NOT A TRACE OF DERRICKPage 205
"Some rain certainly," agreed the Stripling cheerfully.
It was impossible to imagine a wetter day. The road was almost a rivulet, and the ditches were overflowing. Every leaf and blade of grass dripped tears. Even the birds seemed to have betaken themselves to shelter. The very cattle were huddled under the hedges. A drenched dog leaped through the bars of a gate and scurried past them. Yet the air was fresh and reviving, and there was something rather exhilarating in walking through the wet. It felt almost like sea-bathing. When a sudden squall of wind blew the rain in their faces they could fancy they were breasting a wave. Lesbia in the middle was particularly cheerful. She insisted upon what she called a three-part stunt. Each in turn improvised a line of verse, bringing it out as rapidly as possible.
Regina.The rain it raineth every day.
Lesbia.But in the house we will not stay.
Derrick.The kids we gladly leave behind.
Regina.And go a waterfall to find.
Lesbia.We few, we few, we happy three!
Derrick.I wish it were but you and me.
Regina.And I'd be gladly quit ofyou.
Lesbia.Now, now. No quarrelling you two.
Derrick.Like ducks we waddle fast along,
Regina.Quite jolly, though, and going strong.
Lesbia.My rhymes are done, I end the song.
"We're getting silly," continued Lesbia. "I don't think somehow any one of us will ever win the Laureateship."
"More likely qualifying for another volume of Mother Goose's verses," grunted the Stripling.
"You're the goose, fast enough," snapped Regina.
"Oh no, madam, that literary honour belongs to you."
"Now don't spar," interrupted Lesbia. "Listen! I can hear the waterfall. We must be getting quite near."
They had been climbing uphill along a rough, narrow road, and they now turned through a gate and walked across a field, and then plunged down into a wood to reach the stream. Path there was none, though a rough track among the trees showed them the direction they must take. It was beautiful in the gorge, but incredibly wet. The wind sent shower baths from the dripping trees on to their heads, the long bracken was soaking. The clumps of harebells were weighted down with raindrops, the blackberry blossoms lay battered. Vivid green moss and scarlet toadstools alone among the vegetation seemed to appreciate the excess moisture. Below them the waterfall thundered. They could see white gleams of it here and there among the trees. After a considerable scramble they at last reached a point of rock from which they had an uninterrupted view into the valley. The stream, a mild affair in fine weather, was swollen into a mightyvolume of water that swirled along high above its usual banks, and dropped with a roar over the fall. It was a splendid sight, well worth the walk and the wet. They stayed watching it for some time, till Regina suddenly shivered with cold.
"The wind's bitter here. I vote we get a move on," she suggested. "Let us go down the bank and take that lower path. It will lead out into the road by the old mill. It's nicer to go home another way."
The lower path was boggy, but a little extra wet made no difference to the already soaked party. They tramped steadily on, enjoying the woods and the view of the water. At one point the Stripling made a discovery. Stopping and peering down the bank he announced briefly:
"Great Judkins! Wild raspberries as large as life. Come on, you girls!"
There was indeed quite a feast waiting below. Owing to the bad weather few people had passed that way lately, and the fruit had had time to ripen. Derrick, Regina, and Lesbia descended upon it like three blackbirds, and spent a scratchy but blissful ten minutes gathering and eating all they could reach. Tangles of raspberry canes tear worse than almost anything in the world, and mackintoshes and fingers suffered badly. Regina, reaching over for a particularly large and ripe specimen, lost her hat. It fell a long way down the bank on to the rocks by the stream and disappeared.
"O bother!" she cried. "Now my hat's gone. And however am I going to get it back? Derrick, just fetch it for me, will you?"
Derrick plucked the raspberry which Regina, in her agitation had missed, and shook his head.
"'The snail he said too far, too far'," he quoted. "That hat's done for. You'll never see it again. It's probably dancing down-stream."
"It's probably nothing of the sort. I expect it's lying on the rocks if you'd only go and look for it. What a slacker you are."
"Thanks awfully! So pleased to hear your opinion of me. I'm ever so flattered, I assure you."
"Lesbia! Don't you think he ought to go and fetch my hat?"
"Lesbia doesn't think anything of the sort. I can see it in her eye. Do you, Lesbia?"
Thus appealed to, Lesbia was in a tight corner. Privately she thought Derrick would probably have fetched the hat if Regina had only asked him nicely. She tried to hedge.
"Shall I drop mine too?" she said jokingly, taking off her own hat and twirling it on her finger for fun. "Perhaps you'll fetch them both."
In a twinkling Derrick snatched it from her, threw it below on to the rocks, and went scrambling after it. Next moment a corner of the bank hid him from their view. The girls laughed.
"Temper!" said Regina. "That's Derrick all over."
"I hope he won't be long. My hair's getting very wet," declared Lesbia.
They waited some time, but no Derrick returned with the hats.
"I suppose we shall have to go and see what he's doing," grumbled Regina, preparing for a downward scramble.
They had almost to slide among the bushes to reach the rocks. They arrived at the bottom scratched and mudstained. There was not a trace of Derrick anywhere. Neither were the hats to be seen. The brown water swirled past carrying sticks and branches on its foaming surface. Regina looked at its hurrying course, and at the slippery bank.
"I do hope——" she began, then stopped. She had no need to finish, for the same fear was in Lesbia's eyes. Where had Derrick vanished? There was no exit from the platform where they were standing except by the way they had come.
"We—we oughtn't to have let him go," faltered Lesbia.
"Could he have climbed up there?"
"We'll go and see."
In a horrible scare the girls retraced their steps, and ran along the top of the cliff, calling "Derrick" with all the force of their lungs. There was no reply. Theonly sound to be heard was the roar of the water. Regina, thoroughly terrified, burst into tears.
"It's my fault if he's drowned!" she sobbed. "Oh, whatarewe to do?"
The girls hunted about and called for some time, then finally went home in a frantic state to raise the alarm. The first person they saw as they entered the front door was Derrick, dressed in dry clothes and munching a green apple. He bowed politely.
"Your hats are drying by the fire," he said in a nonchalant tone.
"Howdidyou get home?" gasped the two girls. "We've been looking for you everywhere?"
"Why, I climbed up the rocks and went on."
"You wretched boy! You gave us such a fright!" panted Regina.
"Mother Hubbard's dog isn't in it with you," declared Lesbia.
Derrick shrugged his shoulders.
"Can't help it if you chose to chase after me. I think I was a trump to take your hats home for you. You look uncommonly wet. Best change."
As little rivers were running from their garments down on to the hall floor, the girls took his advice and hurried into dry clothes.
"He was a mean wretch to play such a rag on us," fumed Regina, rubbing her damp hair with a towel.
"I thought nothing but a monkey could climb upthose rocks. Boys have nine lives. I shan't be scared another time, whatever mad tricks he plays," declared Lesbia, buttoning her blouse in a hurry at the sound of the welcome tea-bell. "All the same," she added to herself, "Regina's far fonder of that Stripling than she'll admit, though theydospar. She had umpteen dozen fits when she thought he was drowned. If she really has such a warm corner for him, why, in the name of all common sense, can't she show it and be decent to him? I don't believe in people making a palaver about you when you're dead. If they've anything nice to say they'd better say it while you're alive and will enjoy hearing it. That's my opinion."
Lesbia returned to Kingfield High School to find herself a member of the Sixth Form, and a prefect, as well as an assistant teacher to the juniors. She had expected it, but the honours were none the less satisfactory. She had longed to be a prefect ever since her first year in the kindergarten, and had kept this goal for her ambition all the way up the school. It had always seemed a far more enviable position than that of head mistress. The girls who had annually held prefectships had been heroines in her eyes. It was something to feel she had worked her way from the baby of the school to rank as one of its principal officers. There was not a single other girl with such a long record as hers. The "Head" of the Sixth this year was Carrie Turner. By strict precedence of examinations Regina was really top, but she was such a newcomer that Miss Tatham considered she would not have enough experience in the ways of the school, and had given the preference to Carrie, whose markswere second best, and who was a naturally better leader. The other prefects were Marion, Calla, and Aldora, altogether making a set of six. It was considered a particularly enviable post at Kingfield High School, because, as well as conferring authority, it carried several privileges. Prefects, and prefects only, had a right to use the gate room. Kingfield was a mixture of ancient and modern, and, though the High School was an unromantic, commodious nineteenth-century building, a corner of it adjoined one of the old mediæval town gates. This gate, which now only arched a side street, had originally been one of the main entrances into the city. In shape it was a small tower with battlements, and contained a little room over the archway. Somehow, through a lucky stroke on the part of the governors, the High School had obtained possession of this tower room. A door led into it from the end of the passage near the studio. It was a tiny little den, and rather dark and musty, used mostly for storing odd things which did not happen to be wanted, but, because nobody else except themselves was allowed to enter, the prefects set great store by it. They held committee meetings here, and, although it was unwarmed, would prefer to sit and shiver rather than have their private confabulations in the comfort of their own classroom.
There was, of course, much to be arranged for the coming term. Each was apportioned a special departmentand agreed to look after its particular interests. Aldora undertook to be responsible for the orchestra, which had languished during the tennis season but seemed capable of revival, Calla took hockey under her wing, Marion adopted the drama, Lesbia the arts and crafts, Regina the debating society, and Carrie herself became editress of theSchool Magazine. All the various activities promised to be most exciting, and the only trouble was lack of time to carry them on.
By virtue of their position the six prefects constituted a small set of their own. They had all been friends more or less before, but the new circumstances flung them closely together. Lesbia found this brought her a fresh difficulty. Marion Morwood had hitherto been considered her special chum. There had been a hitch in their friendship when Lesbia ran away from Paul and Minnie, and turned up unexpectedly at the Morwoods' house, but that episode—for which Lesbia always blushed—had been forgotten. She had often been invited to tea at the Morwoods, and had received many kindnesses from them. Marion, though rather injudicious, was well-meaning and affectionate. She had stuck loyally to her chum through several tight places. The pair had jogged along very amicably until Easter. Then Regina had appeared and had absolutely appropriated Lesbia, who was only half willing to become so completely her property. With Marion rather cool and offended, and Regina in astate of perpetual jealousy, Lesbia sometimes grew so exasperated that she left the pair of them to sulk and walked away with Calla or Aldora. Yet she was sorry, for she liked Marion, liked her better than Regina really, though the breach between them seemed slowly widening. All sorts of silly things helped to push them apart. For Marion's birthday Lesbia worked a little silk bag. It was the sort of fancy article which was fashionable in the school at the moment, to hold knitting-wool and any other trifles. Lesbia had put her prettiest design and her best embroidery into it, and Marion had professed herself utterly delighted.
"It's almost too nice to use," she declared ecstatically. "I shall keep it in a drawer at home, wrapped up in tissue paper, and only bring it out on high-days and holidays."
"Oh, nonsense! It was made for use," demurred Lesbia, pleased all the same at the high value set upon her handiwork.
It is sometimes very unfortunate when people take us at our own word. Lesbia, going into the cloakroom at eleven, about a fortnight after the birthday, was horrified to find her beautiful bag lying on the floor near the boot rack. It had evidently contained lunch, for it was smeared with butter, and showed plum stains at the bottom. It was indeed just the wreck of her pretty present. She picked it up, and the hot colourrushed into her face. It takes a St. Francis of Assisi to be "sweetly angered and patiently disquieted". Lesbia's anger was anything but saintly. It savoured, indeed, more of the sinner. She rushed across to where Marion was standing eating red Victoria plums, and held the unfortunate bag up by its scarlet cord.
"So this is the care you take of things people make for you," she exploded.
Marion looked conscious, but at once excused herself.
"Well, you told me to use it," she retorted.
"I never thought you'd get it into such a filthy mess as this. It's only fit for the laundry, and washing will utterly spoil it."
"I'm sorry——"
"Oh, don't apologize," snapped Lesbia sarcastically. "I know my poor little efforts weren't worth taking care of. I didn't put in any time over that bag. Oh, dear no!"
She turned away, feeling sore and uncomfortable, and at bottom ashamed of her outburst. She knew how untidy and careless Marion was, seizing up anything that came to hand, and that the ruin of the bag was certainly by accident and not design. By some strange freak of memory an axiom of Minnie's—kind, easy-going Minnie—flashed into her mind:
"It's best to take people just as they are, and then you get along with them."
Marion would always be shiftless, and impulsive, and tactless; still she had her good points.
"I'll forgive her—to-morrow!" thought Lesbia, cooling down a little.
But to-morrow, alack! came a fresh cause of offence. The Sixth were getting up a photographic exhibition, mainly of pictures which they had taken during the holidays. Marion was the lucky possessor of an enlarging apparatus, and she very kindly offered to enlarge a photo for each of her fellow-prefects if they would bring her the films.
Now, Lesbia's camera was a rather old-fashioned one and contained plates. She had taken a portrait of the Webster family having tea by the stream on a brilliant sunny day, and the negative was beautifully sharp and clear. She brought it to school packed in a flat box. Several other girls were clustering round Marion showing her their pet films.
"This is at Dawlish, on the sands."
"Mine's a view of Windermere."
"This is a snap of our fox-terrier, Barry. It's got him absolutely perfectly."
"Oh, you'll like mine! It's my baby niece, yawning in her perambulator. We think it's great."
"Here's mine, old sport," said Lesbia, unpacking her treasure.
She handed it to her chum, who, to do her credit, perhaps did not realize it was a plate and not a film.Marion seized it so carelessly that it slid from her hand, fell upon the floor, and smashed in three pieces. For an instant there was a ghastly silence.
"Oh! Hard luck!" sympathized Calla.
Marion was stooping to pick up the fragments.
"I'mawfullysorry!" she apologized. "It can be pieced together though I'm sure. I'll take it to the Kodak shop and see what they can do with it. They'll probably stipple it up so that it doesn't show in the least."
In certain circumstances there is nothing more aggravating than too great optimism. To have your trials made light of, and to be told a thing will turn out all right when you are absolutely sure that such a happy ending is quite outside the bounds of all possibility, irritates rather than soothes.
"All right a hundred years hence perhaps, but all wrong now!" flared Lesbia. "Itcan'tbe mended, so don't talk humbug. You've smashed it, and it's done for. I wish to goodness I'd left it safely at home and never trusted it to you. Of all butter-fingered Handy Andies you're the biggest!"
"Might as well let her try and get it mended," urged Calla.
"No thanks. I'd rather take it home."
And Lesbia, still with red spots in her cheeks, put the poor fragments tenderly back in their box, and turned away to place them inside her locker.
Marion, penitent, but annoyed at being called a butter-fingered Handy Andy, let the matter slide for the moment. Marion could never keep up any quarrel, however, for longer than a morning, and before afternoon school she had made her peace, and was walking in the gymnasium with her arm round her chum's waist, very much to the indignation of Regina, who considered Lesbia her own special property.
It was the last week in October that the Franklin Shakespearean Company came to Kingfield. Their advent had been well advertised by placards on the hoardings, and by handbills which were left at people's houses or sent by post. They were a famous company and were always sure of a welcome in whichever town they arrived on tour. Lesbia, going from school to catch her tram-car, saw the large notice of their performances being posted by a bill-sticker, and stopped to look.Hamlet,The Merchant of Venice,As You Like It,Much Ado About Nothing,The Tempest,Macbeth. What would she not give to see a single one of them? Lesbia had never been to a Shakespeare play in her life. She had studiedJulius CæsarandThe Merchant of Venicecarefully with the notes at school, and had read many of the other plays as part of her preparation for the literature class. To see all the familiar characters actually on the stage would be bliss indeed. But there did not seem the slightest chance that such an ambition would be gratified.Lesbia had very little pocket-money. The Pattersons did not grumble at keeping her, but they seldom expended anything extra on her behalf. She never liked to ask for such indulgences as entertainments. She mentioned, indeed, that the Franklin Shakespeare Company was coming to Kingfield, and how splendid it would be to see them, but nobody took the hint. Kitty and Joan were going that week to a concert and to a performance ofTrilby, and had no other evenings disengaged, even if they had offered to escort Lesbia. Mrs. Patterson considered that schoolgirls should stick to their lessons during term-time, and keep all such dissipations as theatres for the holidays.
"It's no use," thought Lesbia dismally. "I know heaps of other girls will be going, but it won't be my luck. I wasn't born lucky. I may wear as many mascots as I like, but the fact remains."
Lesbia was not quite as ill-used by fate as she made out, for she received and accepted an invitation to have tea with Marion on Saturday afternoon.
"I've asked my two cousins," said her chum, "that will just make four of us, and we'll play that new game of cards I learnt at the Graingers'. It's absolutely priceless. We screamed over it. I never had such fun in my life. You'll besureto come? Don't go and get a cold or a toothache or anything stupid."
"Rather not! You'll see me turning up on Saturday whatever happens."
Lesbia was really looking forward to the visit. It seemed some slight compensation for missing the theatre. Moreover, she always enjoyed herself at the Morwoods' house. On Wednesday Calla greeted her in the cloakroom and drew her aside.
"Doing anything on Saturday afternoon, old sport?" she asked confidentially.
"Yes, I'm going out to tea."
"Oh, what a pity! Can't you put it off?"
"I'm afraid not. Why?"
"Well, we've got a ticket to spare for thematinée, and I was going to ask you to come with us."
"The Merchant of Venice?" gasped Lesbia.
Calla nodded.
"Can't you wangle it?" she urged.
"I'd give everything I possess. But I promisedfaithfullyto go to tea. I shall give frightful offence if I scoot off to the theatre instead. In fact, it can't be done."
"N-n-o, I suppose not," admitted Calla regretfully. "I'm sorry though."
"You can't be sorrier than I am," sighed Lesbia, going upstairs to her form room.
At eleven o'clock, as she was eating her lunch in the gymnasium Marion rushed up to her.
"Oh, Lesbia," she said excitedly, "should you mind very much coming to tea the week after instead of next Saturday? Would it make any difference to you?"
"Not a scrap," answered Lesbia, clutching at the opportunity. "It would suit me quite as well if it suits you. Shall we arrange it that way, then?"
"Yes, please, if you really don't mind. Thanks ever so much!"
And Marion fled away without further explanation.
Lesbia congratulated herself upon having got out of her engagement so easily. She would be able now to accept Calla's invitation and go toThe Merchant of Venice. The thought of it almost set her dancing. She went in search of Calla at once, but could not find her before the bell rang for botany class. As soon as school was over she took her aside and broached the delightful subject. Calla's face fell.
"Oh, Lesbia, I'm so sorry!" she explained. "You said you couldn't come, and I've asked Marion now."
"Marion?"
"Yes!"
"Why, it was Marion who'd asked me to tea on Saturday!"
"Oh, was it? You never told me that. How was I to know?"
Lesbia sat down on her boot-locker and relieved her feelings by giving a very plain and unflattering opinion of her chum's conduct.
"I stuck tomypart of the bargain," she wound up wrathfully.
"But you didn't. You told her another week would do quite as well."
"Because I thought I was going to the theatre. You'd asked me."
"Well, Marion didn't know that. It's all a mix up. What am I to do? Tell her about it?"
"No, if she's accepted she'd better go."
"I'm most dreadfully sorry, Lesbia! I wish we'd another ticket."
"Oh, it can't be helped now!" and Lesbia rather ungraciously wrenched her arm from Calla's apologetic grasp, banged on her hat anyhow, and fled from the cloakroom, feeling about the crossest girl in Kingfield.
"It's like my luck," she said to herself bitterly.
To try and take some of the sting out of her disappointment she asked leave to go after school to Pilgrims' Inn Chambers, to return a book which Miss Joyce had lent her. She found her friend looking quiteen fête, in a most artistic dress, with fresh flowers in the studio, and elaborate cakes set forth on the tea table.
"I won't come in," said Lesbia, catching a vision of these splendours through the open door, and concluding visitors were expected. "I've only brought back your book, that's all."
"But you are coming in," insisted Miss Joyce. "Don't be silly! Who do you think is coming to tea to-day? I'd give you a hundred guesses! MissVivian L'Estrange, who plays a principal part in the Franklin Company. She's old Mr. Broughten's niece, and she's staying with him while she's in Kingfield. I promised I wouldn't ask a crowd to meet her, because she's tired and wants to be quiet in the afternoons, but I'm sure she won't mind a schoolgirl like you. Here they are!"
What followed was like a dream to Lesbia. Mr. Broughten remembered her, asked about the antiquarian scrap-book, and introduced her to his niece, a charming lady who seemed a mixture of Portia and Rosalind and Miranda all rolled into one in private life. It was a friendly little tea-gathering, and the end of it all was that Miss Vivian L'Estrange offered the whole party seats in the stage box for Friday evening.
"Uncle Will wants to see me inThe Tempest, and he hates to sit alone, don't you, Uncle?" she said laughingly.
"Ask your aunt to let you go, dear, and I'll guarantee to take you, and to see you safe home after the performance," said Miss Joyce to Lesbia. "You'd like it, wouldn't you?"
"Like it? I'd be the envy of the whole school! It's the biggest piece of luck in my life!" cried Lesbia, with shining eyes.
Late autumn brought the anniversary of Lesbia's upheaval from Denham Terrace. She was now nearly "sweet seventeen", and in some respects at any rate felt rather grown-up. It seemed immeasurably more than a year since she had settled down at 28 Park Road. She was beginning to look back upon her life with the Hiltons as a remote period of childhood. Some episodes in it were very sweet, and were changing their aspect now they were viewed from a distance. Paul's hand on her shoulder when he called her "little sister", the children's arms round her neck as they hugged her good night, the kiss that Minnie always came to give her in bed, these were memories that increased in value as she grew more capable of appreciating their true worth. Lesbia was very slowly learning a great many things, some pleasant and some unpleasant, and among those that hurt was the realization of her conduct in deserting Minnie at such an awkward pinch, and leaving her to struggle with the children on that Atlantic voyage. Well! She hadmade a sudden choice, and had thrown in her lot with Kingfield High School. She would at least do her best in the line which she had elected for herself. To Lesbia this "best" meant working hard at her prep, which she still detested, and taking an active part as leader in all the various games and societies, a rôle which she enjoyed very much. A wider opportunity was opening for her, however, and one in which she had a far more difficult task to fulfil.
The Christmas term-end festivities tired Miss Tatham out. For a long time she had not been strong, and had been struggling to keep up with the hundred and one duties expected from the principal of a big school. During the holidays she collapsed, and her doctor insisted upon several months' entire rest. The governors of the school, called in committee to face the sudden emergency, appointed a locum tenens to rule in her stead for a term.
Miss Ormerod, who thus came in a hurry to fill up the gap, was a B.A., and had had high school experience—too much so, the girls decided after a few days of her acquaintance. She was one of those people who are clever, but tactless. She had passed any number of examinations with flying colours, but had no knowledge of human souls. From the very first she set everybody's bristles rising. The teachers, accustomed to Miss Tatham's personal magnetism, were put out by abrupt criticisms and lack of consideration, whilethe girls declared that a gorgon had been sent to reign over them. Miss Ormerod, to do her strict justice, was hardworking and conscientious. She never spared herself. It was a difficult post, and she filled it according to her own lights. If she found what she judged slackness she was doing her duty to correct it. But between a "wise administrator" and a "jack-in-office" there is all the difference in the world. Some women love power, and exercise it unmercifully. Woe betide the lesser planets that are forced to circle in their orbits.
The school, accustomed to discipline, obeyed, but grumbled under its breath.
"Miss Tatham never made any silly rules about not talking in the hall," declared Kathleen indignantly, coming into the Sixth Form room smarting from a sharp rebuke and confiding her woes to a sympathetic circle.
"No! It's perfectly ridiculous. We must talk somewhere, I suppose."
"We shall be having 'Silence' in the cloakroom next."
"Or in the playground."
"I wish darling Tatie was back."
"You didn't call her 'darling' when she was here."
"Well, I do now."
"Miss Ormerod's as hard as nails."
"I want to call her 'ramrod' myself."
"Oh, don't be clever, please."
"She blinks and winks through those spectacles."
"Don't youhatespectacles?"
"And there's a little sort of grate in her voice, and then she clears her throat, and you know she's going to say something unpleasant."
"I meant to like her," declared Ernie thoughtfully. "I came to school on her first day prepared to adore her. I think it was because I once knew a Miss Ormerod who was very pretty. Well, I tell you, directly I saw her I got a shock. I thought I had never seen anyone so horrid in my life. I felt we were opposite poles. I don't know when I took such an intense dislike to anybody. It's what you call an 'antipathy'."
"Not 'love at first sight' exactly!"
"Hardly!"
"'I do not love you, Dr. Fell, The reason why I cannot tell!'" quoted Calla.
"But Icantell the reason. She's cross, and a martinet, and she never makes any jolly jokes like Tatie used to do—bless her heart!"
"You're altogether gone on Tatie nowadays."
"Of course I am. I wrote her a letter last Saturday, and she sent me a picture post card of the place she's staying at."
"O-o-h!Dogive me the address. I'll write to her too. I never thought of it."
"Let's write her a round-robin and say we wishshe was back and we detest Miss Ormerod," suggested Marion impulsively.
"No! No! That would spoil her holiday. The doctor said she wasn't to have any worry."
If the Sixth Form resented the attitude of the new principal the juniors were even more prejudiced. They discussed her among themselves and set her down as "a brute". Edie Browne, who, out of sheer opposition, ventured a word in her favour, was promptly squashed.
"It's notfashionableto like her," declared Maisie Martin, and Maisie led the opinions of the lower school.
Lesbia had at first reserved her judgment, but soon she had very good cause to rue the advent of Miss Ormerod. As junior assistant governess she still taught in Forms I and II. Teaching was not Lesbia's natural walk in life, and though she struggled on with it she really did not do it very well. Miss Tatham, having made the arrangement so as to cancel her fees and allow her to remain at the High School, had been rather lenient with her, and had overlooked many palpable deficiencies. Not so Miss Ormerod. She had an immensely high ideal of a teacher's standard, and she was carefully testing the capacities of her staff. One Wednesday proved a black day for Lesbia. Directly she walked intoIIbshe became aware of a spirit of general unrest. The girls were "out of hand". She had been through similar crises before and knew thesymptoms. Fanny Holden was lolling on her desk instead of sitting upright, Rose Davis and Marjory Birkshaw had their heads bent together. Ella Wilkinson was fidgeting with her pencil box, Gladys Dorman kept casting meaning glances at Chrissie Taylor, and Mary Avens, in defiance of all schoolroom tradition, had pulled off her ribbon and was re-plaiting her wisp of a pigtail. The blackboard, which ought to have been cleaned, still bore sums in vulgar fractions. The map had not yet been put out. Lesbia rapped on the desk and called the form to order.
"What's the monitress been doing?" she demanded sharply. "Marjory, come here at once and clean the board. Can you make a littlemorenoise about it?" (as Marjory clumped her way to the front). "Where's the duster? Now be careful. You'll have the whole thing over. There! I told you."
For Marjory's vigorous and ungentle scrubbing had overbalanced the easel, and away crashed the blackboard on to the floor, breaking the pegs, and only just missing the window by a merciful inch. The form giggled, and Lesbia scolded as she helped to pick up the wreckage. The pegs were smashed and she had to sharpen them with a penknife before they would fit into their holes in the easel, and once more support the board. All this took considerable time and delayed the lesson. The girls watched as if it had been a specially provided entertainment. Marjory's facewas not at all contrite; she unrolled the map so roughly that Lesbia took it from her and hung it up herself.
"Go to your seat," she commanded, catching a smile exchanged between Marjory and Ella, "and if I've any more trouble I shall report you."
The monitress shuffled back noisily between the rows of desks, giving a pinch to Gladys as she passed, an episode which Lesbia, anxious to get on with the lesson, judged it expedient to overlook. She had opened her book, ready to begin, when suddenly an unexpected thing happened. Through the open window sailed a queen wasp, and headed straight for the desks. It was, of course, very early in the year for wasps, but the queens fly abroad as soon as the spring stirs, and this one no doubt was intent on nest-building.
Instantly the form was in panic. The girls squealed, and dodged about, and ducked their heads.
"O-o-h! Look at it!"
"It's coming at me!"
"It's a hornet!"
"Mind, Ella!"
"I don't want to get stung!"
"It's going for Chrissie!"
"Don't let it get into your hair, Rose!"
Some of the more timorous crouched under their desks, Gladys bolted in the direction of the door. Lesbia did not like wasps herself, but she made asupreme exertion of courage, seized the blackboard duster, pursued the enemy, knocked it down on to the floor, and slew it with a ruler. She picked up the corpse gingerly and placed it upon a piece of blotting-paper.
"Perhaps it will do for the museum; it's not very much squashed," she commented. "I'll give it to Miss Chatham. Now, girls, be quiet and sit still. How silly you are! It might have been a lion instead of only a wasp."
But to settle down after such an excitement was impossible to the form. They had started badly, and they went on in disorder. They talked and giggled and generally "ragged" until Lesbia in desperation called out:
"Silence! I shall report you all! If you can't behave yourselves I shall have to fetch Miss Ormerod."
There is an old fable of a mother who threatened to throw her baby to the wolves if it cried again, and of an intelligent wolf who, hearing further squalls and running up eager for the feast, was much disgusted at being beaten away with a broom. It is seldom we like to be taken quite at our word. As a matter of fact, Lesbia looked as blank as her pupils when, at that exact moment, the door opened to admit the principal.
"There's a great deal of noise in here," remarked Miss Ormerod, which was hardly a correct statement,for her entrance had produced an instant and ghastly silence.
Lesbia, blushing and confused, explained the cause of the disturbance, showing the remains of the queen wasp as proof.
"I'm astonished at your making such an absurd fuss," frowned Miss Ormerod at the form. "Now, let me see how quietly you can get along with your work. Please go on," nodding to Lesbia.
To see Miss Ormerod sitting down on the teacher's chair, evidently intending to stop and listen, gave poor Lesbia what she afterwards described as "umpteen spasms". To deliver a lesson under the eye of the Principal was an ordeal for any junior assistant mistress even if she were well prepared. And, alas! Lesbia was not prepared at all. She had been busy with her own Latin and botany the night before, and had trusted to luck to get through the geography class withIIb. She was supposed to be teaching them the natural features of France, so she hurriedly drew an outline of that country upon the blackboard, and commenced to mark in the principal mountains and rivers, aided by stealthy glances at the map. She knew their general direction, but in her embarrassment she could not remember their names, and the book—on which she had pinned her trust—was in Miss Ormerod's hand.
Now it was a canon of the school that mistressesshould have their own subjects at their finger-ends, and teach their lessons in the form of lectures, without constant reference to notes. By all good rights Lesbia ought to have been able to reel off the physical features of France as easily as she could repeat the multiplication table, but her wretched memory was an absolute blank. The sight of Miss Ormerod sitting there and directing what seemed the full telescopic power of her spectacles upon the blackboard, wiped away any fragments of knowledge which lingered in her agitated brain. She flushed and faltered, and tried to look at the map, and was in such a palpable quandary that, to save the situation, the Principal interfered.
"If you don't feel well," she remarked sternly, "you had better sit down, andI'll take the lesson."
With trembling knees and racing pulse Lesbia sank on to the chair, and listened in deep humiliation while Miss Ormerod, without any assistance from the book, gave an excellent geography lesson. The girls were models of attention and intelligence, and everything which they ought to have been, but never were, under their junior teacher. Lesbia hardly knew them for the same form.
"I shall hear about this from Miss Ormerod," she ruminated. "I don't suppose for a moment this is the end of it."
It certainly was not. She had a most unpleasant interview in the Principal's study that afternoon, andreceived scathing criticism on her incapacity and lack of discipline. Miss Ormerod instituted a thorough supervision over her teaching, proposing to be present herself during the geography lessons, and warning her of surprise visits any time during her other classes.
"If you undertake to teach in this school you will do it properly or not at all," finished the head mistress grimly. "I consider so far you've utterly failed and you're worse than useless as a help to the staff."
Lesbia went home overwhelmed with shame. Miss Ormerod was very hard, but there had been justice in her remarks. A girl who was giving tuition in return for her fees ought to have seen to it that her services were of real value to the school. It was a wrong balance of duty to concentrate on her own homework and neglect to prepare for her classes. She could appreciate that point now, though it had not struck her before. It would be a horrible ordeal to teach in Miss Ormerod's presence, but there would be one compensation at any rate; the children would behave themselves, and she would be treated to no more of the "ragging" which had often made the lessons unendurable.
"If they know she may pop in any moment I believe they'll keep quiet even during dictation. Young wretches! I shall have a sword to dangle over their heads now," she thought, cheering up a little.
There is no doubt that Miss Ormerod, like manynew brooms, "swept clean", but the girls considered that she made too clean a sweep altogether of the past traditions of the school. She had many theories of her own regarding girls, and she was anxious to put them into practice.
She particularly waged war against what she termed "sentiment". She objected to seeing girls walking about the playground with their arms round each other's waists, or to the display of any affection. She called such behaviour "early Victorian", and spoke of it with contempt. During the war she had taken the place of a junior master at a boys' grammar school, and her ideal was that girls should exhibit their feelings as little as their brothers. She made a new rule that recreation time must be spent in definite games, and that nobody was to be allowed to lounge about the playground or gymnasium and chat. This met with fierce opposition among the seniors and juniors alike. They talked about it fifty to the dozen in their cloakrooms.
"I never heard such nonsense in all my life."
"Mayn't take each other's arms, indeed."
"What would happen if I kissed anybody?"
"Oh, you'd get reported!"
"Kissing's called 'unhealthy', if you please."
"Oh, indeed, is it? I thought 'Any time was kissing time'."
"Don't tell Miss Ormerod so, that's all."
"Whyshouldn't we walk round the gym and talk?"
"We're supposed to be learning to gossip."
"Whatisgossip?"
"Ask me a harder."
"Miss Tatham never said we weren't to have chums."
"Oh, butshewas sensible!"
"Miss Ormerod's just a crank."
"It's too bad her coming and upsetting all our ways."
"I vote we don't play any wretched old games."
"We can't bemadeto play when we don't want to."
The prefects in particular thought it a great undermining of their dignity to be expected to tear about during recreation-time like any juniors. They were determined to resist the new rule. When a mistress, under orders from the principal, came into the playground, broke up groups of girls, and insisted upon all joining in a common game of rounders, the seniors hit the ball feebly, walked instead of running, and plainly showed that they did not mean to be coerced against their will. Their example spread downwards. It was at once fashionable to be a "slacker" or "shirker", and the unfortunate mistress who was told off to superintend the playground during eleven o'clock "break" had a bad time of it. With the knowledge that Miss Ormerod was peeping from her study window she made valiant efforts to set games going, but forcedplay is very different from the real article, and her attempts generally ended in dismal failure. Whether Miss Tatham, resting in the sunshine of Torquay, received a hint of the situation is uncertain. Lesbia, however, who had sent her a picture post card, one day received a letter in return. It gave a pleasant description of her holiday, but it ended with the following passage:
"I hope to come back after Easter, but meantime I trust you prefects to do all you can to make matters run smoothly. You in particular, Lesbia, as the oldest pupil, I ask to be 'loyal to the school', and to use your influence with the others. If I can feel that things are going on all right in my absence I shall get well twice as fast. Please tell that to the rest. I have not time to write to them all."
Lesbia, who had been one of the principal shirkers at the hated game of rounders, pulled wry faces over the letter, but patted it in her pocket nevertheless.
"I'd do anything to please Miss Tatham," she decided. "Yes, I guess I've got to be 'loyal to the school'. I know what she means. Those juniors have been leading everybody a dance since they saw us prefects giving them the cue. Even Marion called them little pigs yesterday. It can't go on. I'll ask Carrie to call a prefects' meeting, and we'll talk it over."
The confabulation in the little room over the archway,being in the nature of a committee, was not banned by Miss Ormerod, and the six girls who met there used their tongues freely. They thoroughly aired their grievances, but came to the sage conclusion that for the sake of school discipline they must uphold any mandate, however unpopular, from the temporary "Head".
"A little extra exercise won't do you any harm, Aldora, you're getting far too fat, you old Jumbo!" urged Carrie, putting down the last objector and proposing the resolution from the "chair".
"It's only till Easter anyway," seconded Lesbia "and then I hope to goodness Miss Tatham will be back again."
"And may Miss Ormerod transfer her talents to a boys' preparatory," minced Calla.
Having decided grimly to stand by law and order, the prefects next day surprised the school at eleven o'clock break by leading the games with the greatest unction. They tore about the playground in a state of such enthusiasm that the astounded juniors followed their lead, and found themselves whirled into action by a kind of magnetic influence. Fickle fashion veered round, and it was at once popular to enjoy the games, indeed for a few weeks they had quite a vogue.
Miss Ormerod, peeping through her study window, looked on with approval, and congratulated herself on the wisdom of her new rule, and the great improvementwhich she was making during her reign. She knew nothing of Miss Tatham's letter to Lesbia, nor suspected it was the latter's influence which had worked the miracle. Loyalty might indeed be very helpful to the school, but on this occasion virtue had to be its own reward, and did not meet with any acknowledgment from head-quarters.
Please do not think, because the girls of Kingfield High School resented being obliged to play rounders during eleven o'clock break, that they therefore were not enthusiastic on the subject of games. They were keen on hockey, and their team had won three matches during the season. Unfortunately they had no field near the school, and they were obliged to go two miles by tram to a pitch which they rented in the suburbs. The journey, however, made a pleasant Wednesday afternoon's excursion, and really added to the excitement of the practice. Miss Ormerod often went herself to watch, and on one occasion played in a match "School versus Mistresses", and astonished everybody by her agility. She made a great point of the due training of second and third teams, a matter which had been rather neglected.
"You have to educate your best players," she told the Games Committee, "I always say the strength of a school lies in its reserve teams. Every girl in the first team ought to have an understudy, then there'll be no panic if she has suddenly to drop out for anyreason. I've known matches ruined because schools hadn't the sense to train their reserves properly."
But the most zealous advocate of hockey cannot fight with the British climate, and Wednesday after Wednesday during the latter part of the Easter term were hopelessly wet. The girls drilled in the gymnasium instead, grousing at the disappointment of missing their fixtures, and resigning themselves to a lower record than they had at first ventured to hope. Miss Ormerod, who thought games of paramount importance in a school, at last in desperation commandeered Friday afternoon, hitherto devoted to the various outlets of "Self Expression", and turned it into an extra hockey practice.
Before this change there had been a succession of fine Fridays, then the weather seemed to take a spite against the school, and instead of keeping up its good character treated them on alternate weeks to a deluge.
It was on one of these wet Fridays that Miss Chatham suggested taking the Sixth Form to see the City Museum. This was a new development in Kingfield and had lately been opened. It occupied a large room in the old Guild Hall, and was only about five minutes walk from the school. Nothing could be nearer on such a wet day.
The Sixth joyfully snatched the opportunity offered to them, put away books, tools, and other impediments, and went to the cloakroom to change their shoes.Ten minutes later a jolly-looking party, with mackintoshes and umbrellas, followed Miss Chatham down the High Street to the Guild Hall. They went under the ancient archway, and across the courtyard, and through the old doorway, and up the oak stairs, and along the tapestried corridor into the great central hall, hung with the armour and weapons of bygone Kingfield citizens. From this hall led many thick oak doors, and one under the minstrels' gallery gave access to the new museum. It was a fairly large room, built like the rest of the Guild Hall in mediæval fashion, with sandstone walls, a carved roof, and latticed windows. It held a number of show-cases containing various exhibits.
The girls stacked their umbrellas in a corner and prepared to enjoy themselves. There were certainly many interesting things on view, a beautiful collection of stuffed British birds, arranged in most natural fashion with their nests and eggs, a case full of objects from Ancient Egypt, a number of bronze implements, stone hammers, flint arrows, and other prehistoric weapons, lovely shells and corals, a cabinet of butterflies, and some fine illuminated manuscripts of the Middle Ages. A lady was acting curator for the afternoon, and Marion enthusiastically claimed her acquaintance and introduced Lesbia. The two girls presently found themselves inspecting the show-cases, with Miss Renton at their elbow explaining the exhibits to them.
Naturally the rest of the form came hurrying up and clustered round to listen, so an impromptu museum lecture resulted.
"I'd love to look at some of the other pictures in those old books," said Marion quietly to her friend. "I'm learning illuminating at school, and those manuscripts are simply gorgeous."
"I can't take the books out when so many people are about," whispered Miss Renton, "but if you can wait after the other girls go, I'll unlock the case."
"Oh, thanks immensely. May Lesbia stay too? She's keen on painting."
"Certainly if she likes; but no more please. Two are quite enough."
"Right-o! I won't breathe a word to the others."
Accordingly, when Miss Chatham told her party to collect their umbrellas and go, Marion asked and received permission for herself and Lesbia to remain for ten minutes longer with Miss Renton. The rest of the girls had seen all they wanted and were anxious to hurry off home. Even Regina did not hint for an invitation to join the favoured pair. Their footsteps echoed through the big hall as they walked away. Miss Renton looked after them, then closed the door of the museum.
"I don't want any more of the public coming in to-day," she declared. "If I open the show-cases we must have the place to ourselves."