Greek Temples
The opening of the post-bag at the Villa Camellia, bearing as it did
missives from most quarters of the globe, was naturally a great daily
event. Some of the girls were lucky in the matter of correspondence--Peachy
received numerous letters--and others were not so highly favored. Poor
Lorna was generally left out altogether. Her father wrote to her
occasionally, but she had no other friend or relation to send her even a
post-card. She accepted the omission with the sad patience which was her
marked characteristic. Her affection for Irene had been an immense
factor in her school life this term, but she was still very different
from other girls, and kept her old barrier of shy reserve. Irene,
noticing Lorna's wistful look towards the post-bag, often tried to share
her correspondence with her buddy; she would show her all her picture
post-cards, briefly explaining who the writers were and to what their
allusions referred. At first Lorna had only been languidly polite over
them, but later she grew interested. Second-hand articles may not be as
good as your own, but they are better than nothing at all, and the
various items of news made topics for conversations and gave her a
glimpse of other people's homes.
Irene, finishing her budget one morning, sorted out any which she might
hand on to her chum.
"Not home letters--yours are sacred, Mummie darling!--and she wouldn't
care to hear about Aunt Doreen's attack of rheumatism. There are two
post-cards she may like, and this lovely long stave from Dona. Lorna,
dear! I've told you about my cousin Dona Anderson? She's at Brackenfield
College. She's older than I am, but somehow we've always been such
friends. I like her far and away the best out of that family. She
doesn't find time to write very often, because she's in the Sixth and a
prefect, and it keeps her busy, and besides she never has been much of a
scribbler. I haven't heard from her for months. This is ever such a
jolly letter, though, if you care to look at it."
"Thanks," said Lorna, accepting the offer. "Yes, I remember you told me
about her. She must be rather a sport. I wish she were at the Villa
Camellia instead of in England."
"And Dona thinks there isn't any other school in the world except hers."
But Lorna had opened the closely-written sheets and was already reading
as follows:
St. Githa's,
Brackenfield College,
March 30th.
Renie dear!
I've been meaning to write to you for ages! Mother
told me the news of how you all packed off to
Naples, and she sent me the address of your school.
I do hope you like it and have settled down. I
always wanted you to come to Brackenfield! You know
Joan is here now? It's her first term and she's
radiantly happy. She's a clever little person at
her work, and we think she's going to be great at
games. Of course she's only in New Girls' Junior
Team, but she's done splendidly already. Ailsa was
looking on yesterday and complimented her
afterwards.
We've had quite a good hockey season. The Coll.
played "Hawthornden" last week, and when the
whistle went for "time" the score was 4-2 in our
favor! An immense triumph for us, because we've
never had the luck to beat them before, and we were
feeling desperate about it. They were so cock-sure
of winning too! Do you get any hockey at Fossato?
Or is it all tennis?
We'd a rather decent gymnastic display a while ago.
Mona and Beatrice are very keen on gym practice and
they did some really neat balance-walking on the
bars, also side vaulting. The juniors gave country
dances in costume, and of course that sort of thing
is always clapped by parents. We're working hard
now for the concert. Ailsa and I have to sing a
duet and we're both terrified. Hope we shan't break
down and spoil the show!
I'm enjoying this year at Brackenfield most
immensely. It's lovely being a prefect. I was
fearfully scared when first the Empress sent for me
and told me I was to be a school officer, but I've
got on swimmingly, thanks largely to Ailsa, I
think. Of course we're still inseparable. We always
have been since our first term at St. Ethelberta's,
when I smuggled the mice into No. 5 to scare Mona
out of the dormitory and leave room for Ailsa.
I go nearly every week to The Tamarisks. It cheers
Auntie up to see me. She's rather lonely since
Elaine was married. By the by you asked me what had
become of Miss Norton's little nephew Eric. You
admired his photograph so much, with those lovely
golden curls. Of course they're cut off now. He's
ever so much stronger and has gone to a preparatory
school. I still send him books and things and he
writes me sweet letters. I'm planning to coax
Mother to let me invite Nortie to bring him to us
for part of the summer holidays. I don't want to
lose sight of the dear little chap.
Now for home news. Leonard is in India, and likes
the life there, and Larry is at Cambridge. Peter
and Cyril are still at St. Bede's, and getting on
well. Their letters are full of nothing but
football though. Nora's baby girl is a darling, and
Michael is still very sweet though he's growing
rather an imp. You know we always describe
ourselves as an old-fashioned rambling family.
Well, one of us is rambling in your direction!
Marjorie is making a tour in Italy with some
friends of hers--the Prestons. Isn't she lucky? The
last post-card she sent me was from Rome, and she
said they were going on to Naples, so it's just
within the bounds of possibility that you may see
her. I wish I could have come out for Easter and
had a peep at you. I'd like to see oranges really
growing on orange trees! Perhaps Ailsa's going to
ask me for the holidays though. They have a country
cottage in Cornwall and it would be top-hole there.
Write and tell me about your southern school when
you have time. I'd love to hear. Do you have to
speak Italian there?
Well, I must stop now and do my prep. There's a
junior tapping at the door too and wanting to see
me. Prefects don't get much time to themselves!
With best love,
Your affectionate coz,
Dona Anderson.
"What a jolly letter," commented Lorna, as she handed it back.
"Yes, Dona is a dear. I used to want to go to Brackenfield, but I wasn't
well last year, and Mother said it was too strenuous a school for me.
Isn't it a joke that Marjorie is in Italy? What fun if she were to turn
up some day. I have a kind of feeling that I'm going to see her. I'm
getting quite excited."
Lorna did not reply. Irene's correspondence was after all only a matter
of half importance to her. Indeed the thought of that lively family of
cousins brought out so sharply the contrast of her own loneliness that
she almost wished she had never heard of them. Why did other people get
all the luck in life?
"What's the matter? You're very glum," said Irene.
"Nothing! I can't always be sparkling, can I?"
"I suppose not. But I thought you'd be interested in Marjorie coming."
"How can I be interested in some one I've never seen?" snapped Lorna,
walking abruptly away.
Irene looked after her and shook her head.
"I've put my foot in it somehow," she ruminated. "You never know how to
take Lorna. A thing that pleases her one day annoys her the next. She's
certainly what you'd call 'katawampus' this morning."
It was getting very near the end of the term now, and all the girls were
talking eagerly about going home. Before they separated for their
vacation, however, there was to be one more of Miss Morley's delightful
excursions. Next term would be too hot to do much sightseeing, so those
of the pupils who had not yet been shown the wonders of the neighborhood
were to have the chance of a visit to the Greek temples at Pæstum. It
would be a longer expedition even than to Vesuvius, and as many were
anxious to take part it was arranged to hire a motor char-à-banc to
accommodate about twenty-four girls and several teachers. The lucky ones
were of course well drilled beforehand in the history and architecture
of the place, and knew how a Greek colony had settled there about the
year 600 B.C. and had built the magnificent Doric temples, which, with
the sole exception of those at Athens, are the finest existing ruins of
the kind.
Miss Rodgers had limited the excursion to seniors and Transition,
thinking it too long and fatiguing a day for the juniors. All the
prefects were going, while the Camellia Buds, with the exception of
Esther and Mary, who had been before, were also included in the party.
"This is one thing you wouldn't get at any rate in an ordinary English
school," said Lorna. "I don't suppose the Brackenfield girls are taking
excursions to Greek temples."
"There aren't any Greek temples in England for them to go and see,
silly," laughed Irene.
"Well, Abbeys or Castles or anything ancient."
"From Dona's accounts that sort of thing is not in their line. They
concentrate on games."
"Hockey is all very well, but give me our orange groves and the blue
sea."
"Ye-es; but I sometimes hanker for a really A1 hockey match!"
"Don't you like the Villa Camellia?"
"Of course I do. What's the matter, Lorna? I believe you're jealous of
Brackenfield!"
"No, I'm not, though I'm sure I'm right in fancying you'd rather be
there than here."
"How absurd you are!"
"Am I? All right! Call it absurd if you want. Are you going to sit next
to me in the char-à-banc?"
Irene looked conscious.
"I promised Peachy! But you can sit the other side, you know."
"Oh, no, thanks! If you've made arrangements already I'm sure I don't
want to interfere with them. I wouldn't spoil sport for worlds."
"You are the limit!"
"Am I? Indeed! Perhaps you'd rather not have me for a buddy any more?"
"For gracious' sake stop talking nonsense! You're the weirdest girl I've
ever met," snapped Irene. Then to avoid an open quarrel she walked away,
leaving her chum in the depths of misery.
Lorna knew her own temper was at fault, but she was in a touchy mood and
laid the blame on fate.
"If I had a nice home like other girls, and had been going there for
ripping holidays, and had brothers and cousins to write to me I'd be
different," she excused herself, quite forgetting that, however much we
may be handicapped, the molding of our character is after all in our own
hands.
As it was she sulked, and when the char-à-banc arrived, although Irene
beckoned her to a place beside herself and Peachy, she took no notice
and waited till everybody else had scrambled in. The result of this was
that she finally found herself seated away from all her own friends and
next to Mrs. Clark, the wife of the British chaplain, who by Miss
Morley's invitation had joined the excursion. Perhaps on the whole it
was just as well. Mrs. Clark was what the girls called "a perfect dear,"
and a few hours in her company was a restful mind tonic. She had a
cheery manner and chatted upon all sorts of pleasant subjects, so that
after a time Lorna began to forget her "jim-jams" and even to volunteer
a remark or two, instead of confining her conversation to monosyllables.
Certainly any girl must have been hard to please who did not enjoy
herself. The motor drive was one of the loveliest in Italy. They passed
through glorious scenery, all the more beautiful as it was the
blossoming time of the year and flowers were everywhere. On a marshy
plain, as they reached Pæstum, the fields were spangled with the little
white wild narcissus, growing in such tempting quantities that Miss
Morley asked the driver to stop the char-à-banc, and allowed all to
dismount and pick to their hearts' content.
"Isn't the scent of them heavenly!" said Lorna, burying her nose in a
bunch of sweetness.
"Luscious!" agreed Mrs. Clark. "I think the old Greeks must have
gathered these to weave garlands for their heads when they went to their
festivals. I'm glad tourists are safe here now. This marsh, just where
we're standing, used to be a tremendous haunt of brigands, and any
travelers coming to see the ruins ran the chance of being robbed. My
father had his purse taken years ago. Don't look frightened. The
government have put all that down at last. The neighborhood of Naples
has improved very much since I was a girl. I remember pickpockets used
to be quite common on the quay at Santa Lucia, and nobody troubled to
interfere. You can walk to the boat nowadays and carry a hand-bag
without fearing every moment it will be snatched."
But the driver was urging the necessity of pushing on, so all took their
seats again, and in due course reached Pæstum. The girls had, of course,
seen photographs of the place beforehand, yet even these had hardly
prepared them for the stately magnificence of the three great temples
that suddenly broke upon their vision. Their immense size, their
loneliness, far from town or city, and their glorious situation betwixt
hill and blue sea, almost took the breath away, and filled the mind with
glowing admiration for the genius of Greek architecture. The rows of
fluted Doric columns, tapering symmetrically towards the roof, were like
beautiful lily stems supporting flowers, the mellow yellow tone of the
stone was varied by the ferns and acanthus which grew everywhere around,
and the sunshine, falling on the rows of delicate shafts, seemed to
linger lovingly, and invest them with a halo of golden light.
"What must these temples have been when the world was young!" said Miss
Morley. "If we could only get a glimpse of them as they were more than
two thousand years ago. Think what processions must have paced down
those glorious aisles. Priests and singers and worshipers all crowned
with flowers. The rose gardens of Pæstum used to be famous among the
Roman poets. The marvel is that the stones have stood all these
centuries of time. It seems as if Art and Beauty have triumphed over
decay."
The party had brought lunch baskets, and they now sat down on the steps
of the Temple of Neptune to enjoy their picnic. Fortunately the grounds
of the ruins were enclosed by railings, so they were preserved from the
attentions of a group of beggar children, who had greeted the arrival of
the char-à-banc with outstretched palms and torrents of entreaties for
"soldi," and who were hanging about the gate evidently waiting for any
fresh opportunity that might occur of asking alms. Four lean and hungry
dogs, however, had managed to slip into the enclosure, and made
themselves a nuisance by sitting in front of the picnickers and keeping
up an incessant chorus of loud barking. The girls tried to stop the
noise by throwing them fragments of sandwiches, but their appetites were
so insatiable that they would have consumed the whole luncheon and have
barked for more, so Miss Morley, tired of the noise, finally chased them
off the premises with her umbrella.
"They're as bad as wolves. And as for the children they're shameless.
They've been taught to look upon tourists as their prey. If you go near
the gate dozens of little hands are poked through the railings and an
absolute shriek of 'soldi' arises. It spoils people's enjoyment to be so
terribly pestered by beggars. And the more you give them the more they
ask."
"They're having a try at somebody else now," remarked Rachel, watching
the crowd of small heads leave their vantage ground of the railings and
surge round a carriage which drove up. "Some other tourists are coming
to see the sights--two gentlemen and three ladies, very glad I expect to
show their tickets and get through the gate out of the reach of that
rabble. They're walking this way. They must be rather annoyed to find a
school in possession of the place."
The strangers also carried luncheon baskets, and seemed seeking a spot
for a picnic. They were filing past the group on the steps when Irene
suddenly sprang up.
"Why, Marjorie! Marjorie!" she exclaimed joyfully. "Don't you know me?"
The handsome, gray-eyed girl thus addressed looked puzzled for a moment,
then her face cleared with recognition.
"Renie! You've grown out of all remembrance! To think of meeting you
here of all places. I'm with some friends--the Prestons. We're on a six
weeks' tour in Italy. I went to see your mother in Naples yesterday.
What a jolly flat you have there! Isn't this absolutely glorious? I'm
having the time of my life."
"I should think you are by the look of you," laughed Irene. "Dona wrote
and told me you were coming to Italy, but I never expected to find you
here to-day. If Miss Morley will let me, may I bring my lunch along and
join your party for a little while? There are ten dozen things I want to
ask you."
"Of course. Come and share our sandwiches. We've plenty to spare."
Having received the required permission, Irene went away to talk to her
cousin, considerably to the admiration of most of her chums, and
decidedly to the envy of one. Lorna, who had settled herself by her side
on the steps, was not pleased to be deserted. She could never quite
forgive Irene for having so many friends. The brooding cloud that had
temporarily dispersed settled down again. When the girls got up to
explore the temple she marched glumly away by herself. All the beauty
and wonder and loveliness of the scene was lost upon her; for the sake
of a foolish fit of jealousy she was spoiling her own afternoon.
She was sitting upon a fallen piece of masonry, very wretched, and
indulging in a private little weep, when a footstep sounded on the stone
pavement, and somebody came and sat down quietly beside her. It was Mrs.
Clark, and she had the tact to take no notice as Lorna surreptitiously
rubbed her eyes. She knew far more about the girls at the Villa Camellia
than any of them suspected, and she had a very shrewd suspicion what lay
at the bottom of Lorna's mind. A skillful remark or two turned the
conversation on to the topic of the holidays.
"It's nice to go home, isn't it?"
Lorna gave a non-committal grunt.
"Even if you miss your friends!"
"I suppose so."
"And it's pleasant to think they may miss you?"
"I don't flatter myself they'll do that," burst out Lorna. "They're so
happy they never think about _me_. Mrs. Clark, you don't know my home.
I've nobody--nobody except my father. The others have brothers and
sisters and friends, and all they want--and I have nothing."
"Except your father," added Mrs. Clark. "How about him? Sometimes when
two people are left lonely they can make the world blossom again for one
another. Isn't it time you began to take your mother's place? Can't you
set yourself these holidays to give him such a bright, cheerful daughter
that he'll hardly want to part with you when you go back to school?
Wouldn't you rather _he_ missed you than your chums? He's closer to you
than they are. Ask yourself if you were to lose him is there one of your
friends who could mean as much to you? I sometimes think that girls who
are brought up at boarding-school are apt to lose the right sense of
value of their own relations. Their companions and the games fill their
lives, and they go back for the holidays almost like visitors in their
own homes. When they leave school they're dissatisfied and restless,
because they've never been accustomed to suit themselves to the ways of
the household, and have no niche into which they can fit. The old round
of 'camaraderie' is over, and they have been trained for nothing but
community life. Take my advice and make your niche now while you have
the opportunity. Show your father you want him, and that he's your best
friend, and he'll begin to realize that _he_ wants _you_. How old are
you? Nearly sixteen! In another year or so you should be able to live
with him altogether and be the companion to him that he needs. You say
you envy girls with many brothers and sisters, but there's another side
to that--if you're the only child you get the whole of the love.
Remember you're all your father has, and let him see that you care. It's
a greater thing to be a good daughter than to be the favorite of the
school. If you keep that object in view you ought to have many years of
happiness before you."
"I know. I was forgetting that side of it," said Lorna slowly.
"Think it over then, for its worth considering. A woman may have many
brothers and sisters, she can have another husband or another child, but
it's only one father or mother she'll get, and the bond is a close one.
Is that Irene waving to us? What is she calling? We're to come on with
the party! Yes indeed, we ought to be moving along. We shall only just
have time to explore the other temples before we must start back in the
char-à-banc."