Concerning Juniors
Though all the Camellia Buds had keenly enjoyed Peachy's birthday
festivities they were none of them satisfied to allow the mystery of the
hiding of their cakes to remain unsolved. They questioned Elsie, who was
often an envoy between themselves and the rest of the Transition, but
Elsie professed utter ignorance, and assured them that the particular
girls whom they suspected had been playing tennis during the whole of
their recreation, and could not possibly have had time or opportunity to
enter dormitory 13 unnoticed by some of their companions.
"We'd have seen them," declared Elsie. "Besides, they'd have boasted
about it. Whoever's the trick was, it wasn't ours. If you want my
opinion I should say ask some of those juniors. They're absolute imps
and ready for anything."
This was quite a new view of the case. The Camellia Buds had fixed the
mischief so certainly on the rival sorority that they had never thought
of the younger girls. Peachy, catching Olive, Doris, and Natalie, the
trio whom she had named her "triplets," taxed them solemnly with the
crime. They burst out laughing.
"We 'did' you neatly!"
"Were you all this time guessing it was us?"
"I expect you had a hunt for those cakes!"
Peachy focussed a stern eye upon their giggling faces, and hypnotized
them into attention.
"Now, what d'you mean by such impudence? How dare you go into our
dormitory? Juniors aren't to play tricks on their seniors! That was
bumped into my head when I was a kid, and I'll bump it jolly well into
yours!"
The trio pouted.
"We thought you called yourself our Fairy Godmother," said Olive
sulkily.
"Well! So I do!"
"Not much fairy about it, or godmother either. You do nothing for us
now."
"You ungrateful little wretches! Haven't we settled Bertha and Mabel for
you? Don't you get your biscuits all right at lunch now?"
"Oh, yes. But----"
"But what?"
"You haven't given us a candy party for ages," broke out Natalie. "You
keep all your cakes and fun to yourselves."
"You promised us all sorts of things. We don't think Fairy Godmothers
are any use," snorted Olive. "Ta--ta! We're off to a basket-ball."
"Some people make a mighty palaver over next to nothing," sneered
Doris, as the trio linked arms and tore away.
Peachy stood looking after them with wrinkled brows. She was a peppery
little person, and her temper was up for the moment. All the same,
Doris's parting shot struck home. Unfortunately it was true. The
Camellia Buds had proclaimed themselves as "Fairy Godmothers, Limited,"
had adopted juniors with much flourish of trumpets, had certainly fought
a crusade and defended them against injustice and infringement of their
rights, and then--and then--alack!--in the excitement of other matters
had almost forgotten all about them.
Peachy remembered clearly that for the first week of her championship
she had made a point of speaking daily to Olive, Doris, and Natalie.
Now, for a full fortnight she had scarcely nodded to them at the
breakfast table. They had certainly had no opportunity of pouring their
childish woes into the sympathetic and motherly ear which she had quite
intended should be always open to them.
"I've a wretched memory," she ruminated remorsefully. "Poor kiddies.
They've really got rather a grievance, though they needn't have been so
cheeky--the young imps! I guess I'd better call a meeting of the
Camellia Buds and see what's to be done. I don't believe any of us have
taken any notice of them just lately."
Nine would-have-been philanthropists, reminded of past schemes of
benevolence, blushed uneasily, and tried to revive interest in their
protégées.
"They always seemed very busy with basket-ball and other things, and
not exactly hankering after us," urged Agnes in excuse.
"They could have come to us if they'd wanted, of course," added Mary.
"That wasn't entirely the pact," said Peachy, driving in her tacks with
firm hammer. "We offered to 'mother' them, and then forgot all about
them. No wonder they think us frauds. What's to be done about it?"
"Get some more cakes somehow and ask them all to a party," suggested
Irene enthusiastically. "We have been pigs! I promised Désirée to paint
something in her album, and the book's been in my drawer for weeks, and
I've never touched it."
"How are we going to get the cakes?"
"Wheedle Antonio again, I suppose. We needn't have any ourselves. If
there are two slices apiece for the kids, it will do. We must keep some
of our biscuits from lunch so that we can seem to be eating something
ourselves. Peachy, you can coax him."
"You always leave it to me. Antonio isn't so easy to manage. Sometimes
he's an absolute Pharisee, and won't buy me so much as a single bit of
candy. I'll do what I can. Those poor kids shall have a treat if it
costs me my last dollar. We owe them something decent."
Antonio, whose lapses from duty were only occasional, and who had been
reprimanded lately by Miss Rodgers, who suspected his delinquencies,
proved deaf on this occasion to Peachy's blandishments. He protested,
with quite aggravating virtue, that it was as much as his place was
worth to smuggle even a solitary cream-cake, and that for the future he
must no more be the conveyor of contraband sweet stuff.
"Stumped in that quarter," mourned Peachy. "But I'm not going to let
this beat me. I've been cultivating a friendship with the cook! Don't
laugh! I thought it might come in useful some day. I gave her my blue
butterfly brooch (I had two of them!), and I took a snap-shot of her in
her Sunday clothes, and she was immensely pleased and flattered. I
haven't developed it yet, by the by, but I will, and print her two
copies and mount them. If that doesn't melt her heart into sparing me a
little butter and sugar it ought to. We can square it this way: none of
us ten must eat any butter or sugar at breakfast or tea to-morrow, then
we'll have a real right to have it given us afterwards. Don't pull
faces! You can have marmalade or jam. What sybarites you are!"
"Right-o," agreed the Camellia Buds, sorrowfully accepting the
sacrifice.
"But couldn't the juniors contribute some butter, too?" added Sheila.
"It might be noticed if too many went without. Besides, it's the
hostesses who ought to provide the party, not the guests."
Benedicta, the cook, was vulnerable, especially in view of the
self-restraint exercised by the heroic ten. She made a hasty calculation
of the amount of butter they would normally have consumed, added a
package of sugar, and lent them a pan and a spoon. Peachy carried away
these spoils chuckling, and hid them carefully behind the summer-house.
Then she racked her brains and composed what she considered a suitable
and telling invitation:
"To all who'd love a Fairy Fête
I beg you come, and don't be late,
We offer fun that will not wait.
"The time is fixed for half-past four,
You'll have to squat upon the floor,
We ask you all--but can't do more.
"Our summer-house is small but handy,
Indeed we think the place most dandy,
We're going to try and make you candy.
"So leave your game of basket-ball,
And come and make a friendly call,
You'll find a welcome for you all.
"From
"Your Fairy Godmothers."
Peachy wrote her effusion upon a sheet torn from her best pad, folded
it, sought out Olive and handed it to her, telling her to pass it round
the form. The juniors grinned at its contents. They had felt themselves
neglected, but were quite ready to forgive past omissions on the
strength of a present invitation.
"Better late than never," decreed Doris. "I suppose we'll go?"
"It sounds as if it might be rather nice," agreed the others.
So once more the Camellia Buds were placed in the position of hostesses.
Owing to the difficulty of the catering they judged it best to make the
candy before the very eyes of their guests, so that they might see for
themselves how little there was of it and not grouse if the supply only
ran to one bit apiece.
"Otherwise they might think we'd had first go and only given them the
leavings," remarked Peachy, who was a born diplomat.
They had counted on borrowing the spirit-lamp which the seniors used for
brewing their after-dinner coffee, but at the last moment they found the
bottle of methylated spirit was empty.
"What a nuisance! There's no time to send for more. Never mind! We won't
be 'done.' Let's light a camp-fire and cook on that. We must manage
somehow."
"We certainly can't disappoint them!"
"Not after all this fuss."
The back of the summer-house, as being a particularly retired and
secluded spot, was chosen as the rendezvous, and when the nineteen
juniors, interested and appreciative, came fluttering up the garden,
they were met by scouts, conducted round, commanded to squat in a circle
on the ground, and requested to make less noise.
"D'you want the whole of the school to butt in?" warned Jess. "Then keep
quiet, can't you? Much taffy you'll get if Rachel catches us. Your only
chance is to lie low, you little sillies."
"Rachel's playing tennis!" giggled Evelyn Carr.
"There are other prefects as well as Rachel. Pull yourselves together
and don't get so excited."
The juniors, who had been talking at the top of their voices, squealing,
and otherwise raising the echoes, restrained their transports and
contented themselves with whispers and giggles. The Camellia Buds were
fetching fuel, which they had purloined from the gardener's wood-shed.
They commenced to build a camp-fire.
Before very long the flames were dancing up. Now, the hostesses in their
enthusiasm to be hospitable had foolishly forgotten that it is one thing
to stir a pan over a methylated spirit lamp, and quite another to hold
it over a camp-fire. Peachy, Agnes, and Mary tried in turns and scorched
their hands, egged on by the interested circle watching their
performance.
"Make a big bonfire, and let it die down, and put the pan in the hot
ashes, just as we cook chestnuts," proposed Irene.
It was, at least, a feasible suggestion. Anything seemed better than
open failure before those nineteen pairs of expectant eyes. Volunteers
went off for fresh supplies of wood, which was soon crackling merrily.
But alas! the Camellia Buds, being rather overwrought and flustered with
their experiments, did not calculate on the fact that the smoke of their
bonfire would give away their secret. Rachel had handed her tennis
racket to Phyllis, and was taking a turn among the orange trees to try
to memorize her recitation for the elocution class.
"'All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,'"
she repeated; then, catching sight of the gray cloud rising from the
back of the summer-house, "Hello! What's Giovanni burning? He'll set
those orange trees on fire if he doesn't mind."
Abandoning Shakespeare Rachel stalked away to investigate, and surprised
the candy party by a sudden appearance in their midst.
"Good gracious, girls! Whatever are you doing here?" she demanded in
idiomatic, if hardly strictly classical English.
At the unwelcome sight of the head prefect the juniors one and all
simply stampeded, and I regret to say that the more timid of the
Camellia Buds followed their example. Peachy, Irene, Lorna, Delia, and
Jess stood their ground, however.
"We--we were only giving those kids a little fun," answered Peachy.
In dead silence Rachel reviewed the pan, its contents, and the blushing
faces before her. Then she said:
"Rather dangerous fun. If that tree catches it will set the summer-house
in a blaze next. You know your fire drill? Well, each fetch a bucket of
water and put this out! Right turn! Quick march!"
At the words of command the luckless five fled to the house and into the
back hall where the fire buckets were kept. They returned with what
speed they could, and thoroughly soused their bonfire. Rachel assured
herself that it was safely out, then commenced further inquiries.
"We didn't mean any harm," explained Peachy, much on the defensive. "We
were only trying to amuse those juniors. They never have a chance to get
hold of the tennis courts, and they're tired of eternal basket-ball, and
they've rather a thin time of it. We started taking them up because they
were so bullied. Bertha and Mabel used to snatch their biscuits away
from them at lunch."
Rachel's face was a study.
"Bertha and Mabel snatched their biscuits?" she repeated.
"Yes; we stopped that though."
"_I_ never saw it!"
"They took jolly good care you shouldn't."
"Why didn't you come and tell _me_?"
Peachy looked embarrassed.
"Well, if you really want to know," she blurted out, "you're so aloof
and superior nobody cares to come and tell you anything. We managed it
by ourselves."
Rachel winced as if Peachy had struck her a blow.
"I'm sorry if--if that's how I seem to you," she faltered. "I must have
failed utterly as head girl if you can't confide in me. The prefects
want to be the friends of all the school."
Peachy shrugged her shoulders eloquently.
"I don't quite see where the friendship comes in," she murmured. "You
bag the best tennis courts and have the best dormitories, and give your
own stunts there. You never ask any of us to them. Do you, now?"
"No, I'm afraid we don't," admitted Rachel, still in the same
constrained, almost bewildered, manner. "We really never thought of it."
The four Camellia Buds, listening to their friend's outspoken comments,
expected an explosion of wrath from the head prefect, but Rachel only
told them to take the buckets back to the house.
"And that too," she added, pointing to the pan. Peachy stooped and
picked it up, turned to go, then delivered herself of a last manifesto:
"It's our own butter and sugar that we saved from breakfast and tea, so
please don't blame anybody else."
"I blame myself most," whispered Rachel, as she was left alone.
The immediate result of the incident was a prefects' meeting, at which
the head girl, full of compunction, stated the facts of the case to her
fellow officers.
"We thought we were doing our duty, but it isn't enough just to act as
police," she urged. "Those girls in the Transition were on the right
track in getting hold of the juniors, though perhaps they did it in the
wrong way. This school isn't really united. We're all divided up into
our own sororities, and we're not doing enough for one another. We've
got to alter it somehow or confess ourselves failures. Do any of us
seniors really _know_ the little ones? I'm sure I don't! Yet we ought to
be elder sisters to them! That's the real function of prefects--we're
not just assistant-mistresses to help to keep order. Don't you agree?"
Sybil, Erica, Phyllis, and Stella were conscientious girls, and when
the matter was thus stated they saw it from Rachel's new point of view.
They were ready and willing to talk over plans. They decided, amongst
other developments, that with Miss Morley's permission, they would
invite the juniors in relays to dormitory teas, in order to win their
confidence and establish more friendly relations with them. The
Transition were also to be cultivated, and their opinion asked on the
subject of term-end festivities and other school affairs about which the
prefects had never before deigned to consult them. The altered attitude
promised a far more healthy and satisfactory state, and Miss Morley, to
whom Rachel hinted some of their reasons for offering hospitality,
readily agreed, and allowed the juniors to be entertained with cakes and
tea upon the veranda.
"The seniors gave us a simply top-hole time," confided Désirée to Irene
afterwards. "We'd cream puffs and almond biscuits and preserved ginger,
and we played games for prizes. But don't think we liked it any better
than your candy parties. The prefects are awfully kind to us now, but it
was you who took us up _first_! We can't forget _that_!"