Paul assured her the motion would be far less on a big steamer than on a small yacht, she would not take his word for it.
"I shall wish myself at the bottom before we've passed Queenstown," she declared tragically.
At school some little mystery was apparently going on. The girls would be talking, then would stop suddenly when she approached. She wondered about it vaguely. It was explained on her last day, when,at four o'clock, she was asked by Theodora Johnson to come into the gymnasium. Her own form and quite a number from the Sixth and fromVbandIVawere assembled there. To her surprise she seemed to be the centre of attraction. Everybody looked first at her, and then at Theodora, who began to make a speech.
"We're all very sorry you're leaving the school, Lesbia. You've been here longer than anybody else, and it seems a pity you can't go through the Sixth. We shall miss you very much, and we hope you'll accept this good-bye present from us."
She handed Lesbia a beautiful leather dispatch case, with the initials L. F. stamped upon it in gold.
Lesbia received it with amazement. She had never expected any present, and the magnificence of this almost took her breath away.
"It's too good of you! I really don't know how to thank you all," she stammered.
"We thought it might be useful on the journey," explained Theodora. "It's nice when you're travelling to have a few things always handy."
"I shall value it immensely, for its own sake, and because you all gave it to me," said Lesbia.
Then began the good-byes. The girls crowded round her, and wished her well, and asked her to write, and not to forget her old school.
"I don't know who's to finish the stencilling inVa," said Kathleen Wilcox.
"I wish you could have heard the song-drama before you went," mourned Aldora Dodson.
"It's the biggest shame in the world that you're going, I shall always say they oughtn't to have taken you," declared Marion, throwing her arm around Lesbia's shoulder as they left the gymnasium.
The last evening in the old home was a forlorn experience even to Paul and Minnie, who had bright hopes for the future. Lesbia lay awake for hours crying, and woke with a nervous headache. She had packed a few clothes, brush and comb, and some other necessaries, in her new dispatch case, for they were to spend the night at a hotel in Liverpool, and go on board theRoumaniaon the following morning. Nurse had stayed till the last, to help with the preparations. She wept as she put her little charges into the taxi.
"God bless you! I almost wish I was going with you," she murmured, mopping her eyes.
The whole family looked solemn as they drove through the city, but the bustle of the railway station restored their spirits. Lesbia had to cling on to Bunty with one hand, and to hold her dispatch case with the other. When they were settled in a compartment and the train had started, she felt that her last link with Kingfield was severed. What would happen in her unknown future she could not tell.
It was a long journey to Liverpool, and the children were sleepy and cross before they at last reachedthe busy station and drove through the lighted streets to their hotel. The manageress had made a mistake in booking their order, and had only two small rooms left for them, so Lesbia was obliged to take both Julie and Bunty into her bed. It was a tight fit, and they were restless little people. Poor Lesbia, who had hardly closed her eyes the night before, found it impossible to sleep. If she managed to doze off Bunty would kick or Julie would fling out her arms. The dark hours passed like a nightmare. She welcomed the chambermaid's entrance with the hot water. Feeling utterly unrested, and nervy and disconsolate, she got up and dressed the children, who were in high spirits. Their noise made her head throb. Was every day of the journey going to be like this? There was a slight fog and drizzling rain outside. Not at all the sort of weather to inspire courage and hopefulness.
Lesbia made some pretence of eating breakfast in the Coffee Room, but she felt as if food would choke her. Minnie, with an anxious eye on the clock, though there was plenty of time to spare, pushed away her own breakfast almost untasted.
Emigration has its sad side. Even with husband and children it is a wrench to leave old England.
Then the hall porter announced their taxi, and once more they drove through Liverpool streets and along miles of docks to the particular dock where lay theRoumania. They were on board at last, with bag and baggage and the children all intact. Their big boxes were being lowered into the hold, and their cabin trunks were being marked with chalk by an official. A steward took them to their cabins, Nos. 51 and 59. Lesbia's experience in voyaging was confined to a 10-ton yacht. She had never been on a sea-going vessel before. She gazed round in dismay. Why, this tiny room with its four berths was actually smaller than the bathroom at home! There was scarcely space to turn round in it. It would be cramped enough if she had it all to herself, but she was to share it with the three children. How she would ever undress and dress them, wash them and comb their hair, much less manage her own toilet in such tiny quarters, she could not imagine. The porthole was closed, and the air felt stuffy. There is always an indescribably close oily smell about the atmosphere of any cabins, except deck staterooms, and those are generally booked by millionaires. Stewards were carrying in various bags and packages and tossing them down on the berths. Already the little place was so full she did not see where she, Julie, Steve, and Bunty were going to put themselves. An immense wave of repulsion swept over her. She could not—no shecouldnot be boxed up with those children all the way across the Atlantic! It was too bad of Paul and Minnie to have brought her. They ought to have left her behind in England. Theprospect before her was intolerable. She would give the whole world to get out of it, and return to Kingfield.To return to Kingfield!The idea struck her with a sudden swift temptation. The Morwoods and the Pattersons had both said they would have been glad to have her. Suppose she were to make her escape and go back? There was still time. Friends of the passengers were on the vessel. She could slip away amongst them unobserved. She had two pound notes in her purse (Paul had seen to it that she was not penniless), and that would be sufficient to pay her railway fare from Liverpool to Kingfield. Lesbia was nothing if not impulsive. It seemed a case of "now or never". All the Celtic side in her rushed to the fore. She never stopped to reason, but acted on the emotion of the moment.
"I'll do it!" she whispered to herself.
Taking her writing-block and a pencil from her dispatch case, she hastily scribbled a note.
"Dear Paul and Minnie,"I feel I can't possibly go to Canada after all, so I am going back to Kingfield to the Morwoods and my own relations who never wanted me to go away. I hope you will have a nice voyage and be happy at Belleville."With much love,"Lesbia."
"Dear Paul and Minnie,
"I feel I can't possibly go to Canada after all, so I am going back to Kingfield to the Morwoods and my own relations who never wanted me to go away. I hope you will have a nice voyage and be happy at Belleville.
"With much love,
"Lesbia."
She put this into an envelope, addressed it to Paul, and stuffed it inside Bunty's little pocket, where she thought it would be sure to be found later on. Then she kissed the children, took up her dispatch case, and fled on deck. The bell was ringing for friends to clear away from the ship. She stepped ashore with the first consignment. A tram-car was passing along the docks and she boarded it. By good luck it took her straight to the station. She booked for Kingfield and inquired the time of the next train.
"Number 5 platform. You'll just catch it if you're quick!" replied the porter.
Lesbia had only a hazy remembrance afterwards of how she tore up the steps and over the iron bridge to platform 5, but she somehow found herself jumping into a third-class carriage just as the porter was banging the doors and the guard was waving his green flag. She sank on to a seat exhausted, and trembling in every limb. The train started, and Liverpool and Canada lay behind her. Had she wished it was too late now to repent. She had indeed "burnt her boats".
To say that the Morwoods were surprised when Lesbia walked into their house that evening hardly describes their petrified astonishment. They stared at her as if they had seen a ghost. Lesbia, who had felt secure of a warm welcome, explained the situation.
"You've run away! Run away from your brotherand sister and come tous!" gasped Mrs. Morwood. "But, my dear girl,wecan't keep you! You must be mad to do such a thing. Have they actually sailed for Canada without you?"
"I didn't want to go!" answered Lesbia, choking with a lump that suddenly rose in her throat.
She had thought they would be so glad to see her, instead of which they were looking absolutely aghast at her appearance. It was the first great disillusionment of her life. In her bitter disappointment she sank on to a chair and burst into a storm of hysterical sobs. She was overstrung and tired out, and the coolness of her reception seemed like a plunge into an icy bath.
At the sight of such a tragic little lump of misery all Mrs. Morwood's natural kindness of heart reasserted itself. She and Marion comforted Lesbia as best they could.
"Drink this hot tea, child, and you'll feel better. It's no use crying your eyes out. You have some other relations in Kingfield? I thought so. Well, we'll keep you here for to-night, but to-morrow morning I shall send you to Mrs. Patterson. She's the proper person to take charge of you. I suppose she'll telegraph to your brother, and ask what's to be done. It's a most unfortunate business altogether. Cheer up! I suppose your relations will settle things somehow for you."
Lesbia went to bed early in the Morwoods' pretty spare bedroom, hastily got ready for her reception. She had hardly slept during the two previous nights so she was utterly weary, too tired almost to think. Her uppermost feeling as her head nestled on the frilled linen pillow-case was one of intense thankfulness that she was not in cabin 59 on theRoumania. Her bed was steady and the room airy. The wind was blowing a gale outside, and she pictured the steamer tossing on the waves, with portholes carefully closed. She wondered how the children were getting on—the children whom she had so suddenly deserted.
"I suppose Minnie'll go and sleep with them," she thought, stifling a voice within her that was beginning to ask certain uncomfortable questions. "I expect Bunty would give my letter to Paul as soon as they missed me. If not they'd find it in her pocket at bedtime. I wonder what they said? No, I don't! I just want to forget all about it and go to sleep."
Next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mrs. Morwood dispatched her unexpected guest to Mrs Patterson, who, she considered, ought to take charge of her. The Pattersons lived at Morton Common, a suburb on the opposite side of the city, and Lesbia went there in the tram-car. She had plenty of time for reflection upon the journey. After her experience with the Morwoods she was rather doubtful about her reception. Mrs. Morwood had plainly shown herstrong disapproval, and Marion, though she was quite kind, had been frankly embarrassed. Lesbia was beginning to learn there was such a thing as "counting without one's host". She walked very solemnly into the gate of 28 Park Road, and gave a timid ring at the door bell.
Mrs. Patterson's amazement and condemnation were even more sweeping than Mrs. Morwood's. Being a relation she could speak her mind freely.
"Howcouldyou do such an absolutely idiotic thing, Lesbia? You've forfeited your passage. Dear me! I hardly know what's to be done. Paul and Minnie will be in such a state of mind about it!"
"I didn't want to go to Canada," sobbed Lesbia, whose tears were painfully near the surface this morning; "you said it was a pity for me to go, and you could have taken me in easily, so I came back."
Mrs. Patterson looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"I could have taken you if I had arranged it with Paul Hilton," she replied. "But I never expected you to run away in this mad fashion. Well, I suppose we must send a telegram and see what can be done. You've no clothes except the few things in that case? Of course, they would all be in your cabin trunk. The girls must lend you what they can."
When Mr. Patterson arrived home at lunch time he discussed the matter with his wife, and dispatched a wireless message to theRoumania, telling Mr. Hiltonof his stepsister's whereabouts. He received the reply: "Keep Lesbia. Writing." So there was nothing more to be done until a letter could arrive.
Lesbia, as the guest of the Pattersons, began to learn a few facts about life. Up till now she had been singularly childish in regard to money matters, and had never troubled to think of the sources of food and raiment. Paul and Minnie had provided everything, and she had accepted her part and lot with them without question. It came as a surprise when it was explained to her that she was utterly dependent upon her stepbrother.
"Your own father and mother left you absolutely nothing, Lesbia," said Mrs. Patterson. "Paul adopted you, and has brought you up all these years and paid for your education, as if you had been his own sister. I'm afraid he'll be terribly annoyed at your running away from the steamer. It will be such an expense to send you on afterwards if he decides you are to join them."
It was twelve days before a letter arrived with the Canadian postmark, twelve days in which Lesbia, feeling herself a self-invited guest, had ample time to consider the consequences of her rash act. She hardly knew whether she wished Paul to leave her in England or to send for her to Canada. Staying with the Pattersons was not at all exhilarating. The atmosphere of the house was full of disapproval. She lookedeagerly at the envelope addressed in Paul's familiar handwriting. It was directed to Mrs. Patterson, who put on her pince-nez and opened it. As she read it a look of consternation swept over her face.
"Well, I wasn't quite prepared for that at any rate," she commented, "and yet it's only what might have been expected. The girl's no kith and kin of his after all." She handed the letter to her husband, whose face also lengthened as he grasped its contents.
"It's an unfortunate business," he said briefly. "Of course I see his point. We shall have to write to Mrs. Newton."
Poor Lesbia, sitting listening, did not dare to ask for an explanation, but later on Mrs. Patterson told her the bad news.
"Paul is deeply hurt at your leaving the steamer. He says, 'I have been both father and brother to Lesbia for the last eight years, and consider it unpardonable of her to desert my wife in such a pinch. As she evidently does not wish to make her home with us, I feel my responsibility for her may justly come to an end, and I may hand her over to her own relations. Had she come with us to Canada I would have treated her as one of my own children, but in the circumstances she has really no further claim upon me. I think I have done my share, and it is now the turn of others to provide for her.'"
"Has he cast me off altogether?" gasped Lesbia.
"I'm afraid so. You've really nobody but yourself to blame. We must write round to your various relations and see who's ready to help you. If only you had been a couple of years older! You're hardly sixteen and so childish for your age. There, don't cry, Lesbia!" (more kindly). "We shall manage something for you amongst us. Your relations certainly won't turn you adrift. But, of course, it's difficult to arrange when we have children of our own to educate. I expect your fees were paid at school until Christmas, so you may just as well go back there until the end of the term. I'll call on Miss Tatham and talk the matter over with her. You were getting on so nicely at the High School, it seems a pity for you to leave, doesn't it?"
"Yes; I should like to go back there," answered Lesbia forlornly.
Lesbia having, figuratively speaking, eaten Eve's apple and cast her happy-go-lucky childhood behind her, found her newly acquired knowledge exceedingly bitter fruit. Mrs. Patterson was not disposed to treat her as the Hiltons had done, leaving her in complete ignorance of ways and means. On the contrary she discussed the financial side of her prospects to the last half-penny. She did it quite kindly, but with unsparing plainness.
"You'll have to face the fact that later on you must earn your own living, Lesbia," she said. "We must decide what's the best way to educate you and train you, so as to make you fit for something."
Mrs. Patterson had, as she promised, written to Lesbia's various relations, explaining the situation and asking for help. There were very few of them, and they were only distantly related, so perhaps they did not consider the ties of blood made a strong claim upon their assistance. Two of them never answered at all. One wrote suggesting that Lesbia should be sent outto Canada through an emigration society and handed over to her stepbrother who ought to be responsible for her; another (Mrs. Patterson looked frankly angry at this letter) enclosed particulars of an orphanage to which she subscribed, and wondered if Lesbia was too old for admission. Great aunt Mrs. Newton sent a letter in a sloping, shaky hand with nearly every other word underlined.
"I shall be willing to give her ahome," it ran, "as I do not forget herpoor motherwasmy niece. I am at present withoutany servants, and I can only get acharwomanto come everyotherday. My companion, Miss Parry, is leaving me afterChristmas, and so far I have not heard ofanother. I will send Lesbia's railway fares and will gladly teach her to make herself useful in thehouse. In my opinion all young people ought to learnhousework. It is far too muchneglectedin these days, and is of morereal importancethan most of what is taught them atschool."
Lesbia's face, on reading such an offer, was gloom personified. She had shirked going to Canada and helping Minnie to look after Julie, Steve, and Bunty, but with Aunt Newton her position would evidently be ten times worse. It was certainly "out of the frying-pan into the fire". The old lady was fussy and fidgetty, and neither companions nor servants ever stayed with her for long. To fill up the gaps in her domestic arrangements seemed an appallingprospect. Fortunately, the letter did not appeal to Mrs. Patterson's sensible, practical mind.
"This won't do at all," she said briefly, knitting her brows. "Untrained domestic work is a blind alley and leads nowhere. Lesbia must be put in the way of making a proper living. Every girl nowadays ought to have her own career. I shall go and speak to Miss Tatham about it."
Miss Tatham, kind, wise, and experienced in counselling many pupils in the choice of their future professions, gave the best advice she could. Mrs. Patterson came home and talked the matter over with her husband, then announced to Lesbia the result of their cogitations.
"We will give you a home with us, but we can't afford to pay for your education as well. Miss Tatham has made a very generous offer. She says the school is understaffed and that the governors have consented to her obtaining some extra assistance. She suggests that after Christmas you should be received as a governess-pupil. You could give a certain amount of help with the juniors, and your teaching should cancel all your school expenses. It's a splendid plan, and the only one possible in the circumstances. Perhaps Mrs. Newton and Mrs. Baynes will help a little with your clothing, and then we shall manage. As I expected, your fees were paid at the High School up to Christmas, so you are to begin again next Monday.There's still a fortnight of the term left, and you may just as well take advantage of it."
Lesbia heaved a sigh of intense relief at these arrangements. She had hardly realized in the old days that such things as fees existed, they had been Paul's affair entirely, but now that the grown-ups had settled these matters to their satisfaction, she could once more return to the High School and try and forget her troubles. It would be delightful to go back there again. Although it was little more than a fortnight since she had left, the time, with its intervening storms, had seemed years.
Marion had given a brief account toVaof her running away from the vessel, but the news had not circulated outside her own form, so to most of the girls her reappearance in the cloak-room on Monday morning created quite a sensation.
"Lesbia Ferrars! It's neveryou!"
"Where did you spring from?"
"I thought you'd gone to Canada!"
"Why! You said good-bye to everybody!"
"How is it you've come back?"
"Aren't you going to Canada after all?"
"Are you staying on at the High?"
"Did you go and come back again?"
So many questions were hurled at her head that Lesbia did not attempt to answer them in detail. She replied, a little shamefacedly, that her plans hadbeen suddenly changed, and that she was now living with cousins in Kingfield. She realized, from the girls' faces, that her return was considered rather tame. She even wondered whether she ought to keep the good-bye present which they had made her. It was certainly hers by false pretences. Yet it would be hardly possible to give it back.
"There'll be a scrimmage with Laura Birkshaw!" remarked Etta Pearson. "She's been going on with your stencilling. And a nice smudge she's made of it too, in places."
"Aldora Dodson's got your desk by the window," piped Calla Wilkins; "I don't believe she'll turn out for anybody."
"I shan't ask her to," said Lesbia briefly, as she walked upstairs.
Her pride prevented her from satisfying her schoolfellows' freely expressed curiosity, and, after a little teasing, they let her alone. They gathered enough from Marion to understand the main outline of the situation, and simply accepted the fact of her return to school. Between Marion and Lesbia there was a species of embarrassment. Marion could not help knowing that it was largely owing to her well meant but very foolishly expressed sympathy that her friend had performed such a madcap act. She remembered that in an impulsive moment she had even suggested Lesbia living at her home, an offer which her motherhad certainly not endorsed. She felt sorry for her friend, but the sense that she had failed in her crucial test made her shy. Lesbia, with a memory of Mrs. Morwood's blank dismay at her arrival, and the relief with which she had turned her over to the Pattersons, realized what a "faux pas" she had committed, and burned with shame to have thus trespassed upon her hospitality.
By an unspoken but mutual understanding the two girls simply buried the past and did not refer either to Lesbia's late experiences or to her future prospects. They confined their conversation strictly to school matters.
There was plenty to be said, for it was the most exciting part of the term. The girls were getting ready for their great Christmas entertainment, to which parents and friends would be invited. Every day some of them stayed after school to rehearse. The orchestra, which had advanced from scraping to quite tuneful melody, played in the gymnasium each morning from 8.25 to 8.55, a very creditable record, considering it was voluntary work, and necessitated a start from home at an early hour.
"I have to walk, because there isn't a tram from Felsham between the workmen's cars at six, and the half-past eight car," proclaimed Aldora Dodson, rubbing her blue fingers to restore the circulation. "I call it pretty stiff to tramp two miles to a rehearsal!"
"Poor old sport," sympathized Kathleen. "Why don't you bike it?"
"My bike's smashed. I lent it to my wretched small brother, and he ran into a hand-cart. That's what children do if you're silly enough to lend them things. It's carrying the violin to school that makes my arm ache."
"Why don't you leave it here?"
"Because I want to practise in the evenings, of course."
"Then I can't help you, my child. You'll have to be content with the honour and glory of playing in the school orchestra, and put up with the inconveniences. You can't eat your cake and have it."
"Oh, don't preach.You'dgrowl yourself if you had such a tramp."
"I daresay I should."
Those girls who were taking part in the song-drama were naturally much concerned about costumes. They spoke of nothing else, in season or out of season. Miss Lightwood, the stage manageress, was determined to have everything strictly in keeping and to prevent any anachronisms. It was a difficult matter however to decide exactly what articles were or were not worn in the Celtic Ireland of about 200B.C., and there were many discussions on debatable points.
"The one thing we're perfectly certain about," said Marjorie Johns, "is that they wore heaps of jewellery.Everybody who was anybody at all seemed to have a necklet and a coronet and an immense brooch made of gold. How are we going to get all these?"
"We can't," sighed Phillis, hunting ruefully through the typed list of a theatrical provider, "the prices for hiring them nowadays are simply wicked. I call it profiteering. Just look here:
Why, we should be ruined, absolutely ruined, if we hired for the whole company."
"It can't be done," agreed Marjorie, "and yet" (wistfully) "they'd look so lovely. The show won't be really Celtic and mystical and song-drama-y without them. I could sing twice as well if I wore a torc and a chaplet. Yes, Lesbia Ferrars, you needn't laugh! IknowI should. It's my artistic temperament cropping out. Some people may be able to sing on a bare platform, without any scenery or fancy costumes, but they sound just about as inspired as gramophones or pianolas. If I'm to imagine myself 'Etaire' I must have her jewels. I couldn't be a Celtic princess without them. If you laugh again, Lesbia, I'll go for you."
"Is that part of your artistic temperament? There, old sport, I'm not laughing. Notreally. Only insympathy. I've got a suggestion to make. I was looking through Miss Lightwood's book onCeltic Art—the one she took the costumes from—and I suddenly had a brain-wave. There are whole chapters on Celtic jewellery, with lovely illustrations. I'm sure I could copy some of the ornaments in cardboard and gilt paper. Seen from a distance they'd pass muster and be better than nothing."
"You absolute mascot! Do you think you really can manage it?"
"Bring me some gilt paper and some thin cardboard to school to-morrow, and I'll try at any rate. Don't blame me if I fail."
Lesbia was innately artistic, and her slim fingers had that creative faculty which belongs to the born craftswoman. She suspended the stencilling ofVa, which Laura Birkshaw had unwillingly yielded back to her, and, borrowing Miss Lightwood's book onCeltic Art, retired on Tuesday afternoon to the Studio, and set to work, with gilt paper, cardboard, fine scissors, seccotine, a bottle of 'Stickphast' and a paste-brush. She used her time to such advantage that when Phillis came from rehearsal she was able to astonish her with the following articles:
1. A gilt coronet cut in a floral pattern, with holes in the sides, on the backs of which were pasted pieces of coloured gelatine paper to represent jewels, the whole mounted on cardboard and stiff.2. A Celtic necklace cut out of gilt paper, with the top mounted on a band of thin muslin to prevent tearing.3. A large Celtic brooch, five inches in diameter, studded, like the coronet, with gelatine jewels, and neatly sewn on to a safety-pin.
1. A gilt coronet cut in a floral pattern, with holes in the sides, on the backs of which were pasted pieces of coloured gelatine paper to represent jewels, the whole mounted on cardboard and stiff.
2. A Celtic necklace cut out of gilt paper, with the top mounted on a band of thin muslin to prevent tearing.
3. A large Celtic brooch, five inches in diameter, studded, like the coronet, with gelatine jewels, and neatly sewn on to a safety-pin.
Phillis was in raptures.
"They're topping!—A 1!—Scrumptious!" she exulted. "Oh, you really are clever. I can't think how you did it. Where's Miss Lightwood? I must show them to herat once. Let me put them on. I'll be very careful and not break the necklace."
The result of Lesbia's ingenuity was what she might have expected: everybody who was taking a major or minor part in the song-drama clamoured for Celtic jewellery. Miss Lightwood, as stage manageress, declared it was the one thing, needful for the production of what she called "local atmosphere". She appealed to Miss Tatham, and represented the matter so strongly that the Principal actually excused Lesbia's afternoon lessons for the whole last week of term and set her to work in the studio instead, turning out torcs and chaplets. It was interesting to be the manufacturing goldsmith of the school theatricals, and, though she grew rather tired of the snip of scissors and the scent of gum, she toiled away womanfully until even the veriest page-boy in the performance had a brooch to hold his tunic together.
The entertainment was to be an evening one, towhich parents and friends were invited. It would be a very festive occasion, and of course everybody would come in evening dress. Here was a point that caused Lesbia great heart-burning. Her boxes, which Paul had promised to send back from Canada, had not yet arrived, and unless they made their appearance before the important 19th of December, she would be reduced to the horrible alternative of missing the party altogether or attending it in her school frock. She had hinted at her predicament to Mrs. Patterson, hoping for the loan of one of Joan's evening dresses, but Mrs. Patterson had been aggressively obtuse, and had hinted in her turn that it would do Lesbia no harm to do without her best clothes until she realized the value of them. Every day poor Lesbia looked hopefully on her return from school to see whether her boxes were in the hall, and every day she met with the same disappointment. The matter was growing urgent. On the afternoon of 17th December, she measured herself playfully against Joan Patterson and ventured to remark:
"I'm nearly as tall as you, Jo! I believe I could almost wear one of your frocks."
"Oh no, you couldn't," laughed Joan. "They'd be miles too long for you, child, and would look absurd."
"Even turned up a few inches?"
"Turned up," echoed Joan in horror. "It spoilsa dress for ever to turn it up. The stitching shows a long line when you let it down again."
It was evident, as Lesbia thought sorrowfully, there was "nothing doing in that quarter". If her box did not arrive she must miss the performance, for she could not sit among a silk orcrêpe de Chineclad audience in a serge skirt and a knitted jumper. She entered the cloak-room next morning in the gloomiest of spirits. She found Ermie, Kathleen, Marion, and a few others collected together talking excitedly. From their tragic tones some catastrophe had evidently just occurred.
"What's the matter?" asked Lesbia.
"Matter! Why, here's a note from Phillis to say she's in bed with bronchitis and won't be able to act 'Etaire' to-morrow. Isn't it simply sickening?" explained Marion.
"Whatarewe to do?" groused Kathleen.
"Go and break it to Miss Lightwood, I suppose," suggested Cissie.
"Phillismighthave chosen some other time to have bronchitis," mourned Calla.
Miss Lightwood received the bad news with more equanimity than her pupils. Probably she was accustomed to cope with such "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune".
"Nonsense! It's not going to spoil the whole play. I'll take good care it doesn't," she remarked briskly."Let me see, what had Phillis to do? Two songs, three short speeches, and a figure in a dance. We can give her songs to Marjorie, and train somebody else in a hurry to take her part for the dance and the speeches. Now, who'd get it up in one rehearsal? Lesbia's the very girl. She's about Phillis's height, and can wear her costume. We'll soon teach her the dance. Fetch Lesbia at once!"
Lesbia, hastily informed of the honour in store for her, could scarcely believe her good luck. She had yearned all the term to take part in the song-drama, but her voice was not up to the required standard of merit. To hand over the musical portion of the part to Marjorie and to perform the acting and dancing herself seemed a glorious solution. Miss Lightwood was a veritable Solomon. Not only did it give her a part in the entertainment, but it solved the horrible question of her evening dress. Etaire's flame-coloured robe with its stencilled blue border would be very becoming, and she longed to wear the Celtic ornaments which she had herself manufactured. She learnt the dance and the speeches easily, and by the time the rehearsal was over everybody breathed freely, and felt secure of the success of the performance.
No boxes arrived for Lesbia on the fatal 19th of December, but she could afford to snap her fingers at fate now. Kitty and Joan Patterson went as herguests to the school party, and sat among the audience quite impressed with the excellence of the entertainment. The girls had indeed risen tremendously to the occasion. The orchestra kept in fair time and tune, drowned in any doubtful passages by Miss Bates's energy on the piano; Marjorie Johns as Uathach and Pauline Kingston as King Eochaid were the two leading voices, and sang and declaimed their parts with much dramatic fire; Nina Wakefield made quite a sensation as Ochne, the Druid, her incantation on the darkened stage creating such an atmosphere of the supernatural as to send cold shivers down the spines of the audience. Dainty Eve Orton, the nymph and sorceress of the drama, presented a "posture-measure", reminiscent of the three graces in Botticelli's picture of spring, a piece of futurist dancing, which entirely took the house by storm, and made some of the guests remark that at any rate the High School was up-to-date. Miss Tatham, watching with much approval, caught the whispered words and smiled in secret satisfaction that her visit to the Glastonbury Festival had not been in vain: the reproach of "old-fashioned" could no longer be cast at the school.
Lesbia, in her flame-coloured dress, with gilt chaplet, torc, and brooch, made a truly Celtic maiden, and mercifully did not forget her newly learnt speeches. She caught Joan's eye, as the performers lined up for their final bow, and could not restrain a smile. Theschool platform meant much to Lesbia. It was the centre of her little world, and to have taken her place upon it to-night was the fulfilment of a long-cherished ambition. Fortune, which lately had frowned upon her, had for once proved a veritable fairy godmother.
Lesbia spent Christmas at the house of her great-aunt Newton. Mrs. Patterson was expecting her sons home, and had invited several visitors, so decided that she could not possibly find room to keep her young cousin during the holidays. Lesbia, therefore, was packed off to Westhampton, and arrived in a thick fog, to be met by Miss Parry, her aunt's companion, and conducted to Sycamore Villa, on the London Road. Lesbia's cup was at present full of new experiences, and this could hardly be called an exhilarating one. Aunt Newton meant to be kind, but she was a fussy and fidgetty old lady, and quite unaccustomed to young people. Everything about the house represented a bygone generation, and seemed out of touch with modern times. Lesbia liked really old places, such as the Pilgrims' Inn Chambers where Miss Joyce had her studio, but Sycamore Villa was mid-Victorian, and its furniture was of the same period, neither antique nor beautiful. Miss Parry, a little, faded, pathetic-faced elderly lady, whose dutiesseemed overwhelming, was not very lively company for a girl of sixteen. She was generally busy about the house, and when she came to sit down would concentrate her attention on her crochet work, and hardly ever opened her lips. It was certainly unnecessary for her to do so, as Aunt Newton did enough talking for a dozen people. From the depths of her elbow-chair by the fireside she would pour forth a continuous stream of reminiscences to which Lesbia (longing to get on with a book which she was reading) was obliged to lend an attentive ear, and to respond with "yes" or "no" at the right points. The stories, though long-winded, were interesting enough at first telling, but the old lady's memory was failing, and she repeated them so often that they waxed wearisome to a degree. Lesbia, alas, hated domestic duties, but at Sycamore Villa she preferred to dust rooms, wash tea-things, or perform any odd jobs rather than sit and listen to Aunt Newton's interminable tales of fifty years ago. She acted "errand girl" for the establishment, and made many journeys backwards and forwards to the shops to purchase commodities. She welcomed the little expeditions, for it was at least interesting to walk down the streets and gaze in the shop windows.
Lesbia thought she would never have got through that weary month at Westhampton had it not been for a basket of books which she found in the attic.It was a large wicker laundry hamper, and it was filled with unbound volumes ofTemple Bar, and theCornhill Magazine. They dated from about 1887 to 1892, but their serial stories had been written by authors of repute, and were so excellent as to eclipse more modern work. Lesbia read tale after tale with unflagging interest, and had not exhausted the mine before her visit was over. She was very thankful when the time came for her to return to Kingfield. It happened to be her sixteenth birthday. Mrs. Newton, really striving to be kind, had remembered the present which she had promised for so many years, and astonished her great-niece with quite a nice copy of Longfellow's poems. Miss Parry gave her a thimble in a red plush case. Both old ladies were quite affected at bidding her good-bye.
"It's been nice to see somebody young about the house, my dear. I wish we could have kept you," said Aunt Newton, wiping her spectacles.
"You've been such a help, Lesbia! I don't know how I should have got through Christmas without you," murmured Miss Parry.
Lesbia, whose newly awakened mind was beginning to register and weigh impressions, went off in the train winking back something suspiciously moist. She was fearfully and furiously glad to get away, but the Celtic side of her nature responded to the pathos of all she had left behind. The remembrance of AuntNewton's feeble trembling hands clinging to her strong young ones, and of Miss Parry's faded wistful face breaking into a smile as she waved a good-bye, haunted her like a strain of sad music. The episode seemed a chapter of late autumn, with withered whirling leaves and frost-stricken flowers. She stored it away in her memory along with many other vivid mental notes, still only half understood, but adding nevertheless to her increasing stock of human experience.
Lesbia half anticipated and half dreaded the coming term. She wondered how she would get on as a governess-pupil. She had never leaned towards teaching, but then she had never seriously thought of any career, or of anything except a rather butterfly existence. She walked with a very grave face into the study, to be instructed by Miss Tatham in her new duties.
"You'll take the First Form for arithmetic, French, and reading," said the Principal, consulting her time-table, "andIIbfor dictation, French, and English History. You'll sit inIIaand keep order while the girls write their exercises, and you'll giveIIaFrench dictation. You'll help both Miss Edwards and Miss Harrison to correct exercises, and you'll check the registers on Friday afternoons. Do you think you can manage this? I've crossed various items from your own time-table to allow for it."
"I'll try, Miss Tatham."
Secretly she was appalled at the amount expected from her. All her own easiest and most favourite classes had been knocked off to make time for her teaching, but the difficult lessons which needed most preparation were retained. She was to act as a kind of general assistant in three forms, which were managed by two mistresses, Miss Edwards and Miss Harrison. Her first experience was to be withIIb. She encountered some of its short-skirted members skirmishing round the playground. They rushed up to her hilariously.
"Hello! Lesbia!" they greeted her. "Is it true you're going to be a sort of teacher this term?"
"I believe so," said Lesbia, trying to keep her dignity.
"Oh, what sport!"
"A real stunt!"
"We shan't be a bit frightened ofyou!"
"You're so jolly, youcouldn'tbe cross!"
"Couldn't I? Just you wait and see. You'll have to behave yourselves, I can tell you, whenI'mteaching, or I'll jolly well want to know the reason why!"
The juniors exploded.
"Don't pile it on too thick!" urged Gwennie Rogers. "We know you, Lesbia! You're not very tall and you aren't a scrap grown-up yet. You don't look much like a teacher, I must say!"
"You'll find Iamone though," retorted Lesbia,dispersing the crowd and stalking into the gymnasium, outwardly serene, but inwardly with a sinking heart.
If this was going to be the attitude of the juniors it boded badly for the future. She groaned at the vista of trouble in front of her. Why, oh why, had capricious fate pitchforked her into a position for which she had no real capability or appreciation? For one wild moment she wished herself out in Canada. Then some secret voice within her seemed to whisper.
"No! Be loyal to the school. You've stuck to it all these years, and if anybody can teach those juniors its best traditions surelyyoucan! It's a downright good opportunity."
"Why, so it is!" thought Lesbia. "I hadn't looked at it in that light before. They're a set of imps, but I'll tussle with them for the sake of the old High. I shall have authority at my back, and can call in Miss Harrison if they get past bearing. All the same, I'm not exactly looking forward to my first lesson. I wish it hadn't been dictation."
A very stately and grown-up little Lesbia walked intoIIbnext morning, with dignity in her eye and iced authority in her voice. Sixteen faces regarded her with decorous gaze, for Miss Edwards was still in the room, and her pupils were quiet as mice in the presence of their Form Mistress. Miss Edwards gave Lesbia a few necessary directions, told the monitress to get out the dictation books, took her copy ofCæsar's GallicWarsfrom her desk, and departed to give a Latin lesson toIVb. As soon as the door closed upon her a smile of intelligence passed round the form. It was as if a string which had held together a chain of beads had been suddenly cut. Girls who had sat before in erect attitudes began to loll. Fidgety fingers played with pencils or raised their desk lids. Two or three venturesome spirits were already whispering. There was a subdued giggle from the back seats.
"Silence!" called Lesbia, rapping on Miss Edwards's desk; "Maisie Martin, give out the dictation books!"
Maisie Martin, monitress for the month, was in no mood to hurry herself. She took up the pile of books so carelessly that the middle ones instantly dropped and distributed themselves over the floor. Pieces of blotting-paper fluttered out in the fall and floated under the desks. There was a general grabbing, accompanied by audible titters. Maisie went down on her hands and knees, collecting the ruin with much unnecessary fuss, and managing in her excursions after stray books to give a surreptitious pinch or two at any pair of ankles that were within range, provoking sharp "O-o-h's" from their owners.
"Come, Maisie! Don't be all day about it!" commanded Lesbia, wondering whether her dignity as a teacher permitted her to help to pick up the pile, and deciding regretfully that it did not. It is always so much easier to do things quickly yourself than toforce unwilling people to make haste. The dictation books, when they left Miss Edwards's desk, had been in exact order of the girls' places. Now, however, they were all mixed up anyhow. Maisie had to look leisurely at the label on each, and walk about the room handing them to their owners. She made a great number of journeys in the process, and read the name on each label out aloud in a halting kind of voice as if she were just learning to spell. Lesbia curbed her impatience. She knew Maisie was trying how far she could go. She judged it better, however, not to take too much notice. Maisie was evidently showing off for the benefit of the form, and reproof would probably check her movements still further instead of hastening her.
Each girl as she received her book said "thank you" with quite superfluous unction, all in different tones of voice, some gruff, some squeaky, some mincing, and some affected. At last, however, each was settled with a blank page of exercise paper before her, and there was no further excuse for delay. Lesbia opened the reading-book at a venture and began to dictate:
"'GREAT AFRICAN EXPLORERS"'Sir Samuel White Baker, the distinguished African traveller, was born in Worcestershire in 1821. He early showed his love of sport and adventure, and in 1861 projected an expedition to Africa, with theview of meeting Captains Speke and Grant at the sources of the Nile.'"
"'GREAT AFRICAN EXPLORERS
"'Sir Samuel White Baker, the distinguished African traveller, was born in Worcestershire in 1821. He early showed his love of sport and adventure, and in 1861 projected an expedition to Africa, with theview of meeting Captains Speke and Grant at the sources of the Nile.'"
Sixteen heads were bent over desks and sixteen hands began laboriously to write.
"Do I put a capital to African?" asked Allie Pearson, pausing at the second word.
"Of course. It's a proper name," vouchsafed Lesbia; "you ought to know that."
"You put capitals for every word of the title, don't you?" inquired Jess Morrison officiously.
"Please is it explor-ersor explor-ors?" piped Sadie Lorrimer, from the back.
"I can't tell youthat!"
"Oh, but you might say it over again so that I can hear."
Lesbia fixed a glaring eye on Sadie, and, disregarding her appeal, continued to dictate:
"'Sir Samuel White Baker, the distinguished African traveller, was born in Worcestershire in 1821. He early showed his love——'"
"Please, I'm only as far as Baker," interrupted an agitated voice. "What comes next to Baker?"
"You must really write more quickly," chided Lesbia.
"But you go onsofast!"
"I'vewritten 'he early showed his love'," chirped a smug voice from a front desk. "I'm always quickest of anybody."
"Be quiet, Esmée! Where have most of you got to?" asked Lesbia incautiously, realizing her mistake when an answering chorus shouted:
"African!"
"Worcestershire!"
"Distinguished!"
"Early showed!"
"Traveller!"
She held up her hand to stop the babel, and began to dictate the passage again. With considerable spluttering of pens the girls followed, Lu-Lu Branton and Nan Ward repeating the words after her in loud whispers.
"'After preliminary explorations he reached Khartoum and organized his expedition to the Great White Nile,'" continued Lesbia, in slow and measured tones.
"Please, what does 'pre-pre-limary' mean?" asked Allie Pearson tragically, "I never heard such a word before."
"They're all new words," grumbled Gwennie Rogers.
"We've never had such difficult dictation," whined Jean Hawley.
"Nonsense! Go on," commanded Lesbia.
"You're using the wrong part of the reading-book," squeaked an indignant voice from Row 2. "Miss Edwards always gives us our dictation from the beginning part."