Reprisals
It was immediately after this that Peachy, who was always doing
imprudent things and running risks, went a little too far and caught a
severe chill. She was moved into the sanatorium, a room at the top of
the house, and spent three quite happy days in bed, reading books and
magazines, and drinking hot lemonade, which was Miss Rodgers' favorite
remedy for a cold. When she was certified as free from any infection, a
few of her special chums were allowed to visit her. She petitioned
specially for Jess, Delia, and Irene. They found her propped up with
pillows, and looking very charming in a pale pink dressing-jacket and
her hair tied back with a broad ribbon.
"Thanks very much. I'm sitting up and taking nourishment," she grinned,
in reply to their commiserations. "I'm going to have some more fun
before I pop off! Joking apart, I've had the time of my life here. It's
been blissful just reading and resting, with a big jug of lemonade at my
elbow."
"We've been talking about you downstairs. Didn't your ears burn?" asked
Jess.
"Not more than usual. What were you saying about poor little me?"
"We had a special meeting of the Camellia Buds, and passed a vote of
sympathy, for one thing. I suppose I ought to 'convey' it to you in the
orthodox fashion."
"Highly gratified, I'm sure," chirped Peachy. "How do I return thanks,
please? I can't get up in bed and bow. What next?"
"Well, the next is that nobody can think of anything original for the
Transition to do at the carnival, and everybody said 'Ask Peachy,' so
we've come to you for a suggestion."
"Whew! That's a big order," groaned the invalid. "We've had almost every
kind of stunt that's practically possible. What are the seniors getting
up this time?"
"Something musical, to judge from the practicing we hear. It sounds like
operetta. And the juniors are having a fairy play. Miss Morgan is
teaching them. What we want is something utterly and entirely
different."
"Exactly!" agreed Peachy, taking a drink of lemonade.
"If you don't have a brain-throb we shall have to descend to an ordinary
concert."
"Or a scene from Shakespeare."
"Or a _tableau vivant_."
"And those have been done simply dozens of times."
"I know," frowned Peachy. "We had 'The Trial Scene' from _The Merchant
of Venice_ ourselves last carnival. We couldn't give the same stunt
again. Oh, don't bother me! Let me think. How can I get ideas when
you're all talking at once?"
Peachy put her fingers in her ears and buried her head temporarily in
the pillow, from which she appeared to draw inspiration, for in a few
moments she sprang up with a bounce of rapture.
"Got it!" she announced cheerily. "Let's do a toy-shop. You shall all be
dressed up as toy animals and be wound up to work. Oh, I see ever such
possibilities. The seniors never had _that_ at any rate."
"Good!"
"It sounds prime!"
"What a mascot you are."
"Don't breathe a word outside the form," warned Peachy. "I'll plan it
all out and we'll have a rehearsal when I'm downstairs again. I guess
we'll give them a surprise. Hand me my writing-pad, somebody, and a
pencil. I want to get busy sketching costumes. I can see the whole thing
in my mind's eye and it ought to be great."
Every year in the month of March the pupils at the Villa Camellia
celebrated a carnival of their own. It coincided with a local festival
at Fossato, on which occasion the inhabitants were wont to make merry,
dressing themselves in fantastic costumes, parading the streets, and
letting off fireworks. Originally the girls had been taken to see the
gay doings, but the town was often so rough that Miss Rodgers had
decided it was an unsuitable entertainment for young ladies, and, to
prevent disappointment, made the happy suggestion that they should keep
the festival in their own grounds. So each spring the three divisions of
the school vied with one another in producing some fresh surprise, and
had a very interesting and amusing afternoon in the garden or gymnasium,
and were too busily occupied to feel any regret at being deprived of the
sight of what was going on in Fossato.
Canon and Mrs. Clark and a few of Miss Rodgers' and Miss Morley's
friends, who lived in the neighborhood, were generally invited to swell
the audience of teachers. The juniors were given a little assistance by
their form mistresses, but the seniors and the Transition managed their
own affairs. Now it was a most unfortunate circumstance that at present
the two sororities in the Transition were in direct opposition. Each
was, of course, aware of the other's existence, but each society kept
its own secrets. The Camellia Buds did not even know the name of their
rival, though they could guess at its list of members. Peachy, recovered
from her cold, came downstairs bubbling over with plans for a due
celebration of the festival. She submitted them gleefully to the
assembled girls, after French class. Much to her surprise about half of
the form demurred.
"We're going to do something of our own," announced Bertha airily. "We
don't want your stunt."
"Of our own? What d'you mean?" asked Peachy, her gray eyes snapping.
"I mean what I say. Some of us have arranged a little private
performance--we're going to keep it to ourselves."
"And leave out the rest of us?"
"You can have one of your own."
"Well, I like that!" flamed Peachy. "You're dividing the form into two
stunts. We've never done that before. Besides, who sent up a message
asking me to think of something fresh and original? I certainly
understood it was from _all_ of you."
Peachy, in huge indignation, glared into several conscious and guilty
faces, while her allies backed up her arguments by cries of "Shame!"
Bertha turned rather red but bluffed the matter out.
"We changed our minds. We can't always do everything all in a lump. As I
said before, we've got our own stunt, and you Camellia Buds can have
yours."
Camellia Buds! If Bertha had dropped a bomb in the classroom she could
not have caused greater consternation among the opposition. So the rival
society knew the name of their sorority. A suppressed "O-o-h!" arose
here and there. Evidently much enjoying their confusion Bertha and her
confederates retired, leaving the poor Camellia Buds to hold an
indignation meeting. Everybody talked at once.
"How did they find out?"
"Has anybody sneaked?"
"It's the absolute limit!"
"I couldn't have believed it!"
"It gives me spasms!"
"Of all mean things!"
"It makes me tingle!"
Then Jess, who was practical, made a suggestion.
"I vote we take an oath of every member that she hasn't betrayed us."
"'O wise young judge!'" quoted Agnes. "That's the best thing anybody's
said yet. Let's stand round in a row and swear 'Honest Injun.'"
If the Camellia Buds sustained doubts of one another's integrity these
were absolutely dispelled by the fervency with which each pleaded her
innocence.
"Somebody must have been eavesdropping at one of our meetings, I
suppose," sighed Agnes gloomily. "It's horrid to think they know our
secrets and we don't know theirs. I'd give worlds to get even."
"Where do they meet?" asked Delia. "I've never been able to find out."
"They're very clever in hiding themselves."
"Yes, I expect they keep watch, and scoot whenever they see one of us."
"That's it, of course," said Irene. "Well, what we've got to do is to
catch them off their guard. I vote we get the kids to help us. They
detest Bertha and Mabel. They'd just adore to track them for us. We
needn't exactly tell them why."
"Good for you, Renie Beverley. Those kids will do a turn for their
fairy godmothers. We'll call another candy party and put them on the
scout. I've a box of peppermint creams that will just go round. One
apiece ought to be enough for them to-day."
The juniors were fond of peppermints, and even a limited candy party was
in their opinion better than none at all. They had never received sweets
of any description from Bertha or Mabel; indeed they regarded them as
arch-enemies. The idea of keeping a watch over their movements appealed
to them.
"We'll shadow them, you bet!" grinned little Jean Hammond. "There isn't
much going on in the school that we don't know."
"I'm afraid there isn't. You're rather imps. But you'll be doing a good
deed if you find this out for us. The first who brings news shall have
two chocolates."
The Camellia Buds felt no more compunction in employing the juniors on
this quest than a government that organizes a secret service department.
The enemy had betrayed them shamelessly and deserved reprisals. It was
Désirée after all who won the chocolates. She haunted house and garden
with the persistency of a small ghost, and at last proudly made the
announcement:
"They've called a meeting by the big Greek jar to-day at five. I heard
Ruth tell Callie. What are you going to do about it?"
That was exactly the question which puzzled the Camellia Buds. It was
one thing to obtain information and quite another to act upon it. If
they went and interrupted the rival meeting they would have the
satisfaction of routing the enemy but would be none the wiser. It was
Peachy's diplomacy that pointed out a way.
"The Greek vase!" she said meditatively. "Yes, it's enormously big and I
think I can manage it. Now, my dearies, don't you want to be real
philanthropic this afternoon and give up your turns at the tennis courts
to other folks? Why? Because I've a little scheme on hand. I want to
keep those girls well away from the lemon pergola until it's time for
their precious meeting. Then they'll run up all unsuspecting, poor
innocents, and find----"
"What will they find?"
"'A chiel amang them takin' notes!'" chuckled Peachy. "In other words
yours truly will be hiding inside the big jar."
"Peachy! You can't!"
"Can't I? Great Scott! Do you think I'm going to let this beat me? You
can just bet your last nickel I shall. Renie and Jess shall help to hide
me, and the rest of you must watch the coast's clear till I'm safely
inside. I tell you I'm crazy to try it. It'll be the frolic of my life."
There was certainly no plan too madcap for Peachy to undertake. She
revelled in anything venturesome or bizarre. The Camellia Buds did as
she decreed, and resigned the courts that afternoon to Bertha, Mabel,
Elsie, Ruth, Rosamonde, Winnie, Monica, and Callie, who fell readily
into the trap prepared for them. Leaving this double set busy at tennis
they fled to the opposite end of the garden.
The lemon pergola was a sheltered walk that led down a flight of marble
steps to a small fountain. There was a shady nook here with bushes of
bamboo, and a tree with a sweet flower like honeysuckle, and little red
roses, and a border of Parma violets, and a seat made of bright green
tiles--altogether a very retired and pleasant and suitable spot in which
to hold a committee meeting. Exactly behind the seat stood an enormous
jar of terra-cotta, colored red, and decorated with Greek figures in
black silhouette, rather blurred and rubbed off, but still
distinguishable. No doubt its original use had been to store water,
wine, or olive-oil, but nowadays it was merely an ornament to the
garden. A plant pot full of scarlet geraniums rested on its head, and an
arbutula twined up the sides.
Peachy climbed up the bank behind, and with the help of Jess removed
the pot of scarlet geraniums; then very cautiously and carefully she let
herself down inside the jar. It was just big enough to contain her, and
she lay concealed like one of the forty thieves in the story of _Ali
Baba_. She had one advantage, however, over the famous brigands. There
was a little round hole broken in the front of the jar, and by putting
her eye to this she had an excellent view of her surroundings.
"Are you all right?" asked Irene anxiously.
"Fixed splendidly, thanks. Stick that flower-pot back on the top and
nobody'll ever guess I'm inside. Now scoot, quick, for it won't do for
them to see you haunting round. The place must look absolutely innocent
when they arrive."
"We won't go too far. Shout for us if you get so you can't bear it any
longer," said Jess, putting the geraniums on like a stopper, and
dragging Irene away.
Peachy's position was certainly not one of comfort, squatting at the
bottom of the great jar, and she was relieved that she had not long to
wait before the rival sorority arrived to hold its meeting. The girls
came scurrying, flushed after their games of tennis, and flung
themselves down, some on the marble steps and some on the tiled seat.
Bertha, as the Camellia Buds had suspected, was evidently the high
priestess, and opened the ceremony without delay.
"Members of the Starry Circle," she began hurriedly, "repeat your oath."
"We vow to be loyal to one another and to our President, and never to
reveal the secrets of our society," recited seven voices in reply.
("Aha!" chuckled Peachy to herself, in the depths of the gigantic jar.
"Got the name of your precious sorority slap-bang off!")
"We've met together this afternoon," continued Bertha, "to settle
finally what parts we're going to take at the carnival. Ruth, just look
round, please, and be _sure_ none of those wretched Camellia Buds is
anywhere about."
Bertha paused, while Ruth made a tour among the bushes, and seemed
slightly puzzled when the latter reported:
"Coast clear."
"It's a funny thing," commented the President, "but I declare I can
smell that particular strong lily-of-the-valley scent that Peachy is so
fond of. I suppose it's only fancy?"
"I can smell it too," confirmed Elsie, sniffing the air.
"Are there any lilies-of-the-valley out anywhere near?" asked Mabel.
"No, it's too early for them."
"Then somebody else must have the same scent, or have picked up Peachy's
_mouchoir_ by mistake."
A general examination of handkerchiefs followed, but each girl
disclaimed all responsibility for the delicate odor.
"Queer! I can't understand it. However, let's get to business. Our
waxworks are absolutely going to take the shine out of their stupid old
toy-shop. The only trouble is how we're going to get hold of the right
costumes. There's Queen Elizabeth now--I can manage her skirt, but I
want something for her farthingale. What can we raise?"
"Peachy has a lovely flowered silk dressing-gown," remarked Mabel. "It
would be just the thing."
"Suppose she uses it herself though."
"I won't give her a chance. I'll take it out of her cubicle the night
before and hide it."
"O-o-h! You will! Will you?" exploded a voice from the interior of the
Greek jar. "We'll just see about that."
The fact was that Peachy's crouching position had grown intolerable. She
was bound to move and reveal herself, and her indignation at Mabel's
cool suggestion flamed forth through the peep-hole.
The Circle sprang up in much alarm, and some of them squealed as the pot
of geraniums fell with a crash from the top of the big jar, and Peachy's
pink face and fluffy hair appeared instead. Her flashing gray eyes
certainly held no love light in them.
"You mean things!" raged Peachy. "Call yourselves stars, do you? I can't
see anything very star-like about you. Have your old waxworks if you
like, but I can tell you beforehand you won't take the shine out of
_us_. You've copied my idea shamelessly, and if you're going to steal
our properties too--yes, you may well scoot. Don't ever dare to show
your faces to me again."
For the members of the Starry Circle had broken up their meeting, and
were running away down the lemon pergola in the direction of the house,
immensely upset to find there had been a secret listener in their midst.
Once they were out of sight Peachy cooeed for Jess and Irene, who
appeared bursting with laughter and demanding details, having witnessed
the rout of the enemy from a distance.
"I'll tell you presently if you'll help me climb out of this wretched
thing," said Peachy, who found it a far more difficult matter to
extricate herself from the jar than it had been to drop into it. "How'm
I going to manage? Oh, don't pull my arms so, you hurt!"
It was indeed somewhat of a problem, and Peachy was beginning to feel
seriously alarmed, when, fortunately, one of the gardeners came to the
rescue, and tilted the jar over so as to allow her to crawl out.
"I feel like a released Slave of the Lamp, or a freed dryad, or
something fairy-taley or mythological," she declared. "It was worth it,
though, to see those girls' faces. Thank you, Giovanni! I'm ever so much
obliged. Sorry if I've spoilt your bed of violets. Is that Delia calling
us? Coming, dearie. Where are the rest of the Camellia Buds? I may as
well tell my story to the whole bunch of you together. Then you'll see
the sort of thing we're up against. They've taken our idea, and they're
trying to beat us on our own ground. That's what it's all about."