The Wearing of the Green
Chessington College stood on a breezy slope midway between the hills
and the sea, and about a mile from the rising watering-place of
Dunscar. It was a famous spot for a school, as the fresh winds coming
either from the uplands or from the wide expanse of channel were
sufficient to blow away all chance of germs, and to ensure a thoroughly
wholesome and bracing atmosphere. The College prided itself upon its
record of health; Miss Cavendish considered no other girls were so
straight and well-grown as hers, with such bright eyes, such clear
skins, and such blooming cheeks. Ventilation, sea baths, and suitable
diet were her three watchwords, and thanks to them the sanatorium at
the farther side of the shrubbery scarcely ever opened its doors to
receive a patient, while the hospital nurse who was retained in case of
emergencies found her position a sinecure.
The buildings were modern and up-to-date, with all the latest
appliances and improvements. They were provided with steam heat and
electric light; and the gymnasium, chemical laboratory, and practical
demonstration kitchen were on the very newest of educational lines. The
school covered a large space, and was built in the form of a square. In
the middle was a great, gravelled quadrangle, where hockey could be
practised on days when the fields were too wet for playing. At one end
stood the big lecture-hall, the chapel, the library, and the various
classrooms, the whole surmounted by a handsome clock tower; while
opposite was the School House, where Miss Cavendish herself presided
over a chosen fifty of her two hundred pupils. The two sides of the
square were occupied by four houses, named respectively St. Aldwyth's,
St. Hilary's, St. Chad's, and St. Bride's, each being in charge of a
mistress, and capable of accommodating from thirty to forty girls.
Though the whole school met together every day for lessons, the members
of each different house resembled a separate family, and were keenly
anxious to maintain the honour of their particular establishment. Miss
Cavendish did not wish to excite rivalry, yet she thought a spirit of
friendly emulation was on the whole salutary, and encouraged matches
between the various house teams, or competitions among the choral and
debating societies. The rules for all were exactly similar. Every
morning, at a quarter to seven, a clanging bell rang in the passages
for a sufficient length of time to disturb even the soundest of
slumbers; breakfast was at half-past seven, and at half-past eight
everybody was due in chapel for a short service; lectures and classes
occupied the morning from nine till one, and the afternoon was devoted
to games; tea was at four, and supper at half-past seven, with
preparation in between; and after that hour came sewing and recreation,
until bedtime. It was a well-arranged and reasonable division of time,
calculated to include right proportions of work and play. _Mens sana
in corpore sano_ was Miss Cavendish's favourite motto, and the clean
bill of health, the successes in examinations, and the high moral tone
that prevailed throughout pointed to the fulfilment of her ideal. Most
of the girls were thoroughly happy at Chessington College, and, though
it is in girl nature to grumble at rules and lessons, there was
scarcely one who would have cared to leave it if she had been given the
opportunity.
It was to this new, interesting, and exciting world of school that
Honor unclosed her eyes on the morning after her arrival. She opened
them sleepily, and, I regret to say, promptly shut them again, and
turned over comfortably in bed, regardless of the vigorous bell that
was delivering its warning in the passage. Punctuality had not been
counted a cardinal virtue at Kilmore Castle, and she saw no special
necessity for rising until she felt inclined. She had just dropped off
again into a delicious doze when once more her peace was rudely
disturbed. The curtain of her cubicle was drawn back, and three lively
faces made their appearance.
"Look here! Don't you know it's time to get up?" said Maisie Talbot,
administering a vigorous poke that would have roused the Seven Sleepers
of legendary lore, and caused even Honor to yawn.
"You'll be fined a penny if you're late for breakfast," added Lettice,
"and that's a very unsatisfactory way of disposing of one's
pocket-money."
"And makes Miss Maitland particularly irate," said Pauline Reynolds.
"Honor Fitzgerald! do you intend to get up, or do you not? Because if
you don't, we shall have to try 'cold pig'!" Then, as there were no
signs of movement, Lettice carried out her threat by dabbing a wet
sponge full in Honor's face, while at the same moment Maisie wrenched
back the bed-clothes with a relentless hand.
"We're doing you a real kindness, so you needn't be cross, Miss Paddy
Pepper-box!" said Lettice. "Just wait till you've seen Miss Maitland
scowl at a late-comer, and you'll give us a vote of thanks."
"I'm not cross," said Honor, laughing in spite of the violation of her
slumbers. Lettice spoke so merrily, it was impossible to take offence,
even at the nickname. "But I think you use rather summary measures. The
sponge was horribly cold and nasty."
"It's the only way to get people to bestir themselves," said Lettice
complacently. "I've had experience with sleepy room-mates before."
"We always try the water cure at St. Chad's," added Maisie. "We've
given you quite mild treatment, as it was a first case; we might have
used your bedroom jug, instead of a sponge."
Owing to her companions' efforts, Honor was in time for breakfast--a
fortunate circumstance for her, as, after the episode at the tea-table
on the preceding evening, her house-mistress would not have been ready
to overlook any deficiency in punctuality.
There was always a short recess between breakfast and chapel, which the
girls called a "breathing space", and during which they could revise
exercises, sharpen lead pencils, and take a last peep at lessons. This
morning everybody seemed to be assembling in the dressing-room for this
brief interval, and there Honor repaired with the others.
"I hear you've been put in the Lower Third, Paddy," said Lettice
Talbot. "Vivian Holmes told me so just now. It's my form. Maisie and
Pauline are in it too."
"Isn't Maisie above you?" asked Honor, looking at the sisters, the
elder of whom overtopped the younger by nearly a head. "She is in
inches, at any rate."
"I'm only a year older than Lettice, though I am so much taller,"
explained Maisie. "I suppose I ought to be in a higher form, but she
always manages to catch me up. I make up my mind every term I'm going
to win a double remove and leave her behind, yet somehow it never
happens to come off. I'm much better at cricket and hockey than at
French and algebra. But after all, it's rather convenient to have her
in the same form: she's sure to remember what the lesson is when I
forget, and I can borrow her books if I lose my own."
"Yes, I have to work for both," complained Lettice. "Maisie won't even
copy her exercise questions; she always relies on me."
Maisie certainly made her younger sister useful. She expected her to
fetch and carry, tidy both their cubicles, and generally maintain a
very subservient and inferior position. On the other hand, though she
tyrannized over Lettice herself, she would not allow anybody else to do
so, and was ready to take her part and fight her battles against the
whole school.
"I'm glad we're in the same class," remarked Honor, with an approving
glance at Lettice's round, smiling face. "Perhaps I shall ask you to
copy the exercise questions too. My memory is not particularly good
where lessons are concerned. Who else is in the Lower Third?"
"Ruth Latimer, my greatest chum."
"We allow ourselves chums," put in Maisie, "but we're not at all
romantic at Chessington. We don't swear eternal friendships, and
exchange locks of hair, and walk about the College with our arms
clasped round each other's necks, and write each other sentimental
notes, with 'sweetest' and 'darling' and 'fondest love' in them. That's
what Miss Maitland calls 'early Victorian'. We're very matter of fact
here. Still, when we choose a chum we generally stick to her, and don't
go in for all that nonsense of 'getting out of friends', or not
speaking, as they do at some schools."
Honor was about to ask more questions, but at that moment Vivian
Holmes, the monitress and head girl of the house, came bustling into
the room.
"You haven't got your sailor and jersey yet, Honor Fitzgerald," she
said. "Miss Maitland asked me to give them to you. Here they are, both
marked with your name, so that they needn't be mixed up with anybody
else's. You're to take this hook, and this compartment for your shoes,
and this locker to keep your books in. I've put labels on them all."
Honor looked without enthusiasm at the knitted woollen coat, and with
marked disfavour at the white sailor hat, with its band of orange
ribbon.
"I can't wear that!" she ejaculated.
"Why not?" enquired Vivian, in surprise.
"There's an orange band round it."
"Orange is the St. Chad's colour," explained Vivian. "We all have
exactly the same hats at Chessington, but each house has its own
special ribbon--blue for the School House, pink for St. Aldwyth's,
scarlet for St. Hilary's, and violet for St. Bride's. I thought you
knew that already."
"If I had, I'd have insisted upon going to another house," declared
Honor tragically. "You ask me to wear orange? Why, the very name of
'Orangeman' sets my teeth on edge. I'm a Nationalist to the last drop
of my blood; we all are, down in Kerry."
Vivian smiled.
"Don't be absurd!" she said, in rather an off-hand manner. "Our hats
have nothing whatever to do with politics. Here are two long pins, but
if you prefer an elastic you can stitch one on," and without deigning
to argue further she walked away.
Honor stood turning the hat round and round, with a very queer
expression on her face. She was a devoted daughter of Erin. Her
country's former glories and the possible brilliance of its future as a
separate kingdom could always provoke her wildest enthusiasm; to be
asked, therefore, to don the colour which in her native land stood as
the symbol of the union with England, and for direct opposition to
national independence, seemed to her little short of an insult to her
dear Emerald Isle. There were still five minutes left before she need
start for chapel, so, making up her mind suddenly, she rushed upstairs
to her bedroom. She would show these Saxons that she was a true Celt!
They might compel her to wear their emblem of bondage, but it should be
with an addition that would proclaim her patriotic sentiments to the
world.
Hurriedly hunting in her top drawer, she produced a yard of vivid green
ribbon and the bunch of imitation shamrock that old Mary O'Grady had
given her as a parting present. Then she set to work on a piece of
amateur millinery. There was little time to use needle and thread, but
with the aid of pins she managed to twist the ribbon into several
loops, and to fasten the shamrock conspicuously in front. She looked at
the result of her labours with great approval.
"One could almost imagine it was St. Patrick's Day," she said to
herself. "Nobody could possibly mistake me now for a Unionist. I'm
labelled 'Home Rule' as plainly as can be." Then, hastily pinning on
her hat before the mirror, she ran downstairs, humming under her breath:
"So we'll bide our time; our banner yet
And motto shall be seen,
And voices shout the chorus out,
'The Wearin' o' the Green'!"
The girls at Chessington College were all dressed exactly alike, in a
uniform costume of blue serge skirts, with blue or white cotton blouses
for summer, and flannel ones for winter. On Sundays they wore white
serge coats and skirts, and for evenings white muslin or nuns' veiling.
They were allowed a little latitude in the way of embroideries with
respect to best frocks, but their everyday, ordinary clothes were
required to be of the school pattern, with the addition of sailor hats
and knitted coats, for use in running across the quadrangle on wet or
cold days. Miss Cavendish considered that this rule encouraged
simplicity, and provided against any undue extravagance in the matter
of dress. She did not allow rings or bracelets to be worn, and the sole
vanity permitted to the girls was in the choice of their hair ribbons.
Punctually at twenty-five minutes past eight each morning the bell in
the little chapel began to give warning, and by half-past every member
of the school was expected to have taken her seat, and to be ready for
the short service held there daily by the senior curate of the parish
church at Dunscar. In twos and threes and small groups the girls came
hurrying in answer to the call of the tinkling bell. Though they
laughed and talked as they ran across the quadrangle, they sobered down
as they neared the door, and, each taking a Prayer Book from a pile
laid ready in the porch, passed silently and reverently into the
chapel. Every house had its own special rows of seats, and the sailor
hats that mingled like a kaleidoscope in the grounds were here divided
into their several sets of colours, though sometimes varied by a gleam
of ruby or amber falling from the stained-glass windows above. The
singing was musical and the responses hearty, while into his five
minutes' explanation of the lesson for the day the clergyman generally
managed to compress much helpful thought, sending away some, at least,
of his hearers braced up for the duties that awaited them.
On this particular morning anyone accustomed to the ordinary atmosphere
of the place might have been aware that something of an unusual
character was in the air.
There was an undercurrent of unrest, a turning of heads, a subdued
rustling, even an occasional whisper; and the head mistress, realizing
at last that some outside cause must be distracting the minds of her
pupils, glanced up, and, following the direction of all eyes, saw a
sight that filled her with unfeigned astonishment. Among the neat rows
of orange-banded sailor hats in the benches marked "St. Chad's" was one
trimmed with large and obtrusive knots of emerald-green ribbon, which
drooped over the brim, while a bunch of imitation shamrock finished the
front. It seemed to stand out so conspicuously from its fellows that it
resembled a succulent palm tree growing in the midst of a sandy desert,
and could not fail to attract the attention of the whole school. How
such an irregularity had crept in amongst the uniforms of the college
Miss Cavendish could not comprehend; it must form the subject of an
after enquiry, and in the meantime, stilling with a reproachful glance
a faint whisper in her vicinity, she joined in the singing of a psalm
with her usual clear intonation. When the service was over, however,
and the girls began to file away in orderly line, she spoke a few,
rapid words to a monitress, who at once passed quickly out by a side
door.
As the extraordinary green hat made its appearance in the quadrangle it
was greeted with quite a buzz of excitement by the girls assembled
outside. Only a few of them, comparatively, knew Honor by sight, and
the rest were asking who she was, and to which house she belonged. The
common feeling was distinctly unfavourable. Apart from the unseemliness
of such an exhibition in a sacred place, new girls were not expected to
make themselves conspicuous, or to introduce innovations; either was
considered an impertinence on their part: so the general verdict was
that Honor had done a dreadful thing, and public opinion was dead
against her. She, however, held up her head as proudly as though her
absurd hat had been the latest creation from Bond Street.
"It's a tribute to my native land!" she said airily, in response to a
chorus of questions. "Sorry you don't like it, but it's my first
attempt at hat-trimming, and I flattered myself it wasn't bad for a
beginner. St. Patrick for ever! I made up my mind before I started that
I'd keep up the credit of the shamrock on this side of the water, and
I've done my best. Hurrah for old Ireland!" Then, as if her feelings
were absolutely too much for her, she took her skirt in her hands, and
began to dance an old-fashioned Kerry hornpipe, humming a lively Irish
tune to supply the music.
The girls stared in amazement at the mad performance. "She's showing
off!" declared some, but others laughed, and watched with a kind of
fascination, for the dance was striking and original, and the movements
were unusually graceful.
Honor's triumph, however, was short-lived. Vivian Holmes forced her way
through the crowd, and, laying her hand on the shoulder of the
obstreperous new-comer, told her to report herself at once in Miss
Cavendish's study. The lookers-on scuttled away to their classes
without being told; they were half-ashamed of having taken so much
notice of a new girl. Lettice Talbot, turning round, caught a glimpse
of Honor walking blithely away, with a jaunty smile on her face.
"As if a visit to the head mistress meant nothing at all!" she gasped.
"She'll soon find out her mistake," replied Ruth Latimer grimly. "Miss
Cavendish can reduce one to a quaking jelly when she feels inclined."
Honor was in one of her wildest, most reckless moods, and the prospect
of a passage of arms with the principal of the College was as the call
of battle to a knight of old. In her conflicts with her governesses at
home she had invariably come off best, and it pleased her to think she
had now the opportunity of trying her will in opposition to that of the
ruler of this little kingdom.
Miss Cavendish's study was a beautiful and unusual room. It was built
in accordance with an old-world design, and in shape resembled an
ancient chapter-house. The richly carved chimney-piece, the dark
panelling of the walls, and the straight-backed oak chairs helped to
carry out the prevailing note of mediaevalism, which was further
enhanced by a large, stained-glass window, filled with figures of
saints, that faced the doorway. To enter was like going into the peace
and serenity of some old cathedral, and, notwithstanding her defiant
frame of mind, a feeling of something akin to reverence crept over
Honor as she crossed the threshold. Her impressionable Celtic
temperament could not fail to be influenced by outward surroundings:
she had a great love of the beautiful, and this room satisfied her
aesthetic tastes.
[Illustration: AN INTERVIEW WITH MISS CAVENDISH]
The head mistress was standing beside the hearth, which, though devoid
of fire at this season of the year, was piled up with newly cut logs.
In her long, clinging black dress, the light from the halo of St.
Aldwyth in the window falling on her regular Greek features, and
touching with a ruddier gleam the pale gold of her rippling hair, Miss
Cavendish looked an imposing and commanding figure. Born of a good
family, the daughter of a high dignitary of the Church, she was by
nature a student, and after a brilliant career at Girton she had for a
time devoted herself to scientific research, arousing much interest by
her clever articles in various periodicals; but feeling that her true
vocation was teaching, she had turned her attention to education, and,
gaining a reputation in the scholastic world, had in course of time
been elected as the principal of Chessington College, a post which she
filled with dignity, and greatly to the satisfaction of both governors
and parents. Not a remarkably tender woman, she was perhaps more
respected than loved by her pupils; but she had great powers of
administration, and managed to impress upon her girls a strict sense of
duty and responsibility, a love of work, a fine perception of honour,
and a desire to keep up the high tone and prestige of the school.
She turned her clear, cold blue eyes on Honor, as the latter entered
the room, with a scrutinizing gaze, so comprehensive and so full of
authority that, despite her intention of showing a bold front, the girl
involuntarily quailed.
"Come here, Honor Fitzgerald," began Miss Cavendish, in a calm,
measured tone. "I wish you to explain to me why you have taken it upon
yourself to alter the costume which, you are well aware, is obligatory
for all attending the College."
"I can't wear orange," replied Honor, plucking up her courage for the
battle; "it's against my principles."
"There are right principles and wrong principles; we will decide
presently to which class yours belong. On what grounds do you raise
your objection?"
"I'm Irish," said Honor briefly, "so I prefer green."
"That is no reason. We have many nationalities here, and do you imagine
that every girl can be permitted to carry out her individual taste?
Tell me why you suppose such a rule was framed."
"I don't know," returned Honor rebelliously.
"Then you must think, for I require an answer."
Honor stared at the fireplace, at the bookcase, with its richly bound
volumes; at the window, where the red robe of St. Hilary made such a
glorious spot of colour; at the table, covered with books and papers;
and finally her glance went back to the head mistress, whose eyes were
still fixed on her with that steady, embarrassing gaze.
"Was it to make everybody look alike?" she replied at last, almost as
if the words were dragged from her lips.
"Exactly! Then, to return to my original question, why, knowing this
fact, did you presume to break the rule?"
Honor was again silent. Somehow her intended bravery seemed to desert
her.
"I met your father, Major Fitzgerald, yesterday," continued Miss
Cavendish. "I understand that he held a command in the Royal Munster
Fusiliers, and did splendid service in the Boer War. Kindly tell me
what explanation he would have given to his general if he had appeared
at church parade minus his uniform."
"Oh, but he wouldn't have done that!" exclaimed Honor in horror.
"Why not?"
"Why! because he is a soldier. How could he? The uniform is part of the
service."
"And what is the first duty of a soldier?"
"To obey orders," answered Honor, with a spark of apprehension in her
eyes.
"You are right. Now, what would happen to a regiment if each
individual, instead of obeying his superior officer, were to follow his
own inclinations?"
"It would go to pieces."
"And what occurs when a soldier commits any breach of regulations?"
"He is court-martialled and punished."
"Is that just?"
"Yes."
"But why?"
"Oh, because--because--it's the Army, and they must! There couldn't be
any discipline without."
"Exactly! You are an officer's daughter, and you evidently appreciate
the vast importance of good discipline. Now, we are a little army here.
Every girl, as a member of this community, is bound to preserve its
rules, which have been wisely framed, and deserve to be faithfully
kept. You have been guilty of a very grave breach of our regulations,
and by your own showing you merit punishment. Do you consider this to
be just?"
"Yes," returned Honor, meeting the head mistress's look firmly.
"We have an esprit de corps at the College," continued Miss Cavendish,
"which makes each girl anxious to keep up the credit and prestige of
the school. When you have been here a short time, and have learnt the
tone of the place, I believe and trust that you will be truly ashamed
of the remembrance of your appearance in chapel this morning. It is for
this reason I shall not punish you, though you have yourself
acknowledged that punishment would be only an act of justice. As for
the matter of principle to which you referred, so far from advancing
the good fame of your country, you were bringing it into disrepute. If
you imagine it was a particularly patriotic deed to flaunt the shamrock
in a wrong place you are much mistaken. We have had Irish girls here
before, and I have always been able to rely upon them for the
maintenance of our high standard. You may go now, Honor, and remove
that foolish trimming from your hat; and remember that, as you have
been christened 'Honor', I shall expect you to live up to your name."
Honor left the room more subdued than she would have cared to
acknowledge. The calm, well-balanced arguments had completely disarmed
her. She had entered in a reckless mood, almost anxious to be scolded,
that she might have the chance of showing how little she cared; and
now, for perhaps the first time in her life, she had been compelled to
think seriously and sensibly upon a subject.
Very few teachers would have taken the trouble to reason thus with a
pupil, but Miss Cavendish had her special method of education, and
believed in paying particular attention to each girl's individuality.
"Different plants require different cultivation, if you are to obtain
good results," was one of her axioms. "You cannot successfully grow
roses and carnations with the same treatment." She had seen at once,
partly from her own observation and partly as the result of a talk with
Major Fitzgerald, that Honor was an unusual and difficult character;
and she wished to obtain a hold over the girl's mind from the very
outset. It was part of her system to train her pupils to keep rules
rather from a recognition of their justice and value than from a fear
of punishment; therefore she regarded the ten minutes spent in the
study as, not wasted time, but an opportunity of sowing good seed on
hitherto neglected ground.
Vivian Holmes was waiting for Honor outside the door of the study.
After conducting her to the school dressing-room, she produced a pair
of scissors and ripped the offending green trimming from the hat in
stony silence.
"May I keep them?" Honor ventured to ask, for it went to her heart to
see her bunch of cherished shamrock torn ruthlessly from its place and
flung aside.
"As you like," replied Vivian, "so long as they are not seen here
again." Then, with a look of utterly crushing scorn, she burst out:
"You needn't think that what you have done is at all clever. It's not
the place of a new girl to show off in this way, and you'll gain
nothing by it. I am responsible for St. Chad's, and I don't mean to
have this kind of nonsense going on there; so please understand, Honor
Fitzgerald, that if you give any more trouble, you may expect to find
yourself thoroughly well sat upon!"