Janie's Charge
The four-leaved shamrock having so far belied its reputation, and
brought bad luck instead of good upon its wearer, Honor put it away in
her drawer, with the resolve not to test its powers again until she was
back in her own Emerald Isle, where, perhaps, it could exercise its
magic more freely than in the land of the stranger.
Her first day at school was satisfactory, in spite of its bad
beginning. She took her place in her new class, and made the
acquaintance of Miss Farrar, her Form mistress, and all the seventeen
girls who composed the Lower Third Form.
After the quiet and solitude of Kilmore Castle, to be at Chessington
College seemed like plunging into the world. It was almost bewildering
to meet so many companions, all of whom were busily occupied with
employments into which she had not yet been initiated. It was an
especially fresh experience for Honor to belong to a class, instead of
learning from a private governess, and she much appreciated the change.
It interested her to watch the faces of her schoolfellows, and to
listen to their recitations, or their replies to Miss Farrar's
questions. The strict discipline of the place astonished her: the ready
answers, the total lack of whispering, the way in which each girl sat
straight at her desk, giving her whole attention to the subject in
hand; the prompt obedience, even the orderly manner of filing out of
the room for lunch, all were as unusual as they were amazing to one who
had hitherto behaved as she liked during lessons. She felt for the
first time that she was a unit in a large community, and began to have
some dim perception of that esprit de corps to which Miss Cavendish had
referred during their interview in the study.
In spite of her previous laziness and neglect of work, Honor was a very
bright girl, and she contrived even in that first morning to satisfy
Miss Farrar that she was capable of doing well if she wished. Perhaps,
after all, the four-leaved shamrock had sent her a little luck, for she
happened to remember a date which the rest of the Form had forgotten,
and won corresponding credit in consequence. When one o'clock arrived
she arranged her new textbooks and notebooks in the desk that had been
allotted to her next to Lettice Talbot.
"Did you get into a fearful scrape with Miss Cavendish, Paddy?"
whispered the latter eagerly. "Do tell me about it!"
But Honor pursed up her mouth and looked inscrutable. She was unwilling
to divulge what had passed in the study, and Lettice's curiosity had
perforce to go unsatisfied.
On her arrival at St. Chad's Honor had been given a spare cubicle in
the bedroom occupied by the Talbots and Pauline Reynolds. On the
following afternoon, however, Miss Maitland sent for Janie Henderson, a
girl of nearly sixteen, and informed her that a fresh arrangement had
been made.
"I am going to put you and Honor Fitzgerald together in the room over
the porch," she said. "I hope that you will get on nicely, and become
friends. I want you, Janie, to have a good influence over Honor, and
help her to keep school rules. She does not yet know our St. Chad's
standards, and has very much to learn. I give her into your charge
because I am sure you are conscientious, and will try your best to make
her wish to improve and turn out a worthy Chaddite. You may carry your
things into your new quarters during recreation-time."
"Yes, Miss Maitland," answered Janie, with due respect. She dared not
dispute the mistress's orders, but inwardly she was anything but
pleased. She did not wish to leave her present cubicle, and looked with
dismay at the prospect of having to share a bedroom with this wild
Irish girl, towards whom as yet she certainly felt no attraction.
Janie Henderson had a painfully shy and reserved disposition. Hitherto
she had made no friends, invited no confidences, and "kept herself to
herself" at St. Chad's. She was seldom seen walking with a companion,
and during recreation generally buried herself in a book. Slight, pale,
and narrow-chested, her constitution was not robust; and though a year
and a half at Chessington College had already worked a wonderful
improvement, she was still far below the ordinary average of good
health. She was a quiet, mouse-like girl, who seldom obtruded herself,
or took any prominent part in the life of St. Chad's--a girl who was
continually in the background, and passed almost unnoticed among her
schoolfellows. She had little self-confidence and a sensitive dread of
being laughed at, so for this reason she rarely offered a suggestion,
or an opinion, unless invited. She often felt lonely at school, but her
shyness prevented her from making advances, and so far nobody had
offered her even the elements of friendship. It sometimes hurt her to
be thus entirely ignored and left out, but she had grown accustomed to
it, and, shutting herself up in her shell, she followed the motto of
the Miller of Dee:
"I care for nobody, no, not I,
Since nobody cares for me."
She was obliged to share in the daily games, which were compulsory for
all; but she never joined in the voluntary ones unless she were
specially asked to do so, to make up a side, and then she played with
an utter lack of enthusiasm. "Moonie", as the girls called her, was a
bookworm pure and simple. She had read almost every volume in the
school library; it did not matter whether it were biography, travels,
poetry, essays, or fiction, she would devour any literature that came
her way. She lived in an imaginary world, peopled by heroes and
heroines of romance, who often seemed more real to her than her
schoolmates, and certainly twice as interesting. Half the time she went
about in a dream, and even during lesson hours she would let her
thoughts drift far away to some exciting incident in a story, or some
mental picture of her own. It appeared as if Miss Maitland could not
have picked out two more opposite and unsuitable girls to share a
bedroom than Honor Fitzgerald and Janie Henderson; but she had good
reasons for her choice. Not only did she hope that Janie's sober ways
would steady Honor, but she also thought that Honor's high spirits
would have a leavening effect upon Janie, who was sadly in need of
stirring up.
"I wish I could shake the pair in a bag!" she confided to a
fellow-teacher. "It would be of the greatest advantage to both."
There was at least one compensation to Janie for being obliged to
change her quarters. No. 8, the room over the porch, was a special
sanctum, much coveted by all the other Chaddites. It was arranged to
accommodate only two, instead of four, and was the beau-ideal of every
pair of chums. It had a French window opening out on to a tiny balcony,
and, having been originally intended for one of the mistresses, was
furnished rather more luxuriously than the rest of the bedrooms. There
was a handsome wall-paper, a full-length mirror in the wardrobe, a
comfortable basket-chair, and also what appealed particularly to
Janie--a large and inviting bookcase, with glass doors. She conducted
her removal, therefore, with less dissatisfaction than she had at first
anticipated.
"I call you lucky," declared Lettice Talbot. "I only wish I could go
instead. Everyone on our landing is envying you. I shall be rather
sorry to lose Paddy--I think she's a joke."
"Especially as we're to have Flossie Taylor instead," said Pauline
Reynolds. "It's a poor exchange. I can't stand Flossie; she gives
herself airs."
"She needn't put them on with us," observed Maisie. "I've had a quarrel
with her already. She was actually trying to make Lettice pick up her
balls for her at tennis!"
"Lettice always picks up yours," suggested Pauline.
"That's a totally different matter," declared Maisie.
"I wish Miss Maitland would have let Flossie join the Hammond-Smiths,"
said Lettice. "I can't imagine why she is making such changes. Oh,
here's Honor! Do you know, Paddy, you have got notice to quit?--in
fact, you're going to be evicted from No. 13."
Honor had already been informed of the fact by the house-mistress
herself. She appeared to take the news with the utmost sangfroid.
"I don't care in the least which room I have," she replied. "All I
bargain for is a room-mate who doesn't use 'cold pig' in the mornings.
I haven't forgotten your wet sponge."
"You ungrateful Paddy! It was for your good."
"If you call me Paddy I shall call you Salad!"
"You can if you like. It's rather a pretty name, and has a juicy,
succulent sound about it."
"Make haste, Honor, and clear your drawers," grunted Maisie. "Here's
Flossie Taylor coming down the passage with her arms full of
under-linen."
No. 8, like all other bedrooms at St. Chad's, was divided by a curtain
that could be drawn at pleasure. At present, however, this was pulled
aside for the mutual convenience of the occupants of both cubicles. To
Janie the burning question to be decided was the possession of the
bookcase. She tried to imagine that it was nearer her bed than Honor's,
but justice forced her to come to the conclusion that it stood exactly
in the middle, between the two. With heroic self-denial she offered her
companion the first choice of its shelves before she put away her own
little library.
"But I haven't brought any books with me," declared Honor. "You're
welcome to the bookcase, so far as I'm concerned. We can take turns at
this luxury," sinking into the basket-chair.
"Don't you ever read?"
"Very seldom."
Janie went on arranging her volumes in silence, the poets on the top
shelf, by the side of her edition of Scott's novels, and the
miscellaneous authors below. She touched each book tenderly, as though
it were an old and dear friend, opening one occasionally to glance at a
favourite passage; and she became so absorbed in her occupation that
she utterly forgot Honor's presence.
"There! I've stowed away all my possessions," remarked the latter at
last. "I don't know whether Miss Maitland judges a room by a tidy
bookcase. She said she was coming up presently, to see if we had put
our things straight."
Janie started guiltily. She, who was expected to be the mentor and to
keep her companion up to the mark, was certainly the defaulter in this
instance. Her bed and the chairs were strewn with various articles, and
nothing seemed as yet in its right place.
"I couldn't help dipping into that book," she confessed. "It's a
collection of old Irish fairy tales and legends. It was given me
yesterday, before I left home, and I've scarcely had time even to look
at it."
"Are they nice?"
"Lovely, to judge by the one I've just sampled!"
"Then do tell it to me! I hate reading, but I'm an absolute baby for
loving to be told old tales."
"I? Oh, I couldn't!" exclaimed Janie.
"Yes, you can--while I'm helping you to put all these things into your
drawers. Do, mavourneen! I want to hear the Irish story."
When Honor's grey eyes looked pleadingly from under their long, dark
lashes, and a soft blarney crept into her voice, there were few people
who could resist her. Janie flushed pink; she was so seldom asked to do
anything for anybody! She had no natural gift for narrative, but she
made an effort.
"There was once an Irishman called Murtagh O'Neil," she began, "and he
was walking over London Bridge, with a hazel staff in his hand, when an
Englishman met him and told him that the stick he carried grew on a
spot under which were hidden great treasures. The Englishman was a
wizard, and he promised that if Murtagh would go with him to Ireland,
and show him the place, he would gain as much gold as he could carry.
Murtagh consented, so they went over to Bronbhearg, in Kerry, where
there was a big green mound; and there they dug up the hazel tree on
which the staff had grown. Under it they found a broad, flat stone, and
this covered the entrance to a cavern where thousands of warriors lay
in a circle, sleeping beside their shields, with their swords clasped
in their hands. Their arms were so brightly polished that they
illuminated the whole cave; and one of them had a shield that outshone
the rest, and a crown of gold on his head. In the centre of the cave
hung a bell, which the wizard told Murtagh to beware of touching; but,
if at any time he did so, and one of the warriors were to ask: 'Is it
day?' he was to answer without hesitation: 'No, sleep thou on!' The two
men took as much as they could carry from a heap of gold pieces that
lay amidst the warriors, and Murtagh managed accidentally to touch the
bell. It rang, and one of the warriors immediately asked: 'Is it day?'
when Murtagh answered promptly: 'No, sleep thou on!' The wizard told
him that the company he had seen were King Brien Borombe and his
knights, who lay asleep ready for the dawn of a new day. When the right
time should come the bell would ring loudly, and the warriors would
start up and destroy the enemies of Erin, and once more the descendants
of the Tuatha di Danan should rule the isle in peace. When Murtagh's
treasure was all finished, he went back to the cave and helped himself
to more. On his way out he touched the bell, and again it rang; but
this time he was not so ready with his answer, and some of the warriors
rose up, took the gold from him, beat him, and flung him out of the
cave. He never recovered from the beating, but was a cripple to the end
of his days."
"And serve him right, too!" declared Honor. "Brien Borombe was a great
hero of Ireland."
"Yes, there's one of Moore's _Irish Melodies_ that begins: 'Remember the
glories of Brien the brave'," said Janie.
"Are there any more stories about him in that book?"
"I'm not sure, but there are tales about fairy raths and changelings
and leprechauns and pookas and banshees, and all kinds of extraordinary
creatures."
"Then we'll have one every day, please! I think you're a first-rate
story-teller. You're almost as good as old Mary O'Grady. I've often sat
by her peat fire and heard about the banshee and the leprechaun; only,
she believes in them. I'm so glad I've moved into this bedroom! I like
you far better than those girls in No. 13."
When Miss Maitland came upstairs to inspect No. 8, she found Honor and
Janie already on a more favourable footing than she had dared to hope,
the latter chatting with a vivacity that no one at St. Chad's had
hitherto imagined she possessed. Once she had broken the ice of her
shyness, and had broached her beloved topic of books, Janie had plenty
to say; and, as Honor was also in a communicative mood, the pair seemed
well started on the high road to friendship.
It was fortunate for Honor that she had found a congenial room-mate, as
her first days at Chessington proved rather a time of trial. She was
woefully and terribly home-sick. It seemed an absolute uprooting to
have been torn away from Kerry, and she considered that nothing in her
new surroundings could make amends for the change. Her pride upheld her
sufficiently to prevent her from showing any outward signs of misery
before the inquisitive eyes of her schoolfellows, but every now and
then the yearning for Kilmore would rise with an almost unbearable
pain, and she would have to fight hard to keep her self-control. Maisie
Talbot, she was sure, would regard home-sickness as "early Victorian",
and consequently worthy of contempt; and she was determined not to give
either Maisie or any of the others an opportunity of laughing at her.
She felt very keenly the confinement and restraint of school life. To
be obliged to study lessons and play games at specified hours, all
within a certain limited area, seemed an utter contrast to the freedom
in which she had hitherto revelled; and she would long for a scamper
with Bute and Barney, her two terriers, or a sail with her father down
the creek and out into the Atlantic. She would pour enthusiastic
descriptions of her home into Janie's ears, until the latter felt she
knew Kilmore Castle and its demesne, and the little fishing village,
with its peat smoke and its warm-hearted peasants; and the rocks and
the moors and the stream, and the green, treacherous bogs, almost as
well as Honor herself.
Notwithstanding her former reputation for unsociability, Janie, at the
end of three days, had completely lost her heart to this wayward,
impulsive daughter of Erin. It was true, Honor was apt to be trying at
times. Her gusts of hot temper, petulance, or utter unreasonableness
were rather disconcerting to anyone unaccustomed to the Celtic
disposition; but they never lasted long, and Janie soon found out that
her friend rarely meant what she then said, and was generally
particularly lovable after an outburst, with a winsome look on her face
and a beguiling, endearing tone in her voice that would have gained
forgiveness from a stone.
With the rest of the members of St. Chad's Honor was also on good
terms. She could be very amusing and full of racy Irish humour when she
liked, and would send the girls into fits of laughter with her quaint
sayings and funny stories. Her nickname of "Paddy Pepper-box" stuck to
her, and she certainly justified it occasionally.
"She's like a volcano," declared Lettice Talbot. "Sometimes if you
tease her she starts with a bang, and lets off steam for five minutes.
Then it's all over, and she's quite pleasant again, until next time."
"I'd rather have that than sulking, at any rate," said Dorothy
Arkwright. "A storm often clears the air."
"It's not much use chaffing her, either," said Madge Summers, "for she
always seems to get the best of it."
"Yes; if she's down one minute she'll bob up again the next, like a
cork."
Honor's humours were apt to overflow into the region of practical
jokes. These were generally played on such genial recipients as Lettice
Talbot and Madge Summers, but occasionally she would venture on more
dangerous ground. One afternoon, at the end of her first week at
Chessington, she was in the dressing-room, changing her shoes in
preparation for cricket, when Ruth Latimer interposed.
"I forgot to tell you, Paddy! Games are off to-day."
"Why?" asked Honor in astonishment, for the hour and a half in the
playing-fields was as strict a part of the college curriculum as the
morning lessons.
"Because it's the Health Testing."
"What's that?"
"A kind of medical examination," explained Dorothy Arkwright. "We
always have it at the beginning of each term, to make sure that, as
Miss Cavendish expresses it, we are 'physically fit for the duties of
school life'."
"Oh!" said Honor, looking rather aghast at the prospect.
"You needn't pull such a long face, Paddy," said Lettice. "We none of
us mind; indeed, we think it's a joke."
"We have a lady doctor, you see," said Ruth, "and she's so jolly, she
keeps one laughing all the time."
"What does she do?"
"Oh! weighs us, and sounds our lungs, and tests our eyes, and measures
our chests."
"You'll have to draw a deep breath, and to put out your tongue, and to
let her look at your teeth," added Lettice.
"And if any girl is really very much below standard," said Dorothy,
"she is 'turned out to grass'. That means that she only does
half-lessons."
"Of course, she has to be rather bad for that," remarked Ruth.
"It's never been my luck yet!" lamented Lettice.
"I should think not, with those fat, red cheeks! You couldn't look
delicate, however hard you tried."
"It happened to Janie Henderson, though, in her first term. How little
did you weigh, Moonie?"
"I'm sure I forget," returned Janie, who had joined the group.
"But you had to be fed up on cream and beaten eggs and all kinds of
things. I remember how we envied you."
"Are you weighed in stones or pounds here?" asked Honor.
"In stones. It's very puzzling to some of the Colonials, because
they're accustomed to American machines that register in pounds. They
have to do a sum before they can calculate the result."
"When does this exam. come off?"
"Some time this afternoon. We go up in relays. It's St. Chad's turn
to-day. On Wednesday it was the School House, and on Thursday, St.
Aldwyth's. Then on Saturday it will be St. Hilary's and St. Bride's. It
takes nearly a week to get through the whole school."
The medical examination was to be conducted at the sanatorium, and Dr.
Mary Forbes was already installed there, and busily employed, when
Honor and her classmates arrived.
"She begins with monitresses, and then works downwards," explained
Dorothy. "I don't expect it will be our turn for half an hour yet, but
we're obliged to stay here, to be ready in case we're called."
"It's not nearly so alarming as the dentist's," said Ruth.
The waiting-room was full of girls, who were beguiling the time with
jokes and banter and lively chatter. Lettice, Ruth, and Dorothy soon
mingled in the crowd, and forgot all about their Irish companion until
the voice of Vivian Holmes was heard announcing:
"Next--Ruth Latimer, Chatty Burns, Madge Summers, and Honor
Fitzgerald."
"Where's Honor?" asked Lettice. "She was here just now."
"Why, she's there!--actually outside in the garden," replied Dorothy.
"What's she doing, dodging about the rockery?"
"Someone call her--quick!"
Honor came running in, looking rather flushed and hot, and with a
curious, bulgy appearance about her blouse.
"Where have you been?" demanded Ruth, but her question went unanswered,
for Vivian whisked the four girls with scant ceremony into Dr. Mary
Forbes's consulting-room. Time was too precious to be wasted, and the
monitress was something of a disciplinarian. Honor sat watching with
deep interest while first Ruth, then Chatty, and finally Madge were
duly examined and passed as "sound". She was called then, and after her
name and age had been entered on her chart, and her height taken, she
was told to step on to the weighing machine. Round swung the pointer,
and stopped at 8 stone 4 lb. Dr. Mary looked at the dial almost
incredulously. She thought there must be something wrong with the
machine.
"Stand off for a minute," she said, "while I examine the weights. I
must have made a mistake."
Honor obeyed, with a very solemn face. She appeared to be taking the
matter with unusual seriousness. Dr. Mary readjusted the lever, and
even oiled the machine; but when Honor stepped on to it again it
registered exactly the same.
"It's most extraordinary!" exclaimed the lady doctor. "For a girl of
your height and slight build I have never known such a record," and she
gazed at Honor's rather slender proportions in amazement.
"I expect it's bones," volunteered Honor. "The Fitzgeralds are a
big-boned family."
"Your bones would have to be of cast iron, to bring you up to eight
stone odd," cried Dr. Mary. "The machine must be at fault. It's absurd,
on the face of it--a small, slim girl like you!"
"Perhaps it's the change of air since I arrived," said Honor
innocently, but at the same time she looked at Madge Summers with a
very mischievous expression on her face.
"She's up to something!" thought Madge, and nudged Ruth, though she
dared not venture to whisper.
"Of course, we eat a great deal over in Ireland," continued Honor.
"There is nothing like potatoes for making one grow. I saw in the
_British Almanac_ that they were twice as nourishing as anything,
except herrings and oatmeal; and we have those too in Kerry."
"I think, in that case, we must try Banting," said Dr. Mary, who must
have caught Honor's glance, for she suddenly took hold of her, and
began feeling her carefully.
"Ah!" she exclaimed; "so these are the extra bones, are they?" and
diving into her patient's pocket, she drew out stone after stone, and
as many more again that had been tucked down in the front of the white
flannel blouse.
The doctor was a good-tempered woman, with a strong sense of humour,
and, instead of scolding, she laughed heartily at having been taken in
by such a trick.
"I've had patients who shammed ill before," she declared, "but never
such a scandalous case of imposition as this."
"Well, the girls told me the weight was to be reckoned by stones," said
Honor, with a twinkle in her eye, "so I thought I'd better come well
provided. I'm not at all sorry to be rid of them, if they're not
wanted."
"Get on to that machine again immediately!" commanded Dr. Mary, with an
effort to be severe. "Ah! 6 stone 5 lb. is rather a difference. It's
lucky for you I didn't put you on starvation diet to reduce you. Don't
try to be so clever again, or I shall have to perform an operation to
get rid of your cheek!"
Madge, Ruth, and Chatty had sat chuckling with subdued delight during
the interview, and the moment they were out of the room they published
the story abroad, for the edification of the others.
"She thinks of such funny things!" laughed Madge, "things that nobody
else would ever dream of doing."
"I was afraid she'd get into a fearful scrape," confessed Chatty.
"Oh, Dr. Mary Forbes is too jolly to mind!" said Ruth. "She was far
more amused than cross. If it had been Miss Maitland, or Miss
Cavendish, now! But I should imagine that even Honor Fitzgerald would
scarcely dare to play a practical joke upon either of them!"