"It's wonderfully good," declared Mr. Stockton. "You've evidently got some notion of drawing in you. You ought to go and study at a school of art. How old are you? Only sixteen? What you want is to join a life class. You'd soon get on. It isn't everybody who can catch a likeness. The colour of that backgroundis not at all bad for a beginner. My advice is 'Go ahead!'"
It was kind advice, and made Lesbia blush with pleasure, but, as she thought privately, it was all very well to say "go ahead" when she had absolutely no prospect of joining a life class. She did not possess an oil paint-box, and even had she one there would be no time among her multitudinous lessons for the practice of portraiture. If her future was to consist of studying, passing exams, and afterwards teaching, Art would have little chance to develop.
"It's a pity," sighed Lesbia. "Because people work so much better at things they really and truly like. I hold with the Montessori system in that. If Miss Tatham gave me my choice I'd never look at Latin or Maths again. No! I'd just paint, paint, paint, from morning till night, and be absolutely happy. That's my ideal of life. But I shall never get it—never! So I suppose it's no use grousing. Marion's got an oil paint-box by the by. I wonder if she'd swop it for my camera? That's rather a brain-wave. I'll ask her when I get back. If Joan would sit for me on Saturdays I'd try and paint her. She has a pretty side face and her fluffy hair would look nice against a blue background. Perhaps Mrs. Patterson wouldn't scold if it was Joan's portrait I was doing. Oh dear! How I wish Kingfield High School was a school of art."
Lesbia returned to 28 Park Road at the end of thethree weeks with relief and regret about equally balanced. She treasured the remembrance of a quite tearful good-bye hug from Terry, but rejoiced that she had no longer to put him to bed, to comb his curls, or to keep his mischievous fingers from doing damage. She did not covet Miss Gordon's post, and decided that if she had to teach it should be at a day school, where she could be free from the small fry from 4 p.m. till 9 o'clock on the next morning.
"The fact is," she confessed to herself, "I adore children to look at or to romp with. It's that abominable keeping order I hate so. I'm not what Miss Tatham calls 'a good disciplinarian'. The young scamps know it, and they take advantage of me. I suppose I'm a round peg in a square hole, or a square peg in a round hole, whichever it is; I don't seem quite to fit somehow. Well, it can't be helped anyway, and I shall just have to worry along as best I can to the end of the chapter."
It was not until after Easter that Regina Webster came to school. She appeared inVaon the first morning of the new term, and because the form was really "full up" she had to be accommodated with a chair and a small table at which to write. Miss Pratt, having settled the new-comer with a seat, suggested that somebody should afford hospitality to her books, which certainly could not be left lying about the room. For a minute there was dead silence. Everybody's desk seemed already overflowing, and nobody felt at all anxious to share its limited space with a stranger.
"Won'tanyoneoffer?" asked Miss Pratt with a tinge of surprised tartness in her voice.
Regina was staring out of the window trying to look utterly disinterested.
Then Lesbia's conscience gave her a hard tweak and whispered: "Don't be mean". She often ignored her inner monitor, but this time she listened.
"Iwill, Miss Pratt," she said, turning a little red, as the gaze of the form instantly focused upon her.
"Thank you, Lesbia!"
So that was how it began. Fate, at their first meeting, seemed to fling Regina into her very lap. You cannot share a desk with anybody without contracting a certain amount of intimacy, the mere fact of bending your heads together to store your books and pencils in the same receptacle promotes confidence. By the end of the third day Lesbia knew the number of Regina's brothers and sisters and what colour her new costume was going to be, and Regina had heard the whole story of how Lesbia nearly went to Canada and didn't. There was not very much reserve about Lesbia. If she took a fancy to anybody her heart blossomed like a mango in an Indian conjurer's trick, and she was ready to impart any number of secrets. To certain impulsive temperaments a new friendship is a great opportunity. It means a totally fresh start with somebody who will not be influenced by old impressions, but will take you at your present valuation, someone to whom you can pour out your own version of your biography unbiased by other people's opinions, somebody to whom all your old stories and jokes will be new, and to whom even your last year's hat will appear quite fresh and worthy of admiration.
Regina was no ordinary girl. That was apparent the moment she had walked intoVa. Her face was too strongly cut for mere prettiness, but her great grey eyes seemed to hold whole past lifetimes of thoughtin them. In manner she was very abrupt. She snapped out her remarks in short jerks, as if she were firing them from a gun. She moved with the self-consciousness often noticed in girls of sixteen. The whole of her atmosphere was intensely "mental". Astrologers would have placed Mercury and Jupiter for her birth signs. Her brains were so big that she almost seemed intellectual against her will. She did not want to pose as clever, and curiously enough seemed to covet most all the specially feminine characteristics which she rather conspicuously lacked. She admired Lesbia, much as a boy would, for her pretty hair, her dainty movements, and the general Celtic glamour that hung about her; she behaved, indeed, more like a youth in love than an ordinary schoolgirl chum. Her large soulful eyes would gaze at her idol during classes as if she were composing sonnets, and she haunted her round the school till the girls christened her "Lesbia's shadow".
"She's queer, of course, but in a way she's rather a sport," declared Kathleen, discussing the new-comer in the cloakroom.
"Yes, she's certainly queer. She never does anything in the least like anybody else," agreed Ermie Hall. "She makes me quite nervous when she stares at me with those big eyes. I feel as if she were trying to hypnotize me? Do you believe in hypnotism? It's rather creepy."
"If she'd mesmerize me to know my prepI'd be grateful to her. Don't be an idiot, Ermie."
"She makesmethink of 'The Blessed Damozel'," piped Carrie obtrusively.
"The Blessedwho?"
"Oh, you evidently don't know your Dante Gabriel Rossetti!"
"I don't know my Dante anybody. Who was she, or he, whichever it is?"
"It's a piece of poetry, of course."
"There's no 'of course' about it."
"Well it is at any rate."
"Go on, Carrie, and spout. You're dying to give it to us, I can see," urged Marjorie.
Carrie, who was in the elocution class and loved reciting, did not wait to be asked twice. Secure of an even moderately willing audience she began:
THE BLESSED DAMOZELThe blessed damozel leaned outFrom the gold bar of Heaven;Her eyes were deeper than the depthOf waters stilled at even;She had three lilies in her hand,And the stars in her hair were seven.Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,No wrought flowers did adorn,But a white rose of Mary's gift,For service meetly worn;Her hair that lay along her backWas yellow like ripe corn.
THE BLESSED DAMOZELThe blessed damozel leaned outFrom the gold bar of Heaven;Her eyes were deeper than the depthOf waters stilled at even;She had three lilies in her hand,And the stars in her hair were seven.Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,No wrought flowers did adorn,But a white rose of Mary's gift,For service meetly worn;Her hair that lay along her backWas yellow like ripe corn.
THE BLESSED DAMOZEL
The blessed damozel leaned outFrom the gold bar of Heaven;Her eyes were deeper than the depthOf waters stilled at even;She had three lilies in her hand,And the stars in her hair were seven.
Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,No wrought flowers did adorn,But a white rose of Mary's gift,For service meetly worn;Her hair that lay along her backWas yellow like ripe corn.
"Now itislike her, isn't it?" she inquired at the end of the second stanza. "Shall I say you any more?"
"No, thanks" (some of the girls were moving hastily away). "That's quite enough. Yes, perhaps it is like Regina, if you look quite at the romantic side of her. Her hair is 'yellow like ripe corn', and her eyes, of course, are the main part about her. All the same, she's too substantial somehow for me to imagine her leaning out over any gold bar of Heaven. I'd be afraid she'd break it. She must weigh more than I do, and I'm eight stone—nearly! I was weighed at the station yesterday on the automatic machine."
"Well, if you're going to reckon attraction by lack of weight, I suppose you'd admire a living skeleton."
"Not at all, but I can't quite reconcile gold bars of Heaven with twenty-six inches round the waist."
"Some people haven't the soul to appreciate poetry properly."
"That's true," chirped Ermie unabashed. "I dare say the Miss Miltons voted 'that poem of Dad's' awful slow. It was certainly 'Paradise Lost' to them to have to sit and write at his dictation when they probably wanted to be out picking blackberries or feeding the hens. I've always felt sorry for those three girls. I hope they all found decent husbands,poor dears! The literature book doesn't tell us any more about them, and they're far more interesting to me than their stern old father. When I write a literature book, I shall put things in their proper focus. 'Celebrities from a Girl's Point of View' I mean to call it. Yes, I'm in earnest! Don't snigger, all of you! I'll publish it some day and then you'll just see. Oh yes, glorify Regina into 'the Blessed Damozel' if you like. I don't mind what names you call her. 'Blessed Damson' would do for me. Ta-ta!"
Though the girls joked about Regina, and even teased her, there was a certain amount of liking mixed with their chaff. They all agreed that she was 'rather a sport'. Her amazing cleverness absolutely took their breath away. They would almost have resented it if Regina herself had set any store by it. She would finish her mathematical problems in a few minutes, while her schoolmates were still staring at them, and would sit with arms folded and answers ready when the rest of the form were helplessly beating their brains. She saw at once that it gave offence, and apologized in her abrupt manner.
"I can't help it. I just see the answers somehow and write them down."
"Couldn't you fiddle about with your pencil and look as if you were still working?" urged Calla's injured voice. "It makes Miss Pratt on the warpath to seeyou sitting up so soon. She said, 'Aren't you finishedyet, girls?' this morning, very acidly. I think you might try to spin things out foroursakes."
In the matter of memorizing, also, Regina's nimble brains utterly outdistanced those of her companions. She took home the history book and read up all the portions whichVahad taken during the two previous terms, proving a far better acquaintance with it at revision classes than the rest of the form, and bringing out dates with enviable accuracy.
"I can't help it," was still her protest. "It's as easy to remember a right date as a wrong one. They stick in my head somehow. If I see them once I know them."
"You're a genius, I suppose," sighed Kathleen. "There ought to be a special form for geniuses. It's not right to wedge them in amongst ordinary girls."
Yet all the time it was the ordinary girls whom Regina admired. Her own movements were awkward and jerky, but she would watch fascinated while dainty Alice Orton, the dunce, even ofVb, performed a scarf dance, and she came to school one day in such a palpable though indifferently made copy of Agnes Clifford's fashionable dress of Saxe blue gabardine, that some of the girls openly giggled in the cloakroom, an offence for which she never really forgave them. After three weeks of worshipping at Lesbia's shrine Regina one morning blurted out an invitation. In hercharacteristic fashion she gave it without any preamble. She simply said abruptly:
"Can you come to tea on Saturday?"
And Lesbia, suppressing a gasp of surprise, replied:
"Oh, thanks very much! I shall have to ask my cousin, Mrs. Patterson, first."
Lesbia was very keen upon tennis at present. To go with Kitty and Joan to play at their club was her weekly treat. She did not know whether she wanted to waste a whole precious Saturday afternoon upon Regina, whom she saw every day at school. I am afraid tennis would have overbalanced friendship in the scales had she not remembered that on Saturday next was a tournament, and she would certainly have no opportunity of playing.
"It's just possible that the Websters may have a court," she ruminated. "I'll chance it, anyway."
She therefore asked and obtained permission for the outing from Mrs. Patterson, who was quite gracious and pleasant about it. She had been far more genial with Lesbia lately. The storm over her visit to Pilgrims' Inn Chambers seemed to have cleared the air.
"So you're going to tea with the Blessed Damozel," giggled Ermie, for the news leaked out somehow inVa. "Well, I suppose you'll have a sort of royal reception—flags put up in your honour, family band playing, an illuminated address presented, and all therest of it. The younger brothers—if thereareany younger brothers and sisters—will be practising court curtsies and hand kissing. Hope you'll rise to the occasion and receive it with proper dignity. Give us a specimen of your best regal manners, O Queen! Just to show us how it's done."
"Don't mock. I believe you're jealous."
"Oh yes, of course we're all jealous, aren't we, Marjorie? We want to be worshipped too, and have somebody 'Less than the Dust' grovelling at our feet. We'd get up a turn or two among ourselves, only we can't decide who's to grovel. Everyone wants to be the goddess and not the devotee. That's where we don't hit it. Is it Saturday afternoon that the royal reception is to take place? How touching! Some press representatives ought to be there for the sake of the school magazine."
"Oh, go on! Rag me as much as you like. I don't care a scrap, so there!"
After eleven years at Kingfield High School, Lesbia was thoroughly well accustomed to teasing. She let the girls say what they liked about her new friendship with Regina. She certainly did not mean to be chaffed out of it. On Saturday afternoon she donned her white tennis costume, put on a new shady white hat, and went on the top of the tram-car to Heathersedge, the suburb where the Websters lived. The guard put her down at the right corner, and after a few minuteswalking she found herself at her destination, a square house covered with early June roses, and with ornamental vases filled with geraniums on each side of the porch. Though her reception was not quite on the lines which Ermie had picturesquely prophesied, it was nevertheless apparent that Regina had very much rubbed in glorified accounts of her personality. The family, who all owned the same soulful eyes, gazed at her with a fascinated intensity which made Lesbia devoutly hope she was not disappointing them.
"Soyouare Regina's idol! She talks about nobody else," said Mrs Webster, in the abrupt manner of her daughter, shaking hands very warmly and kindly, however, with her young guest.
Regina blushed and looked uncomfortable, as girls generally do when parents are guilty of indiscreet remarks. She made a conspicuous effort to hustle her friend away, but was balked by the rest of the family, whose attitude plainly demanded introductions. She catalogued them briefly, and would have dismissed them, but they declined to be so easily disposed of, and accompanied the visitor in a body to the garden. Lesbia, who was not very keen on spending a whole afternoontête-à-têtewith Regina, gave them palpable encouragement. She decidedly liked them. First there was Derrick, known in his private circle as "the stripling", a very tall boy of fourteen, who evidentlyenjoyed female society and was immensely pleased if he were treated as grown up. His manners were more suave than Regina's, and he had reached the stage when he delighted to open doors, pick up handkerchiefs, or perform any other small services for attractive members of the fair sex, preferably older than himself. He attached himself at once to Lesbia, ignoring indignant glances from his sister that seemed to say "Hands off! This ismyspecial property."
Magsie and Una, two little girls with cropped flaxen hair and short-cut skirts, hovered about putting in any remarks that anybody would listen to. They each had an eye to taking Lesbia's disengaged left arm, but Regina, who had appropriated the other, frowned them fiercely away. Piers and Winston, the four-year-old twins, were exhibited proudly, somewhat in the fashion of domestic pets, and, when they had performed what Derrick called "their parlour tricks", were dismissed to play in a separate portion of the garden, and bribed with chocolates not to return.
There was a tennis lawn, a very nice one too, full-sized, and level, and thoroughly well rolled and free from daisies or dandelion roots. Lesbia looked at it so longingly that Regina, still anxious for an afternoon of private confidences, had perforce to offer a game, though her face grew a little glum when her guest promptly accepted.
"You'd better fetch John Curzon," she nodded to Derrick.
Derrick, without a word, and somewhat to Lesbia's amazement, departed over the wall, but he returned shortly accompanied by a boy friend who bore a tennis-racket.
There was a brief scrimmage about sides, Regina wanting Lesbia for a partner, and Derrick indignantly protesting against two girls playing together. He carried his point, and conducted the visitor to what he considered the more advantageous quarter of the court, leaving John and his sister to have the sun in their eyes. Magsie and Una constituted themselves umpires, and called out the score with keen satisfaction. The Websters were fairly good players, and Lesbia enjoyed herself, especially as she and Derrick were winning all along the line. In the middle of the second game she began to be aware of spectators. There was a paling between the side of the garden and a lane, and over the top of these wooden boards faces that seemed somehow familiar would peep for a moment and then vanish. It was only after several of these sudden bobbing appearances that her eyes recognized the well-known features of Ermie, Cissie, and Aldora. At the first convenient opportunity she pointed them out to her hostess.
"Hello, you girls! Show yourselves properly," yodelled Regina, running to the palings.
Audible giggles came from the lane, then sounds of hoisting, finally three smiling faces peered across the fence.
"You'd better come over and have tea. It's almost ready," invited Regina hospitably.
"No, thanks," (Ermie was spokeswoman). "We're going to tea at Cissie's. We only looked in to see how you were getting on. We thought you'd be turtle-doving."
"We're playing tennis."
"So I see. We don't want to butt in. Just came to find the flags flying that's all." (With a grimace at Lesbia.) "Wedoapologize. Sorry to be on the earth. Or rather on the palings. Can't hold up any longer. Ta-ta!"
Ermie disappeared with a sudden drop, followed by Cissie and Aldora. To judge from the sound of footsteps they ran hurriedly away down the lane. Lesbia looked relieved. She did not want Regina to realize what fun the girls made of her infatuation. She was so deadly in earnest about everything that it seemed a shame to tease her.
"Besides which she might think I had been cackling to them and put them up to coming," thought Lesbia, turning hot at the notion. "I'll spifflicate those three on Monday, when I catch them. It was beastly cheek to track me here just to try and rag. They ought to know better manners, and I shall tell themso. Won't I pitch into them just! I'll make them absolutely shrivel!"
But aloud she simply said very calmly:
"It's your serve, Regina. We were thirty—forty.Dolet us try and finish this set before tea if we can."
Ever since the Easter holidays at Tunbury, and her apprenticeship to Art in Mr. Stockton's studio, Lesbia had been hankering for an oil paint-box. She wanted it desperately, as any craftsman, with creative instinct, longs for the tools of his trade. She thought about it in bed at nights, when she lay awake, and in imagination squeezed the delightful tubes on to her palette and mixed subtle combinations of soft shades. There seemed, to her particular bent, so many more possibilities in oils than in water-colour. To be sure, her cheap little student's box had never given the latter medium a fair trial, but she considered the possession of even Winsor and Newton's best equipment of half-pans and sables could not compete with the satisfaction of dabbing solid masses of paint on a canvas with stiff hog-hair brushes.
"I don't like finicking work," she decided. "Give me something strong and broad, that I can dash away at and go ahead with. I'd rather be an Impressionist than a Pre-Raphaelite any day. Scene-painting's morein my line than miniatures. Oh dear! I wish all the powers in earth and air would show me how to get a decent paint-box."
She had approached Marion with a view to an exchange, but her friend shook a regretful head.
"I'm fearfully sorry, Lesbia," she apologized. "I'd have let you have my box with pleasure, only you see Dad gave it to me as a Christmas present, and I don't think he'd like me to swop it. He wants me to take some lessons in flower-painting. And I have a camera already. I don't mean my own—that was broken six months ago—but Uncle Fred has lent me his, and it's a perfect beauty. I've got his developing-machine too."
"Nothing doing then, I suppose," said Lesbia, turning ruefully away, and wishing she had never asked the favour.
The Patterson household was well stocked with books, but had no art effects. A glue brush and a pot of white enamel were the utmost they could muster in the matter of painting paraphernalia. Even a Raphael's genius would have been hampered by such elementary stock-in-trade. Lesbia came to the sorrowful conclusion that life for the present must be lived without an oil paint-box. But the lack of this means of "self-expression" did not curtail the strong artistic instincts that were stirring in her. She found herself always looking for the pictorial aspect of things, andthinking how she could transfer them to canvas. When she was teaching the juniors she would watch Maisie Martin's head bent over her dictation book, and think how beautifully the outline of that pink cheek and the ruddy hair might be rendered against a silver-grey background. She would sometimes surreptitiously sketch the children's attitudes in her notebook, rejoicing over the graceful turn of an arm, or the subtle curve of a white neck, while its owner, conscious of her gaze, wondered what black score was being entered on the time-sheet. Even in the midst of scolding her tiresome flock the artistic side would crop out, and she would register mental impressions of the dancing light in naughty Esmée's dark eyes, the beautiful shape of Sylvia's little hand that was holding the pen all wrong, and the silky sheen on Gwennie's flaxen hair, as that irrepressible damsel fidgeted at her desk. If her small pupils could only have been artist's models, the hours spent with them would have been a pleasure instead of a daily dread.
In her own form, too, Lesbia was allowing herself to drift into a dreamy habit of art observation instead of mental concentration. She sketched on the borders of her textbooks and on her blotting-paper, and was even guilty of purloining bits of coloured chalk from the blackboard box, and smudging impressionistic portraits of her comrades on spare pages of essay paper. Worse than this, her imagination was apt to absolutelyrun away with her. Miss Pratt one day, lecturing on English Literature, gave a critical survey of Keats's poems. "Isabella and the Pot of Basil" fascinated Lesbia instantly, and her brain danced off to create a picture of the scene. She visualized the exact drooping pose of Isabella, the hang of her dark hair, the drapery of her rich dress, the reflection of sunlight on the brass pot, the peep of mediæval landscape seen between curtains in the background, the tear that must glitter on Isabella's long lashes, her look of hopeless despair, and the rich scheme of colour that must run through the whole picture.
"Quote the terms in which theEdinburgh Reviewsummed up its criticism of 'Endymion'?" asked Miss Pratt.
Lesbia started. She had been so busy fixing details of her proposed picture of Isabella that all further particulars of the lecture had passed unheard. She had not the ghost of a notion what theEdinburgh Reviewhad said about "Endymion", except a shadowy impression that they had slated it.
"They—they—didn't like it," she stammered lamely.
The form giggled faintly. Miss Pratt cleared her throat in the ominous manner that always preluded trouble.
"I never thought you conspicuously bright, Lesbia Ferrars," she remarked scathingly; "but you're really outdoing yourself to-day. The criticism of theEdinburgh Reviewon Keats's poem would equally well describe your attitude of mind. Yes, Carrie, you may give it," nodding to another quarter of the room.
"Calm, settled, imperturbable drivelling idiocy," quoted Carrie.
At which the faint giggle swelled again, but subsided at a glance from the teacher.
Lesbia sat up straight, banishing Isabella and all possible shapes of basil pots from her brain, and pinched her finger to try and keep concentration on the lesson, though the portrait of Keats himself, with his poetic blue eyes and ruddy chestnut curls, danced sometimes before her like an æsthetic will o' the wisp to lead her astray.
"I'm an artistic peg in a scholastic hole," she said to herself, rather pleased with her own simile.
Miss Pratt, however, took no notice of the shapes of pegs or of holes. She was there for the purpose of giving a literature lesson, out of which she meant her girls to get the utmost possible profit. She had no patience with what she considered "slacking", and she kept a keen eye on Lesbia for the rest of the hour, asking her questions whenever she perceived any signs of straying attention.
Lesbia sketched her picture during geometry on the back page of her exercise book, but it was a scratchy performance and quite unworthy of her high ideals. She covered it hastily lest the mistress should see it.
"If they'd only let us choose our own work at the High School I'd vote for a life-class," she sighed, taking up her compasses and trying to focus her wandering mind on circles and angles and letters of the alphabet, instead of the outlines of the human form divine.
It was on the very next Saturday that Kitty, craving for the country, and finding for once she had no particularly pressing engagement in town, suggested a cycling excursion. She wanted her sister to go with her, but Kingfield held superior attractions for Joan, who suggested Lesbia as a substitute and promised to lend her her bicycle. It was all arranged at the breakfast-table, and the two girls then and there cut sandwiches, fetched the machines, oiled them, pumped tyres, strapped on cycle-baskets, and started forth before ten o'clock. They rode first through the suburbs, where foliage was yet unspoilt with dust from motors, and the gardens were making a brave show of lilac, laburnum, and pink hawthorn. Then by degrees the houses grew fewer, the kerbstones disappeared, and the footpaths gave way to grassy borders; there were unclipped hedges instead of ornamental railings, and fields, and woods, and streams on the other side of them. Bird-life was at its zenith; larks, so high as to be almost invisible, poured out torrents of rapture; every apple tree seemed to have a blackbird soloist on a topmost bough; wrens, linnets,and hedge-warblers fluttered and twittered among low bushes, and flocks of jackdaws and rooks rose from the fields in whirling flights. With one accord the girls rode fast. There was an exaltation in free-wheeling down the hills, flying through the air like birds. It almost gave them the sensation of wings. The spell of spring was upon them, that curious thrill that comes to us as we escape out of the circles of civilization and visit Mother Nature at her busiest season, when every inch of her domain is a-throb with life. It was pretty country in the neighbourhood of Kingfield, an undulating landscape with large trees and lush meadows, and a slow river with banks of reeds and iris. The villages had timbered cottages with thatched roofs and flowery gardens, old grey church towers showed among groups of leafy elms, and picturesque farm buildings and straw-stacks stood back from the road at the ends of by-lanes.
Kitty and Lesbia ate their sandwiches very early, sitting in a wood blue with hyacinths, more than doubtful indeed that they were trespassing, but hoping no indignant farmer would spy them and turn them out. They rested here for half an hour, dozing in a patch of sunshine and blissfully happy, till a colony of ants discovered them and began to employ forcible measures of ejectment.
"Wow! The ants are stinging my ankles," wailed Kitty.
"Ants and ankles or aunts and uncles did you say?" twittered Lesbia, trying to slay a mosquito, which was making a ferocious onslaught at her hatless forehead. "This place is rather too much alive for my taste. I vote we get a move on."
"Right-o! I'm ready if you are. I never saw such a bloodthirsty crew of insects. I wonder what they live on when there are no human beings to bite?"
"I don't know. But I don't see the fun of acting dinner for them at any rate. Here are our bikes. How hot they are! We oughtn't to have left them in the sun. What's the name of the next village? Let me look at the map. Why, we must be just here, close to Rawsthorne. We can join the Glenbridge Road and go home by Hanburnham."
On the outskirts of the village our cyclists were obliged to dismount sharply, owing to a sudden block in the road. A car turning out of a carriage drive very nearly collided with an old-fashioned gig, and brought a phaeton behind it to a standstill. To add to the difficulty, there were several conveyances drawn up under the hedge, two empty cars, a landau, and a pony trap. Looking for some explanation of this unwonted traffic in a country village, Kitty noticed an auctioneer's bill pasted on a board beside the open gate, setting forth particulars of a sale of household furniture and other effects, which was apparentlytaking place on that identical day. Gazing up the drive she could see a crowd of people assembled upon the lawn.
"A sale! Oh, what sport to go to it!" she exclaimed eagerly. "I wonder how they let you in? May anybody just walk up to the house?"
"People all seem to have catalogues," ventured Lesbia, peeping wistfully round the gate-post into the attractive grounds.
She made this remark at a most opportune moment, for a lady, who was about to enter, paused, looked at the girls, and said gently:
"I can take you in with me if you want to go. My catalogue will admit three."
Kitty and Lesbia accepted with alacrity. Neither had witnessed a sale before, so it would be a novel experience to both. Their unknown friend piloted them to the front door, where they were duly passed by the policeman in charge, then, meeting some friends, she nodded good-bye and went away. There was still a quarter of an hour before the auctioneer was due to begin, and people were walking about the house viewing the various articles which would presently be put up. In great curiosity the girls joined the throng, and wandered round the rooms. It was the third day of the sale, so most of the important pieces of furniture had already been removed. What was left was that vast accumulation of householdrubbish which—like the traditional lost pocket-book—is often of little value to anybody except its owner. The dismantled house had a forlorn look, the sun glared through curtainless windows on to bedsteads piled up with bedding, stacks of well-used books, antiquated hats in round band-boxes, tasteless ornaments, faded cushions, tarnished gilt frames, and a medley of miscellaneous objects. There was something infinitely sad about it all. The old nursery, where surely children had not played for forty years, held old-fashioned pictures of Red Riding Hood, Cherry Ripe, and other Victorian supplements; there was a high chair and a swinging cot, and even a dolls' house, with dusty furniture and broken dolls. Various articles were spread forth upon a large deal table. Lesbia, a little oppressed with the mental atmosphere of the place, looked over them lightly, then gave a sudden gasp and clutched Kitty's arm. In the very middle there was an oil paint-box, palette, and bundle of brushes.
"Look! The very things I want!" whispered Lesbia excitedly. "Oh, do you think they'll go cheap? Could I possibly bid for them? What do you think they'll fetch?"
"I've no idea," replied Kitty. "Sometimes you get these things for an old song, I believe, and sometimes people run them up. What money have you brought with you?"
"I've only four shillings in the world, but it's here in my purse, thank goodness!"
"I have five shillings with me, but we shall want to get some tea. I might lend you half a crown, but not more."
"Oh,dolet us see what we can do!"
Lesbia was as thrilled as if she were trying a gamble upon the Stock Exchange. She asked the auctioneer's man when the contents of the nursery would be put up, and he told her it was second on the list for that day's sale.
"Better go and get a place outside if you want to bid," he advised.
So Lesbia dragged Kitty, who wanted to look at a hundred things by the way, downstairs and on to the lawn, where a long table and the auctioneer's desk were arranged. The girls waited eagerly for the fun to begin. They were much entertained at the company in which they found themselves, farmers and villagers from the neighbourhood, dealers from local towns, and an odd assortment of queer-looking people such as are never seen except at sales, some obviously out for amusement, and others bent on bargain-hunting. There were one or two keen faces of professional buyers which strangely repelled them, but on the whole the crowd was jovial and good-humoured.
At two o'clock the auctioneer took his place, and his men began to carry out the first "lots" and placethem upon the table. He rapidly described their merits and knocked down bundles of curtains or blankets to the highest bidders. Bedroom 4, which was being sold, contained a variety of articles. When the linen was disposed of, a number of books were next plumped upon the table.
"Lot 205," announced a stentorian voice.
Now the bidding was an utterly unintelligible process to the unaccustomed girls. It seemed to them as if the auctioneer glanced round the crowd and repeated glibly "Two shillings—two and six—three shillings—three and six", and so on until he suddenly rapped his hammer and consigned the "lot" to somebody who wanted it. He was a talkative red-faced man, who grew very warm with his efforts, and waved his arms dramatically like an actor declaiming a part. Lesbia stared at him quite fascinated. By the merest accident, in the midst of running up "lot 205", he chanced to glance her way, and, meeting her eye, promptly knocked it down to her. Before she knew what had happened she found herself the possessor of a pile of second-hand books for which a rusty individual, armed with pencil and memorandum list, was writing down her name and the sum of five and six.
"But I don'twantthese books. I want apaint-box!" she protested in agonized tones.
"You bid for this lot, miss. Sorry, but it can'tbe helped now if you made a mistake. The paint-box comes later on."
"And I've no money left to get it with," whispered Lesbia to Kitty. "Isn't this the limit? Why did he knock the books down tomeof all people?"
"I don't know. I suppose you looked at him and he thought you were bidding for it. Watch the people now. They all catch his eye when they want to bid."
"That man over there winks. I certainly never winked."
"Well, it's done now and there's no getting out of it. How much must I lend you. Eighteen pence? Here you are. We can put the books in our bicycle baskets. Do you care to stay any longer or shall we go?"
"We'd better scoot before I buy any more things by mistake. I don't want to be saddled with a five-guinea mirror or a hanging-lamp. I never felt so cross in all my life before. It's too disgusting for words. I grudge this five and six." And Lesbia pulled out her cherished pocket-money, paid the auctioneer's clerk, clutched her pile of books, and went to reclaim her bicycle. The specimens of literature which they stowed away in their baskets did not look of a very exhilarating character. They were faded, old-fashioned volumes with illustrations of people in antiquated costumes. Lesbia, in her disgust at missing the paint-box, was ready to leave them behind in the garden, but Kitty's common sense prevailed.
"They're better than nothing. You don't want to throw your money absolutely away, you silly girl!" she counselled. "Ifyouwon't take themIshall. We'll each carry half. They're not very heavy after all. Cheerio! You look as if you'd lost a fortune."
"I've lost a paint-box, and that's worse," snapped Lesbia, refusing all comfort.
She rode back in very mournful spirits, mentally cataloguing the various useful or pleasurable articles she might have bought with the wasted five and sixpence, ignoring the obvious fact that she could not possibly have purchased them all. When the girls arrived home, Kitty told the story of the bargain as a supreme joke to the family circle. The Pattersons, though not artistic, were fond of books. They demanded to see lot 205. Nine shabby volumes were produced from the bicycle baskets and handed round for inspection. Mr. Patterson, rather a bibliographer in his way, rejected eight of them, but looked at the last with interest. He took a lens from his pocket and inspected the little wood cuts with which it was illustrated.
"If I'm not mistaken these are by Bewick," he chuckled. "Lesbia, I believe you've got a bargain after all. I'm going up to London on Tuesday, and I'll take the book with me, and ask Petteridges about it. They're sure to know. Don't look too excited.It won't realize a fortune I assure you, and it may be worth nothing at all."
"Oh, thanks! It's worth trying," gasped Lesbia gratefully.
So on Tuesday Mr. Patterson slipped the small calf-bound volume into his coat pocket, and made a special call at a famous second-hand bookseller's in the Strand. He returned with good news for Lesbia.
"Petteridge agreed that the illustrations are genuine Bewicks, rather rare ones too, in his earlier period. He said the book was worth £2, 10s., and offered me that much for it. I thought you'd want to sell it, so I said 'Done', and brought you home the notes. Here they are; lot 205 has been a profitable little 'deal' on your part."
"O-o-o-h! And Iverynearly left it behind in the garden," exclaimed Lesbia, hardly able to believe her luck.
With such a noble sum of money at her disposal she was able to set herself up with an oil paint-box, palette, brushes, some canvases, and a small sketching-easel and camp-stool, an artistic outfit such as she had coveted long, and hardly expected ever to acquire.
"Anewbox is ever so much nicer than the one I saw at the sale," she exulted. "I dare say half the tubes would have been hard as bricks, and the palette was cracked too. That auctioneer did me a good turn if he only knew it."
"I wonder no wily dealer snapped up the lot," said Kitty. "How savage they'd be if they knew what they'd missed."
"I expect they never saw it amongst all that rubbish, or perhaps old books were not in their line. It takes special knowledge to collect them. I flatter myself it isn't everyone who recognizes an illustration by Bewick," commented Mr. Patterson, who was as pleased as anybody over the matter.
"Well, it was a simply gorgeous find, and I think I'm an out-and-out lucker," rejoiced Lesbia, folding up her precious parcel of art materials, and carrying them away to gloat over them in the private sanctuary of her own bedroom.
Given a new paint-box, palette, brushes, and canvasses, together with a burning enthusiasm but no time, the answer does not always spell High Art. Lesbia's first instinct was to fling everything to the winds and to devote herself in season and out of season to her absorbing hobby. But the examinations were coming on, and Mrs. Patterson, who thought much of school honours, reminded her that Miss Tatham would expect a high percentage of marks, and extracted a promise that the sketching-materials should not be touched until the holidays.
"You're not so well up in your work that you can afford to waste a moment," she warned. "You ought to be doing more preparation instead of less. And after all those hours bending over books you must get out of doors for a brisk walk or play tennis. I'm not going to have you sitting still painting. You'd soon be complaining of headaches.Iknow how to manage girls."
Lesbia submitted, but groaned in private. Shesometimes wished Mrs. Patterson were notquiteso sensible. The whole family was urging her on to work. Kitty coached her daily in mathematics, and Joan helped her with her Latin, the two subjects in which she was weakest. Having taken the responsibility of their young cousin, they were determined (as they expressed it) "to see her through", and to pitchfork her willy-nilly into the scholastic profession as the readiest path to independence. At present Lesbia felt the road to knowledge was much beset with thorns and briars. She envied Regina's accurate memory and wonderful clearness in grasping all arithmetical problems.
"You're a sort of calculating genius," she assured her friend. "I wish I'd your recipe. I'm afraid I'll be a muddle-head to the end of my days."
"So shall I," agreed Ermie, with unction. "Miss Pratt says airily: 'Do an extra half-hour of prep', but I find the longer I work the stupider I am.Vaisn't going to get much credit out ofmein the exams. I always forget things when I see the questions and remember them afterwards when it's too late and they're no use."
"Don't say 'no use'," preached Carrie.
"Yes, Idosay 'no use', Carrie Turner, so don't be sanctimonious. Geometry and Latin may be all right in an exam-room, but what good are they going to be to me when I'm middle-aged and married?"
"Perhaps you'll never be either!"
"Oh come! Don't consign me to an early grave or perpetual spinsterhood.Ithink exams are a relic of the barbarous ages, and they ought to be banished, with thumb-screws, and the rack, and all other instruments of torture. I'd like to write to the newspapers about it."
The grousing of certain unwilling victims inVamade no difference at all to the examinations, which approached as relentlessly as the car of Juggernaut, and as unfailingly as the seasons. A few favoured brains in the form enjoyed them, but the majority, including Lesbia, heaved sighs of relieved emancipation when the inky ordeal was at last over.
Immensely to her own amazement, Lesbia had scraped through in everything. It was the first time in her school career that she had passed without a single failure. In all honesty she gave the credit to Kitty's and Joan's blazing coaching, but she nevertheless was surprised at her achievement.
"I never thought I could have done it," she acknowledged.
"It only shows what youcando if you try," crowed the complacent Pattersons, immensely gratified that their wobbling protégée was proving a success in the race for laurels. For Lesbia had come out sixth in the form—actually sixth, a position which astounded Miss Pratt as much as anybody. She had not madea big score over any one exam, but the aggregate of her marks had mounted up, so that, though she was long behind such brilliant records as those of Regina, Carrie, or Kathleen, she was above Marjorie and Aldora, who had failed in certain subjects.
"I'm very pleased with your results," said Miss Tatham, meeting Lesbia in the passage; "it shows me you've really been working. You must go on now and keep up the standard."
At which Lesbia, quite overwhelmed with such sudden praise from the head mistress, gurgled something indistinguishable and fled from the interview the instant she felt herself duly dismissed.
A question that had been troubling Lesbia considerably was the matter of the summer holidays. She wondered what the Pattersons were going to do with her. She had ventured several hints on the subject, but they had ignored them and had not condescended to enlighten her in the least. She most devoutly hoped that they were not arranging for her to take another temporary post as nursery governess. She was tired out after her term's work, and not at all disposed to cope with children. She felt that her holiday ought to be a real rest. She mentioned some of her troublous anticipations to Regina.
"You'd better come and stay with us," the latter blurted out immediately. "We're going to our cottage in Wales."
"Oh, but perhaps your mother won't want me."
"Anybody would want you. The thing is who's going to be lucky enough to get you?"
Lesbia knew enough of life to discount most of Regina's ecstatic remarks, and to understand that her friend's anxiety for her company did not by any means involve an invitation from Mrs. Webster, who probably had other plans.
"If she'sverygood-natured she may possibly ask me for a week," ruminated Lesbia. "I only wish she would. I've never been in Wales."
Regina apparently knew how to wheedle her mother, for next day she brought a note to school.
"Will you give this to Mrs. Patterson?" she said; "we want you to come to Dolmadoc with us, for all the holidays."
Allof them? Lesbia was staggered with the magnificence of the invitation. Certainly Regina never did things by halves. She presented the letter with much anxiety. Evidently it solved a difficulty, for Mrs. Patterson at once gave permission for the visit. It was such an utterly unexpected pleasure that Lesbia could hardly believe it was really true until she saw her box brought down from the attic to be packed.
The Websters wasted no time, and started for Wales directly the holidays commenced. They were the fortunate owners of a country cottage at Dolmadoc, a little village amongst the mountains. Mr. Websterhad bought it some years ago, after Regina and Derrick had caught scarlet fever in seaside lodgings, and had registered a vow he would never again expose young children to the risk of taking infection at crowded pleasure resorts. Here they spent Easter and August vacations, and sometimes even Christmas as well. It was a second home, and, though on a far simpler scale than their house in Kingfield, it was in many ways much dearer to them. The house was built high up on a hill-side, and had a most magnificent view over miles of valley, with a river winding at the bottom and great mountain peaks rising in the distance. There was a terraced garden, and an enclosed patch of field called by courtesy a tennis-lawn. At the back was a common with gorse bushes and bracken. On fine days the family lived almost entirely out of doors. They took their meals in a veranda, and when they were not out walking, they sat in deck-chairs in the garden, reading or sewing. It was a delightfully free and unconventional life, almost like camping or caravanning. The younger children ran about without shoes and stockings, nobody wore hats, and gloves were not necessary even on Sundays.
To Lesbia her new surroundings were an absolute Paradise. She had, of course, brought her cherished painting materials, and she set to work with wild enthusiasm to try her hand at sketching from nature. In so beautiful a place subjects were not difficult tochoose. There were whitewashed cottages with moss-covered roofs, picturesque barns and haystacks, patches of gorse against a blazing blue sky, marshy meadows in a red sunset, or mountain tops tipped with mist. Her efforts might not have appeared very great to an Academy critic, but the Websters thought them wonderful. They had no facility for drawing, so their guest's talent impressed them considerably. Regina would take a book and sit by quite happily while Lesbia dabbed on her effects, and even consented to act model, a back-breaking occupation that is generally judged a trying test of friendship. Lesbia would have sketched all day long if she had been allowed, but the Websters dragged her away from her painting and took her for walks. There was a stream, about half a mile from the cottage, where Regina and Derrick were fond of fishing and occasionally caught small trout. The younger members of the family loved to paddle here, and climbed about on the rocks like goats, their bare feet giving them a grip on the slippery moss. Lesbia, who was not so accustomed to country life as they were, attempted to follow them, and slid with a splash into the water, not a dangerous matter, for it was very shallow, but destructive to her clean white skirt. She used more caution after this experience, and made the discovery that tennis-shoes afforded a much firmer foothold than ordinary leather.
The delightful do-as-you-like days were a real restto everybody. Even wet weather had its enjoyments. The family would don mackintoshes, oilskin caps, and rubber boots, and go for rambles in the rain, plunging among wet bracken and herbage, fording small streams, and generally behaving like ducks or other aquatic creatures; then would return to the joy of tea round a log fire, into which they could throw the pine-cones that they had gathered on dry days in the woods.
One of Regina's great interests at Dolmadoc was the keeping of hens and ducks. While she was at Kingfield they were looked after by the gardener and his wife, who acted as caretakers of the cottage, but when she was in residence she always attended to them herself. She was very proud of her quacking, clucking, feathered family, several of whom boasted descent from prize strains. She studied books about poultry and could talk quite learnedly on such subjects as trap-nests, incubators, brooders, and egg-testing lamps. She was anxious to exhibit some of her special favourites at the Horticultural Show, which, taking the neighbouring villages by turns, was this August to be held at Dolmadoc. After much discussion the choice fell on three young Wyandotte pullets and a pair of white Aylesbury ducks, all of which were duly entered for exhibition.
"I want Snowy and Daddles to look their best," she remarked, the evening before, "and the tiresomebeasties have been wallowing about in the mud and don't look a scrap as they ought. Isn't it aggravating?"
"Couldn't you wash them?" suggested Lesbia.
"Wash them! What a brilliant idea! I never thought of that. Will you get up early to-morrow morning and help me?"
"Rather! It will be sport."
"We'll give them a regular shampoo," exulted Regina, much taken with the notion.
Next day the two girls were astir at six o'clock. They hauled a tin bath outside and shut themselves into a disused pigsty with a pail of warm water and a packet of Lux, a sponge, the biggest watering-can, and their victims the ducks. Snowy and Daddles were tame and affectionate creatures, who would follow their mistress anywhere for a bribe of Indian corn.
They waddled willingly into the pigsty, and stood at attention, quacking. They were very dismayed and indignant, however, at the treatment to which they were subjected. Regina and Lesbia were as gentle as possible, but a duck is a slippery object to bath, and the cleansing process was accomplished only with much flapping and splashing. Each bird in turn was placed in the bath and sponged with the soapy shampoo, then it received a shower from the watering-can to rinse its plumage. The girls were as wet as the ducks before they had finished, but they were satisfied with the results of their labours.
"Don't they lookbeau-ti-ful?" rejoiced Regina, comforting her protesting pets with further supplies of Indian corn. "I shall leave them shut up here till it's time to take them to the show, then they won't get into any mischief. Poor darlings! Did you think you were being killed?"
All exhibits were bound to be delivered before ten o'clock, so at half-past nine the Websters prepared to set forth. There was tremendous discussion as to the best means of conveyance. Regina possessed no poultry hampers, and considered, moreover, that jolting in baskets was bad for the plumage of her favourites. Taking into account their extreme tameness, she decided it would be best to carry them. She consigned a pullet apiece to Derrick, Magsie, and Una, while she and Lesbia undertook the ducks. The show was to be held in a field not very far away. To reach it would mean a considerable walk along the road, but there was a short cut across the meadows. They marched along in a little procession, each carefully carrying an "entry", and had arrived successfully almost at the very end of their journey. To get into the show field they must cross a plank-bridge over a brook and climb a stile. This feat the Websters performed with ease, but Lesbia, who was not so accustomed to country life, found it a very difficult matter to manœuvre with a fat white Aylesbury clasped in her arms. The others never suspected she was in trouble and hoppedover the stile without offering her any assistance. She made a gallant effort to follow them, but her foot tripped on the second bar; to save a fall she clutched the post, Daddles seized the golden opportunity, and with a loud quack of joy careered flapping down the field. It was a terrible chase to catch their escaped pet, because Regina, Derrick, Magsie, and Una had to hold tight to their own burdens as well as assist Lesbia to recapture hers, but after much active exercise Daddles was at last surrounded and cornered, and carried off to Cage 49 in the poultry section.
Having seen their exhibits duly settled, the young people were obliged to retire from the grounds while the judging took place. They returned, however, at noon, and were some of the very first to enter the show when it opened. It was quite a gay scene. A tent in the centre of the field held stalls with specimens of cut flowers, plants in pots, and prize vegetables. There were mammoth marrows, enormous pea-pods, giant potatoes, huge apples, and black currants of tempting size and ripeness, grown (according to their label) under the protection of netting to preserve them from birds. Big pots of fuchsias and geraniums made a brave splash of colour, and asters, zinnias, pansies, and other florists' favourites displayed their beauties on little paper frills. Bouquets of garden, greenhouse, and wild flowers formed a special section on a table of their own, banked by a collection of ferns. In lieuof a local band a gramophone was giving a performance with rather scratchy records and a vast amount of burring. The Websters only peeped into the tent, then set off almost at a run for the poultry section, which was to them the chief centre of attraction. A large blue ticket hung outside the ducks' cage, and on it were printed the magic words "Second Prize".
"You darlings! You dear, clean, clever, quacking creatures! You deserve an eel apiece or something equally delicious for this," purred their mistress, with immense satisfaction. "Don't they look spotless, bless their hearts!"
"I'm glad we washed them," agreed Lesbia. "It probably turned the scale in their favour to have their feathers so spanky."
"The pullets have got 'Highly Commended'!" squealed Magsie, rushing back from a further inspection down the line of cages.
"Good! It was worth bringing them. Next spring I'll buy some eggs from Lord Lightman's and try and have a champion hatch. You'll see me winning a first prize before I've finished. But you've not managed badly to wangle a 'second', have you, Snowy and Daddles? Your auntie's proud of you to-day."
Lesbia's holiday at Dolmadoc was not without its trials. Before she had stayed there for a week she began to have a shrewd suspicion that she had been invited mainly to act buffer between Regina and the Stripling. The two unfortunately did not "get on". Regina was blazingly clever, interesting, and very nice with those to whom she happened to take a fancy. In the bosom of her own family she was what is sometimes aptly described as "a little madam". She had scarcely any patience or tolerance for Derrick, she sat upon him continually, snapping at his most innocent remarks. The Stripling certainly needed some slight forbearance, for he was in the awkward stage of a young cockerel learning to crow, but the treatment meted out to him by his sister was drastic. Lesbia was placed in a very awkward position. She was constantly required to act as referee in the frequent squabbles. If, in the cause of justice, she took Derrick's part, Regina would sulk for hours, and if, on the other hand, she supported her friend, the Striplingwould declare that girls always sided together and would hint gloomily that he had finished with the fair sex for ever.
Secretly Lesbia sympathized with him, though for the sake of peace she could not openly announce herself his ally. It was much the same with the younger children. Regina had a soft spot in her heart for Una, but with Magsie she was constantly bickering.
Magsie had her own views about life, and fiercely resented criticism. She used to go out of her way sometimes to show her independence, and would do most silly things out of sheer bravado. The two little boys were alternately spoilt or swept aside as nuisances, according to the mood in which Regina happened to find herself.
So long as the weather was fine, and the Websters could spread themselves out in the garden, matters jogged along merrily enough, but a spell of rain sent the family barometer down with a run. Wales, like all mountainous districts, can do its wicked worst in the way of wet Augusts. For three days the view of the valley was totally obscured by mist, and the monotonous pat-pat of drops on the roof never ceased. The cottage, quite comfortable and commodious in ordinary circumstances, seemed suddenly to contract its walls. Lesbia, coming down one afternoon from the retreat of her bedroom, where she had retired towrite a letter, found matters below somewhat strained. Mr. and Mrs. Webster had returned to Kingfield for a few days, leaving Pendry, the old nurse, in charge of the housekeeping and the children. It was the last item which made the difficulty. Nobody could agree about it. Pendry understood the term to refer to the whole family; Regina and Derrick declared it only meant the small fry, but included Magsie; while Magsie most indignantly repudiated being classed with Una, Piers, and Winston, and insisted that she was as grown-up as anybody. They were in the thick of the fray when Lesbia descended. Regina was having a sharp skirmish with Piers, whose painting-book, chalks, and other impedimenta occupied the one table at the sitting-room window.
"I've told you children before to keep to the nursery!" she commanded. "I won't have you bringing all your things in here, so you may just take them off."
"But PendrysaidI might come here!" protested Piers, keeping a jealous hand on his possessions, which Regina was ruthlessly sweeping away.
"It's not Pendry's business.Itell you to go!"
"Indeed itismy business, Miss Regina," interrupted the old nurse, zealous for her authority. "They've got Meccano all over the nursery table, and there isn't a corner left for Piers. He was perfectly good and quiet until you came meddling with him. Why can't you let him alone?"
"You've got my book, Regina," whined Una's injured voice. "YouknewI was readingLittle Women."
"Oh, you children! You children!" protested Regina. "There isn't a corner of the house free from you. I wish I was in a convent or on a desert island. I'd get some peace and quiet there at any rate. Take your wretched book!" (flingingLittle Womenat Una). "How wasIto know who was reading it? Why can't Magsie be quiet. I can hear that hinnying laugh of hers all over the house."
At that moment Regina did not at all resemble "The Blessed Damozel". She seemed very far away indeed from "the gold bar of Heaven". Lesbia seized her friend by the arm and whispered something into her ear. The storm-clouds cleared from Regina's face.
"Go a walk? Just by ourselves?" she replied, in the same undertone. "I'd adore it ifyouwould. I vote we do. Only don't let all this tribe find out. Mum's the word."
"We'll wangle ourselves off quietly," agreed Lesbia.
It was a desperately bad afternoon for outdoor exercise. There was a strong cold wind, and the rain was absolutely pelting down. For the sake of change, however, the girls would have braved a blizzard. There is a certain stage of wet-weather ennui which becomes absolutely insupportable. They put on mackintoshes,old hats, and tall rubber boots, then sneaked out by the back door to avoid being seen by the rest of the family. They had only gone a few hundred yards when there was a sound of racing footsteps behind them, and they were caught up by the Stripling, also attired ready to face the elements.
"Derrick! Who toldyouto come?" inquired his sister inhospitably.
The boy grinned.
"Pendry gave me a hint, so I thought I'd clear out too, and leave the kids to fight over their Meccano. It's a ripping idea of yours. Where are you going?"
"Just a walkby ourselves!" declared Regina, taking her friend's arm.
"Oh,dolet him come with us," pleaded Lesbia. "Why shouldn't we all three go together and look at the waterfall? It will be grand on a day like this."
"Two is company and three is none."
"The more the merrier, say I."
"Don't be a bluebottle, Regina. I tell you I'm coming, so that's the long and the short of it," decided Derrick, taking Lesbia's other arm, and beginning to tow the girls up hill. "We're the three graces, or the three fates, or the three anything else you like. It's a lucky number."
"'When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, or in rain?'" quoted Regina, giving in for once.