"A GENERAL MEETINGof theUNITED GUILDWill be held onThursdayat 4 p.m. in theDressing-Room.Business:—To discuss the proposal of startinga Lower School Magazine.All members are particularly requested to attend."
So ran the Secretary's notice, and the girls who read it were only too eager to respond to the invitation. They felt that Gipsy stirred things up at Briarcroft, and were ready to listen to anything fresh she mighthave to suggest. As Hetty had expected, the idea was received with enthusiasm, and when Gipsy propounded her scheme in detail, everybody cordially agreed, and the motion was carried unanimously.
"There's one principal matter to be settled," said Dilys, who, as President, occupied the post of chairman. "We've got to choose an editor."
"Then I beg to propose Gipsy Latimer," said Meg Gordon, rising hastily.
"And I beg to second the proposal," said Hetty Hancock.
"Gipsy! Yes, Gipsy!" exclaimed the girls, and a forest of hands went up.
"You'll have to take it, Gipsy," urged Hetty. "You're the most suitable of anybody. It's a new thing in the school, so it's best managed by a new girl. We should none of us understand how to do it. Besides, you suggested it. The whole plan of it is yours."
"Right-o, if you think I'm 'the man for the job'," agreed Gipsy.
Though she had not canvassed for the post, Gipsy was delighted to get the editorship. Running a magazine was work that exactly suited her. She was sure she could make it a success, and she looked forward with immense satisfaction to issuing her first number. A name had yet to be chosen, and after much debate it was decided to call the new venture theBriarcroft Juniors' Journal.
"That'll quite cut the Seniors out of it," said Meg Gordon. "We don't want them to get any of the credit."
"And 'Juniors' Journal' has a nice juicy kind of sound," said Daisy Scatcherd.
"A juicy journal would be a new departure—it suggests oily words and honeyed speeches!" laughed Hetty.
By general vote, the first number was to be issued a week before the end of the term, so Gipsy had to set to work in earnest in her capacity of editress, inviting contributions from likely members, and settling the various departments of her magazine. She intended to conduct it on the lines of a real publication, and to keep separate pages for Sports and Pastimes, Reviews of Books, Nature Notes, How to Make Things, Handy Recipes, Puzzles, Competitions, and Letters from Correspondents, as well as matter of a more original literary character. It was rather a big order, but Gipsy's ambitions soared high; she felt it was a chance for the Lower School to shine, and she spared no trouble to make her scheme a success.
There was very little time for all this, but she worked systematically, apportioning the departments among different girls, and making them promise to write certain things. Joyce Adamson, who was "great" on hockey, was told off for "Sports and Pastimes"; Ethel Newton, a day girl, who lived a few miles away quite in the heart of the country, undertook the "Nature Notes"; Meg Gordon's fertile brain could be trusted to invent puzzles and competitions; neat-fingered Norah Bell contributed an article on "How to make Paper Boxes"; and Gipsy herself undertook the "Library Shelf" and "Answers to Correspondents".Fiona Campbell provided some dainty illustrations, and her example was emulated by members of other Forms, who were also invited to submit articles, stories, nature notes, and puzzles. Gipsy, with the oligarchy of the Seniors fresh in her memory as a warning, did not wish the Upper Fourth to monopolize the Magazine by any means, and the younger girls were strongly urged to try their 'prentice hands at the art of composition. She herself was busy with the opening chapter of a serial, in which she intended to set forth all her adventures in the Colonies, embroidered by the aid of her imagination. Fortunately Miss White was kind, and, sympathizing with the idea of a magazine, allowed the duplicator to be used in its production, so that Gipsy was able to strike off six copies, for the First, Second, Lower Third, Upper Third, Lower Fourth, and Upper Fourth respectively. Each Form undertook to produce its own cover, the younger children being helped by the drawing mistress, who was much interested, and allowed a special afternoon to be devoted to the purpose. The designs were painted on brown paper, and varied from sprays of flowers to conventional patterns, according to the taste of the Form, though each bore in large letters the same inscription:Briarcroft Juniors' Journal.
It was a proud day for Gipsy when she completed her arrangements, and all the six copies were ready in their artistic covers. The contributors had really done their best in the brief time at their disposal. There were two or three short stories, an article on pet dogs, some recipes for sweets and toffee, including Gipsy's favouriteAmerican Fudge, and quite a long page of nature notes, the latter being contributed mostly by the day girls. Gipsy had not had time to write any book reviews, but she had enjoyed herself over the answers to correspondents. She had posted up a notice inviting letters when first the scheme for the Magazine was accepted, and quite a budget had been delivered at the "editorial office"—otherwise her school desk. Some were couched in rather a facetious vein, but she answered them as if they were intended to be serious, sometimes with a comic result. A correspondent who signed herself "Honeysuckle" had enquired: "Can you tell me how to stop my feet from growing any bigger? I take fives in shoes and I am only eleven." To which Gipsy replied: "You are evidently eating too much, Honeysuckle! Limit your diet to water and crusts, and abstain from sweets, cakes, and toffee in any form. You will then probably stop growing at all in any direction, either up or down."
Gertie Butler, of the Lower Third, had blossomed into poetry, and had composed an "Ode to the Magazine", the opening lines of which ran:
"Hail, literary gem of Briarcroft Hall!Thou com'st to be a blessing to us all".
The exchange column was voted "ripping", and resulted in the transfer of several families of white mice, some foreign stamps, a variety of picture post-cards, and other treasures. The first instalment of Gipsy's serial, "The Girl Pioneer of Wild Cat Creek", was so thrillingly exciting that its readers could hardlywait for the second chapter, and pressed the authoress for details of "what was coming next"; but as Gipsy had not made up any more, they were obliged to curb their impatience. Altogether the Magazine was a brilliant success; and if it lacked anything in composition and grammar, it made that up in other ways. Miss Poppleton, who examined a copy, expressed her entire approval, and the teachers greatly encouraged the girls to persevere and continue this new branch of the Guild. The Seniors affected to ignore the whole affair.
"But that's just put on," said Hetty Hancock. "They know all about it. I saw Helen Roper and Doreen Tristram sneak into our classroom yesterday when no one was there, at dinner-time. The Mag. was lying on Miss White's desk, and they took it up and began to read it. They simply shrieked with laughing."
"What cheek! Let them write one of their own then!" exclaimed the indignant editress. "I'll undertake to say it wouldn't be half as interesting as ours!"
"Not one ten-millionth part as nice. Ours is just too scrumptiously ripping!" agreed Hetty.
Gipsyspent the Christmas holidays at Briarcroft. Miss Poppleton went away to Switzerland, to refresh her tired mind with the winter sports; but Miss Edith stayed behind, to count linen, and superintend workmen who were making some alterations in the bathrooms. She and Gipsy managed to enjoy themselves in a quiet manner, but the latter hailed the return of her schoolfellows with considerable relief. The house seemed so big and silent and lonely without its usual lively crew of boarders, and the dormitory with its empty beds oppressed her. Miss Poppleton came back more brisk and bustling than ever, and was at once immersed in the business of interviewing parents and rearranging school affairs, and in the thousand and one cares that always occupied her at the beginning of term.
When about ten days had gone by, and Briarcroft had settled down into its ordinary routine, she sent a message to Gipsy to report herself in the study. Gipsy obeyed with a feeling of considerable apprehension. Miss Poppleton's manner towards her, never very gracious, had been markedly cold since theChristmas holidays. For some reason she was evidently much out of favour. She tapped more deferentially at the study door, and entered less confidently than she had done on the morning after her arrival. A term at Briarcroft had taught her many lessons. The Principal was seated at her desk, studying an account book, and to judge from the jerking movements of her mouth, she was in a state of mind quite the reverse of amiable.
"Gipsy Latimer," she began uncompromisingly, "I've sent for you to enquire if you've heard anything at all from your father?"
Gipsy shook her head silently. It was such a sore subject that she could hardly bear to speak about it.
"It's a most extraordinary thing!" commented Miss Poppleton. "Since the day he left you here, he has never written a line either to me or to you. I don't like the look of it at all. Did he tell you where he was going?"
"Back to Cape Town," replied Gipsy briefly.
"Did he leave you any address?"
"No; he said he would be going up-country into a very wild place, but he would write when he got to the Cape."
"Has he any friends at Cape Town who would know of his whereabouts?"
"Not that I know of."
The barometer of Miss Poppleton's face seemed to fall still lower.
"This won't do at all!" she said, frowning. "When your father brought you, he paid for you up to Christmas,but no more. Now, the rule of this school is that fees must be paid in advance at the beginning of each term. I don't make an exception for anybody. Where are your fees for this term, I should like to know?—to say nothing of the holidays you spent here!"
It was such an utterly unanswerable question that Gipsy did not attempt a reply.
"I had a girl left on my hands like this once before," continued Miss Poppleton, "and I said then it should never happen again. Have you any relations in England?"
"Not one!"
"Or friends who could take charge of you?"
"I know absolutely nobody in England."
"Who are your relations, then? Surely you must have some in some portion of the globe?"
"Not any near ones. We have some cousins in New Zealand, at a farm right up in the bush."
"Where did your father come from? Hadn't your mother any relations?"
"Father was born in New Zealand, but his grandfather came out from England. Mother was an American, from Texas, I believe. Her mother was Spanish. I never heard about her relations. She died when I was a baby, and we've always been travelling about ever since I can remember."
"Humph! That doesn't look well. Had your father no permanent address, then, where letters would always be forwarded to him?"
"I never heard him say so."
Gipsy stood with her little brown hands pressedhard together, and her mouth set tightly while she answered this unwelcome catechism. Miss Poppleton might have pitied the sad look in the dark eyes, but she went on bluntly:
"I'm afraid it's only too evident he wants to get rid of the burden of your education. We've got to trace him somehow. It's all very fine for him to leave you here and desert you!"
Gipsy's face turned crimson, and the big sob that had been gathering in her throat nearly choked her for a moment.
"Father would never desert me!" she gasped at last. "He promised faithfully he'd come back and fetch me. Oh! you don't know Dad, to say that. I'm afraid something's happened to him—out there!"
She did not tell Miss Poppleton how she had hoped against hope, and lain awake at night wondering, and searching her mind for any possible solution of his silence, but she looked such a forlorn little figure that in spite of herself the Principal slightly relented.
"Well, Gipsy," she said more kindly, "I'm afraid it looks a bad business. I'm sure you understand that it would be impossible for me to keep on my school if pupils did not pay their fees. I can't afford to be kept waiting. In your case, however, we'll let matters stand for awhile, and see if we hear from your father. In the meantime I might write to your cousins in New Zealand. It will take three months, though, before I can get a letter back."
"More," sighed Gipsy. "They only go down to the town once a month for letters, and not then if theriver's in flood. They live in such a wild place—right up in the bush."
"At any rate they're your relations, and ought to be responsible for you," snapped Miss Poppleton. "If the worst comes to the worst, I could send you out to them through the Emigration Society. It's a very awkward position to be placed in—very awkward indeed. You're absolutely sure you know of nobody, either in England or at the Cape, who could give information about your father?"
"No one at all. I didn't know anything about Dad's business. I was at school, and he used just to come and fetch me for the holidays," confessed Gipsy sadly.
Miss Poppleton shut her account book with an annoyed slam.
"Well, there's no further help for it at present. We must see what turns up. Of course, I can't pretend to keep you here indefinitely. Give me the address of your cousins in New Zealand, and I will write to them to-day. That seems the best we can do. The whole thing is most unfortunate."
Gipsy dictated the address as steadily as she could, then taking advantage of Miss Poppleton's brief "That will do; you may go now!" she fled to the most remote corner of her dormitory and sobbed her heart out. There she was found later on by Miss Edith, who came to put away clean clothes. Poor Miss Edith was generally torn in two between strict loyalty to her sister and the promptings of her own kind heart. She knew the cause of Gipsy's trouble well enough.She sat down beside the forlorn child, and comforted her as best she could.
"I wish Dad would write! Oh, he can't have forgotten me! I wish I'd anybody to go to; I haven't a soul nearer than New Zealand!" wailed Gipsy.
"You mustn't make yourself so miserable, Gipsy dear!" said Miss Edith nervously. "I'm sure Miss Poppleton will keep you here for a while, and perhaps your father will write after all. My sister will do everything that's right—she always does. Oh, don't sob so, child! She'll see that you're taken care of. Do try to cheer up, that's a dear! You must trust Miss Poppleton, Gipsy. There, there! You'll feel better now you've had a good cry. Wash your face in cold water, and take a run round the garden. It's a good thing it's Saturday!"
Gipsy didn't feel equally confident of Miss Poppleton's benevolence, but she gave Miss Edith a hug, and took her advice. She had not lost faith in her father, only his silence made her fear for his welfare. She was aware of the many dangers of life in the rough mining camps where his work lay, and shuddered as she remembered his tales of attacks by desperadoes, skirmishes with natives, or perils of wild beasts. Almost directly, however, her naturally cheerful and hopeful disposition reasserted itself. She knew letters sometimes miscarried or were lost, or perhaps her father might have been ill and unable to write.
"He'll let me hear about him somehow," she said to herself. "I must just try and be very patient. Dad desert me! Why, the idea's ridiculous. And I've afeeling I'd know if he was dead. No! He's alive somewhere and thinking of me, and it will all come right in the end. His very last words were: 'I'll soon be back to fetch you!' I mustn't let folks at the school think I don't believe in Dad. That would never do! I'll show them how I can trust him!"
True to her intention of vindicating her faith in her father, Gipsy, after the first outburst of tears, took a pride in concealing her feelings, and preserving at least an outward appearance of calm confidence. It certainly needed all her courage to face the situation, for there were several circumstances which rendered it peculiarly trying. Miss Poppleton, with whom she had never been a favourite, snapped at her more frequently than before, and was harder to please as regarded both lessons and conduct. Gipsy often felt she was treated unfairly, and received more than her due share of blame for any little occurrence that cropped up.
A great many small things contributed to make her feel her position. Her morning glass of milk, which all the boarders and some of the day girls took in the pantry at eleven o'clock, was knocked off, as were all concerts and lectures where there was a charge for admission. It was not pleasant, when the other boarders were taken into Greyfield, to have to stay behind for the sake of the price of a ticket and a tram fare. She had long ago spent all her pocket-money, and there was no more forthcoming. Not only was she denied such luxuries as chocolates, but she was not even able to pay her subscription to the Guild, which, by the new arrangement, was due at thebeginning of each term. The Committee, who knew the reason and sympathized with her, ignored the matter; but poor Gipsy, as Secretary, felt her deficiency very keenly when she made up the accounts. She was a proud, sensitive girl, and the knowledge that she alone, of the whole Guild, had not rendered her dues to the Treasurer was a bitter humiliation.
It was not in regard to the Guild alone that she was hampered by lack of money. During the spring term the girls at Briarcroft were accustomed to get up a small bazaar in aid of a home for waifs and strays. They were already beginning to work for it, and Gipsy, who would gladly have helped, made the unpleasant discovery that it is impossible to make bricks without straw, or in other words that she had no materials. Each Form generally took a stall, so one afternoon there was a little informal meeting of the Upper Fourth, to discuss what contributions could be relied upon.
"I vote that each girl undertakes to make a certain number of articles; that would be far the easiest, and then we should know how we stand," suggested Alice O'Connor. "We'll draw up a list, and write it down."
"Need we do it quite that way?" said Hetty Hancock. "Wouldn't it be enough if each promises to do what she can?"
"Why? It's much better to nail people."
"Well, you see, it mightn't suit everybody. There's one girl I know who perhaps really couldn't undertake to make several things. We don't want her to feel uncomfortable."
Gipsy was not in the room at that moment, so Hetty was free to give her hint.
"If you mean Gipsy Latimer, I don't see why we should spoil the bazaar to spare her feelings!" returned Alice bluntly.
"I don't want to spoil the bazaar. I only thought we might do it some other way that wouldn't hurt her pride."
"What nonsense! People oughtn't to have such ridiculous pride!" expostulated Gladys Merriman. "I think Alice's idea is a good one. I'll vote for it ifshproposes it properly."
"But surely you wouldn't like it yourself—" began Hetty.
"Hush! Here's Gipsy!" said Dilys hastily.
Neither Alice nor Gladys bore any special love for Gipsy, and they were not particularly desirous to spare her the unpleasantness of an open confession of her inability to make her contribution. Perhaps it was with a spice of malice that Alice rose immediately and offered her suggestion.
"Each girl could surely undertake at least three articles—that ought to be the minimum—and as many more as she's capable of doing," she said in conclusion.
There was a moment's pause in the room. On the face of it, Alice's proposal was excellent. Everybody felt it ought to be carried out, but many shared Hetty's motive in objecting to it. It was Lennie Chapman who saved the situation.
"I beg to propose an amendment," she put in quickly,"that, instead of each girl promising things separately, we may be allowed to form ourselves into working trios. Three of us could promise a dozen articles between us, to be made just as we like, all stitching at the same piece of embroidery if the fancy took us—just joint work, in fact. We'd spur each other on in that way, and get far more finished than if we did it singly."
"Excellent!" commented Dilys. "Who votes for the amendment?"
It was carried by half the Form, much to Lennie's relief. She and Hetty promptly proposed to form a trio with Gipsy, and were thus able to rescue her from rather a difficult position.
"But I haven't even a skein of embroidery silk!" sighed Gipsy afterwards to them in private.
"Never mind! Hetty and I can get the silks, and you shall do some extra work to make it square. We shall be exactly quits in that way. You can do all the painting part, too, on those blotters; you paint far better than either of us. My flowers are always scrawny, and yours are lovely. There's an enormous advantage in working threesomes!"
"Yes, for me!" said Gipsy gratefully.
There are some unworthy natures who cannot resist the temptation of kicking anyone who is down. It was very quickly realized at Briarcroft that Gipsy was in ill favour at headquarters; and though most of the girls were sorry for her, with a certain number her changed fortunes undoubtedly lessened her popularity. Maude Helm never lost an opportunity of asneer or a slight, and could sometimes raise a laugh at Gipsy's expense among the more thoughtless section of the Form. Gipsy generally responded with spirit, but the gibes hurt all the same.
"GIPSY GENERALLY RESPONDED WITH SPIRIT""GIPSY GENERALLY RESPONDED WITH SPIRIT"
"When are you going to get some new hair ribbons, Yankee Doodle?" asked Gladys Merriman one day. "Those red flags of yours are looking rather dejected."
"The American turkey's losing its top-knot," sniggered Maude tauntingly. "It doesn't soar up aloft like it used to do! Been a little tamed by the British lion!"
"If you imagine a turkey to be the crest of the United States, you're a trifle out," said Gipsy scornfully.
"I'd take to a pigtail if I were you," tittered Maude. "It only needs one ribbon!"
"If you were me, then I suppose I'd be you—and, yes, it might be necessary to change my style of hair-dressing," retorted Gipsy, with a glance at Maude's not too plentiful locks.
Some of the girls giggled, and Cassie Bertram murmured: "Rats' tails, not pigtails! Or even mouse tails!"
Maude scowled. She had not intended the laugh to be turned against herself.
"I wouldn't wear limp, faded red bows at any price," she commented, banging her desk to close the conversation, and stalking from the room.
"That Gipsy Latimer's too conceited altogether! I should like to take her down a peg," she confided to Gladys, as the pair walked arm-in-arm round the playground.
"Well, so you do, continually!" said Gladys.
"That's only by the way. She deserves something more for her American cheek. I'm going to play a trick on her, Gladys. It'll be ever such fun! Listen!"
The two girls put their heads together, and laughed as Maude whispered her plan; then they both scuttled up to the empty classroom, and abstracting Gipsy's atlas from her desk, carried it downstairs to the lost-property cupboard, and hid it carefully under a pile of books.
"She won't find that in a hurry!" chuckled Maude.
"There'll be a fine to-do when she misses it," said Gladys.
"People who suffer from 'swelled head' just deserve a little wholesome medicine, to cure them of thinking too much of themselves. Now she's editor of the Magazine, Yankee Doodle's unbearable, to my mind. There are others in the Form who can write stories as well as herself."
"Yours about the brigands was lovely!" gushed Gladys obediently.
"Well, I don't boast, but I flatter myself it wasn't the worst in the Mag. I don't call it fair that everything should be in the hands of one girl, and she a foreigner, as one might say! I'll talk to you again about this, Gladys, for I've got an idea I mean to exploit later on. Come along now, there's the bell!"
That afternoon the Upper Fourth had a lesson with Miss Poppleton on "The Work of our Great Explorers". The class was held in the lecture hall, and each girl was required to bring with her an atlas,a blank book for drawing charts, a notebook, a pencil, and indiarubber. Gipsy's desk was not always a miracle of neatness, but she understood its apparent confusion, and could generally lay her hand in a moment upon anything she wanted. This afternoon, however, she rummaged for her atlas in vain. She turned books and papers over and over in her futile search, till the desk was in a chaotic muddle.
"Where's my atlas? Who's had my atlas? It was here yesterday!" she asked agitatedly.
"Really, Gipsy Latimer, I don't wonder you can't find your things in such an untidy desk!" remarked Miss White. "You must stay after four o'clock and put your books in order. Be quick, girls! Ada is waiting. Are you ready? Then take your places and march!"
Miss White hurried off to give a botany demonstration to the Lower Fourth, and the Upper Fourth filed downstairs to the lecture hall under the superintendence of Ada Dawkins, monitress for the time in place of Doreen Tristram, who was absent with influenza.
As the Form stood waiting for a moment or two in the corridor before entering the lecture hall, Maude Helm began ostentatiously to count her belongings.
"Pencil—indiarubber—map book—notebook—and atlas. I've not forgotten anything!" she said in a particularly audible whisper.
Ada Dawkins heard, and it reminded her of her duties. She was anxious to show herself a zealous monitress.
"Have you all brought your things?" she enquiredauthoritatively. "Face about into line, and hold them out so that I can see."
The single file of girls wheeled round into a row, each exhibiting what she carried. Ada passed along like a commanding officer inspecting a regiment, and immediately pounced upon Gipsy.
"Where's your atlas, Gipsy Latimer? How is it you're the only one to forget? Been taken from your desk? What nonsense! Things don't lose themselves. If you were tidy, you'd be able to find your books. No, I'm not going to accept any excuses. You all know what you want for the lesson, and it's your own fault if you come without it. Lose two order marks for leaving your atlas behind, and a third for arguing! Will you never learn that the monitresses have some authority here?"
Very much snubbed, poor Gipsy went into the lecture hall, to be further rebuked by Miss Poppleton later on for the lack of her atlas. It was only after a long hunt that she discovered her missing book in the lost-property cupboard.
"I've a very shrewd guess who put it there, too!" she remarked to Hetty Hancock. "Maude and Gladys were giggling something to Alice O'Connor, and they all looked at me and simply screamed."
"You don't mean to say they've played a low, stingy trick like that upon you?"
"I'm almost sure."
"Then they're mean sneaks! If ever I catch them at such a thing again, I'll spiflicate them!"
"Heardthe news?" enquired Barbara Kendrick one afternoon towards the end of February, lounging into the Juniors' recreation room with a would-be casual air, and whistling a jaunty tune which she fondly hoped was expressive of superior indifference to news of any kind. Two girls sitting reading by the fire closed their books, and three at the table, who were in the agonies of three separate games of patience, temporarily laid aside their cards.
"No; what's up? Anything decent?" asked Norah Bell.
Barbara strolled leisurely to the fireplace, and spread her hands to the blaze. Being a member of the Third, and having a most interesting piece of information to communicate, she did not intend to make it too cheap, and wished to excite the curiosity of the Fourth Form girls before she vouchsafed to enlighten them.
"Oh! something I heard just now downstairs. I was passing the Seniors' door, and Allie Spencer came out and told me."
"Well?"
"She said it concerned your Form."
"Why us particularly?"
"What's going to happen?"
"Is it anything worth knowing, or not?"
"Really, that depends how you take it," said Barbara, enjoying herself.
"Look here, kiddie, you get on and tell us!"
"Gee up, stupid!"
Barbara paused, prolonging for one more blissful moment the joy of tantalizing her audience; but in that moment her chance was lost, for the door opened suddenly, and in burst Hetty Hancock, like a tempestuous north wind, proclaiming without either hesitation or reserve the important tidings.
"I say, isn't it a joke? There's actually a new boarder coming to-morrow."
"New girls seem to choose odd times to come nowadays," said Lennie. "Why didn't she wait till the half term—it's only about two weeks off?"
"Perhaps she's been shipwrecked, like I was," suggested Gipsy.
"Not a bit of it! She doesn't come from far. Her home's only about ten miles off, I believe. Her name's Leonora Parker."
"Parker! Parker! Surely not the Parkers of Ribblestone Abbey?" commented Norah Bell.
"I really don't know."
"But I know!" put in Barbara Kendrick, delighted to score at last by her superior information. "They are the Parkers of Ribblestone Abbey."
"Then they're most enormously rich people."
"Yes, millionaires! And Leonora's the only child."
"So she's an heiress!"
"Rather—an heiress of millions."
"You might call her a millionairess, in fact," chuckled Gipsy.
"Good for you, Yankee Doodle!"
"I say, it's rather a joke her coming here, isn't it?" said Norah Bell. "A millionaire's daughter! I wonder what she'll be like?"
"Sure to have the best of everything," said Daisy Scatcherd; "the loveliest dresses and the most expensive hats."
"She won't be able to wear anything but her school 'sailor' here!" commented Dilys. "You needn't imagine she'll come decked out with diamonds, Daisy."
"She'll have absolutely unlimited pocket-money."
"And be able to buy chocolates and walnut creams by the pound!" added Barbara enviously.
"Wonder what Form and what dormitory she'll be in?"
"Well, at any rate I shan't be the last new girl," said Gipsy. "I'm glad to retire from the position."
"Yes, Yankee Doodle. Your little nose will be quite put out of joint."
"A millionairess at Briarcroft! Doesn't it sound magnificent?"
"What a set of sillies you all are!" said Dilys. "I'm not going to make any fuss over Leonora, even if she can buy chocolates by the pound. I'll wait and see how I like her before I give my opinion. She mayn't be nice at all."
In spite of Dilys's attitude of aloofness the others could not help anticipating with the keenest eagernessthe advent of a fresh fellow boarder. The personality of the "millionairess", as they nicknamed her, was a subject of much speculation, and a whole row of noses was flattened against the panes of the Juniors' sitting-room window to witness her arrival. The glimpse the girls got of her was distinctly disappointing. She wore a tweed coat and skirt, and the orthodox Briarcroft "sailor", with its narrow band and badge.
"I thought she'd have come in a velvet coat and a big picture hat full of feathers!" said Barbara, with rueful surprise in her tone.
"I never dreamt she'd drive up in only a station cab!" said Norah Bell. "Why didn't she arrive in her own motor?"
When Leonora was introduced by Miss Poppleton to her schoolfellows at tea-time, she certainly did not answer the expectations which had been formed of her. She was short and rather squat, with heavy features and nondescript eyes and hair.
"A most stodgy-looking girl," whispered Hetty. "I don't take to her at all. She's not one half as nice as Gipsy. By the by, where is Gipsy? I haven't seen her since four o'clock."
Gipsy came in just then, and took her seat at the table, looking cold and rather dejected.
"Where've you been?" whispered Hetty.
"Arranging my new room. Didn't you know? I've been moved out of our dormitory to make way for Leonora. Miss Edith carried all my things upstairs this morning."
"How sickening! Is that girl to have your bed?"
"Of course."
"And where are you put?"
"In that little box-room on the top floor. The boxes are all piled at one end, to make room for a camp bed."
"You don't mean it? Well, I didn't think Poppie was capable of such a horrid piece of nastiness."
"There's no other place for me at present. I may be extremely grateful to have that attic, so I'm informed. You forget I'm a charity girl!" said Gipsy bitterly.
Poor Gipsy was smarting sorely from a brief conversation she had had with Miss Poppleton. The Principal had reminded her in very plain terms of her dependent position, and had questioned and cross-questioned her as to whether she could remember any possible clue by which her father's whereabouts might be traced. Gipsy had already told all she knew, so the fresh catechism only seemed to her like the probing of an old wound. She felt so utterly helpless, so unable to offer any suggestions, or any way out of the difficulty. But she stuck tenaciously to her faith in her father.
"Dad promised to come back for me, and he will!" she said, with a gleam in her dark eyes.
"I'm afraid I know more of the world than you do, Gipsy, and it looks bad—very bad indeed!" replied Miss Poppleton, with a dismal shake of her head. "Some men are only too anxious to cast off their responsibilities."
Even Miss Edith, kind as ever though she was, seemed to take a gloomy view of the case.
"I'm sorry, dear—very sorry!" she said, as she introduced Gipsy to her attic bedroom. "I don't like to have to turn you out of your dormitory—and I'm sure Miss Poppleton doesn't either! But, you see, we're obliged to put Leonora there—and there's no other place but this. If your father hadn't behaved so queerly, of course it would have been different. I'm very sorry, Gipsy—it's hard on a girl to be left like this. I wonder he could have the heart to do it. And it's hard on my sister too. She has to think of ways and means. Dear, dear! what an amount of trouble there is in the world! And you're young to have to begin to feel it. There! I've made you as comfortable as I can here, child. After all, you'll be downstairs most of your time."
When Miss Edith had gone away, Gipsy sat down on the one chair in her room, with a blank, wretched feeling that was beyond the relief of tears. It was not that she minded a camp bed in the least, and she had often slept in far rougher places than her new attic; but the change seemed the outward and visible sign of her forlorn circumstances. Both Miss Poppleton's uncompromising remarks and Miss Edith's well-meant sympathy hurt her equally, for both expressed the same doubt of her father's honour. Not until that afternoon had Gipsy thoroughly realized how utterly alone she was in the world. Every other girl in the school had home and parents and relations, while she had nobody at all except a father who had—no, notforgotten her! that she would never allow; but for some strange, mysterious reason had been kept from communicating with her.
Gipsy had too generous a nature to bear Leonora any grudge for having taken her place in the dormitory. She even volunteered to give some valuable hints to the newcomer, knowing by experience the thorns that were likely to beset her path. Leonora, however, did not seem at all afflicted by many things which would have been most trying to Gipsy. She went her own way stolidly, without reference to her schoolfellows' comments, good or bad. This attitude did not satisfy Briarcroft standards, and by the time she had been there a week she had been weighed in the balance of public opinion and found decidedly wanting. She was the exact opposite of what the boarders had expected. Far from being liberally disposed, and inclined to spend her superabundant pocket-money for the good of her companions, she appeared anxious to take advantage on the other side. She readily accepted all the chocolates and caramels that were offered her, but made no return; and if she bought any sweets she ate them herself in privacy. She appropriated other girls' hockey sticks, books, or fountain pens unblushingly, but had always an excuse if anyone wished to sample her possessions.
"She's the meanest thing I ever met in my life," said Lennie Chapman indignantly one day. "She borrowed my penknife three times this morning, and when I asked her what had become of her own, she said it was such a nice one, it seemed a pity to use it."
"She spoilt my stylo. yesterday," complained Norah Bell, "and she never even offered to buy me another."
"She's greedy, too," said Daisy Scatcherd, swelling the list of Leonora's crimes. "When I handed her my box of candied fruits, she picked out the very biggest!"
"How piggie!"
"And yet she's plenty of pocket-money."
"Oh, yes, heaps, as much as she likes to ask for."
"I don't see what's the use of being a millionairess if you're a miser at the same time!" remarked Dilys scornfully.
A girl who receives everything and dispenses nothing is never popular among her companions, so it was scarcely surprising that Leonora won no favour. A few mercenary spirits, encouraged by the reputation of her millions, made tentative advances of friendship, but rapidly withdrew them on the discovery that it was likely to prove a one-sided bargain.
"I wouldn't be friends with her if she owned the Bank of England!" declared Lennie. "I think she's too contemptible for words."
"By the by, girls," said Dilys, "it's Miss Edith's birthday on the 1st of March. Aren't we Junior boarders going to get up anything in the way of a present? I know the Seniors are giving her one."
"Rather!" said Fiona Campbell. "I'd stretch a point for Miss Edie if I was on the verge of bankruptcy. I vote we open a subscription list. I'm good for half a crown."
"I expect most of us are," replied Lennie, takingpaper and pencil to write down names. "Except Leonora Parker!" she added with a laugh.
"Don't you think she'll give?"
"Not generously."
"Oh, she'll have to!"
"I declare, we'll make her for once!" said Dilys indignantly. "She shan't sneak out of everything."
"I don't see how you're going to make her."
"The millionairess won't fork out unless she feels inclined, I can tell you that, my child."
"Just you leave it to me. I'll manage it by fair means or foul."
"Won't a subscription list make it rather awkward for Gipsy? You know she can't give anything," whispered Hetty Hancock to Dilys.
"Not at all, the way I'm going to do it. I'll take care of Gipsy, you'll see—make it easy for her, but nick in Leonora for more than she bargains."
"You're cleverer than I thought you were."
"Ah, you haven't plumbed the depths of my genius yet, my good child. Now when Leonora——"
"Hush! Here she comes."
The millionairess walked to the fireplace, and stood leaning over the high fender, sharpening a cherished stump of lead pencil.
"We're getting up a subscription," began Dilys, opening the attack without further delay. "It's to buy a present for Miss Edith's birthday. You'd like us to put your name down, wouldn't you?"
"Well, I'm not sure," replied Leonora cautiously. "What are most of you giving?"
"Half a crown," replied a chorus of voices.
"I've been at Briarcroft such a short time," demurred Leonora. "Perhaps it would really be better if the present came from you, who are all old pupils."
"There's something in that," said Dilys. "Both you and Gipsy Latimer have only been here a little while, so it would be more appropriate, after all, to leave you both out of it, and let it be an old girls' gift. Lennie, do you hear? You're not to put down either Gipsy or Leonora, however much they beg and pray."
"Right-oh!" said Lennie rather sulkily. She thought that Dilys, in her delicacy for Gipsy, was sparing Leonora too much. But Dilys gave her a withering look, which so plainly implied: "Trust me to mind my own business" that she began hastily to hum a tune.
"Perhaps you'd like to give Miss Edith something on your own account," suggested Dilys craftily to the millionairess.
"Exactly. It would be far better than my joining with the rest of you," agreed Leonora, jumping at such an easy way out.
"Tell me what it's to be, then, and we'll ask Miss Lindsay to order it."
"Oh! I can get it myself, thanks."
"We're not allowed. All shopping has to be done through Miss Lindsay. I should suggest a book."
"I dare say that would do. There was one of yours that Miss Edith was looking at yesterday."
"Do you mean my small 'Christina Rossetti'? Allright. Lennie, put down that Leonora Parker wants to order a copy of Christina Rossetti's poems."
Thus cornered, Leonora was obliged to consent. Dilys's little book was a shilling edition—not ruinous, certainly, to the purse strings; so comparing that with a subscription of half a crown she considered she had escaped cheaply.
"You've let her off too easily," grumbled Lennie afterwards, as she added up her list. "It's a shame the richest girl in the class should give the least."
"I haven't finished with her yet, my friend—I've only begun!" chuckled Dilys. "Let me go to Miss Lindsay."
Dilys had a deep-laid scheme, which she considered too good to be divulged at present, but which she hoped would be the undoing of Leonora. She went to the mistresses' room with the subscription list, and handed the collection of half-crowns to Miss Lindsay.
"Would you please order a Russia leather blotter for Miss Edith?" she said. "We've decided on that, unless you know of anything she'd like better. Leonora Parker would like to give her a separate present, quite on her own account."
"Indeed?" said Miss Lindsay, who had not yet grasped the new pupil's economical tendencies. "Then I suppose she wishes it to be something handsome?"
"She mentioned a copy of Christina Rossetti's poems, but she said nothing about the price," returned Dilys stolidly.
"Christina Rossetti's poems? Then she must surely mean that beautiful illustrated edition that we weretalking about at tea-time yesterday. I remember Miss Edith said how immensely she would like to see it. No doubt Leonora made a mental note of it. It was a kind thought of hers, which Miss Edith will appreciate, I am sure."
"Is the edition expensive?" enquired Dilys casually.
"Fifteen shillings net, but of course to Leonora that is a mere nothing—no more than sixpence to most girls. Still, perhaps I'd better send for her and ask her."
"She's having her music lesson," put in Dilys quickly.
"The order ought to go off at once, if we are to have the presents in time for the 1st of March," said Miss Lindsay, glancing at the clock. "I must write now to catch the post. I think I may venture to send Leonora's commission without consulting her. She must certainly mean the illustrated edition, and in her case we really need not trouble to consider the question of the price."
Dilys went away, rubbing her hands with satisfaction.
"Serves you right, Leonora Parker!" she chuckled to herself. "Your little effort at economy is going to cost you rather more than you bargained for. Miss Lindsay's an absolute trump. I hate mean people who hoard up their money and keep it all for themselves."
She confided her success to the others, but exacted a promise of strict secrecy.
"We'll simply say Miss Lindsay has sent for thebook," she advised. "I believe Leonora would be capable of countermanding the order if she knew the amount of the bill. It will be a surprise for her later on."
"And a ripping joke for us!"
"It's Miss Lindsay's fault, though. She named the edition."
"Oh, yes, of course! We understand that, my dear girl!"
The presents arrived by return of post, just in time for Miss Edith's birthday—a splendid blotter of delicious-smelling leather, and the edition of Christina Rossetti's poems, a large and handsome volume full of beautiful illustrations. Miss Lindsay brought them into the Juniors' sitting-room, and showed them to the delighted girls.
"It was so nice of you, Leonora dear, to think of giving such a lovely gift to Miss Edith all on your own account," she remarked; "so thoughtful to have fixed upon the very thing she wanted. You meant this edition, of course? I knew I could hardly be mistaken. Miss Edith will be particularly pleased that a new girl should show such appreciation. The pictures are perfect gems. We'll wrap the book up again in its various papers, and you must hide it carefully away until to-morrow. Would you like to give me the fifteen shillings now, or will Miss Poppleton stop it out of your allowance?"
Leonora's face was a study. Blank amazement struggled with disgust, and for a moment she seemed almost tempted to deny all responsibility for havinggiven the order. Pride, however, at the sight of the sneer at the corners of Dilys Fenton's mouth, came to her rescue. She knew the girls had tricked her, and she was determined not to afford them the satisfaction of an open triumph.
"Thank you very much, Miss Lindsay, for getting the book," she replied calmly. "I'll give you the money now, please. I'm glad it's the edition Miss Edith wants," and taking her parcel, she sailed from the room, without deigning to glance at the others.
"Done her this time!" chuckled Dilys. "It'll do her good to shell out for once."
"She took it awfully well, though! Perhaps on the whole she wasn't altogether sorry. Miss Edie's such a dear, anyone would want to give her nice things who'd got the money," sighed Gipsy, whose own offering was limited to a little pen-and-ink drawing of the house.
"She's not so bad on the whole, though she isn't liberal in the way of sweets," remarked Daisy Scatcherd.
"You greedy pig!" said Dilys. "We don't want her to keep us provided with chocolates. As long as she's fair, that's all I care about. I think it's sickening to try and truckle to her because she's so rich. If you wanted to get anything out of her, I'm glad you were disappointed. 'Give and take' and 'Share and share alike' are the best mottoes for school."
"Thanks for the sermon!" said Daisy sarcastically.
"I don't care if you do call it preaching!" retorted Dilys. "When first Leonora came, some of you madesuch a ridiculous fuss over her, I was quite disgusted. A girl ought to be judged on her own merits, not by what her father's got. If she shows herself ready to take a fair part in everything, and be of some service to the school, then I'll approve of her, and not till then."
"Hear, hear!" cried Hetty Hancock.