EASTER HOLIDAYS
THE last two weeks of the Easter term were a long and a hard pull. Some
of the girls were spurred to study by a remembrance of the reception of
the Christmas report at home; father's sarcastic remarks, and mother's
distress. In Five A, which was considered a good working form,
competition was very keen, and most of the form were putting forth their
best efforts to stand high in the term's examination lists. Judith
coveted a first place in English literature, partly because of the joy
of triumphing, partly because of the pleasure her success would give her
parents, and partly because she wanted to show Miss Marlowe how much she
had appreciated her classes.
This term-end there was no distracting play to interfere with studying,
and Judith had a chance to do her best. She tried to look unconcerned
when on breaking-up day Form Five A stood up in Big Hall while Miss
Meredith read their general proficiency list. "First, Joyce Hewson;
Second, Judith Benson." There was such a buzzing in Judith's ears that
she didn't hear the next few names. Second! Wouldn't Daddy be pleased!
Nancy squeezed her hand. Dear Nancy! and she wasn't even listening to
hear where Nancy was placed. "Tenth, Nancy Nairn," read Miss Meredith.
"Bully for you and pretty good for me," said Nancy when they had led out
of Hall.
"Congrats., Judy," said Phyllis heartily. "Joyce had better watch out
next term."
Judith glowed--fancy being ahead of Phyllis. There was a crowd around
the bulletin board: "The subject lists," said Phyllis excitedly, and she
and Judith fairly ran down the corridor and eagerly scanned the board.
"Five A, English Literature, 1. Judith Benson, Phyllis Lovell, equal. 2.
Joyce Hewson." No need to congratulate each other, but you may be sure
they did.
"It _is_ nice to get what one wants," philosophized a very happy Judith
as she finished packing her suitcase. "I wonder if anything is nicer."
Aunt Nell had sent her a little note the day before telling her to ask
several of the girls to tea who were staying in school for the
holidays. "The first afternoon is a horrid time for the girls who are
left in," she wrote; "perhaps we can save a few of them from
homesickness. I'll come for you in the car at two-thirty."
Judith had a delightful time choosing her guests; Josephine and Sally
May, of course--Nancy had gone home--and Florence and Joyce; but what
about Genevieve Singleton? Judith knew that Genevieve was disappointed
about an expected invitation for Easter week, for she had been loud in
her lamentations. "I'd better ask her," thought Judith; "she doesn't
know that I played detective, and she's sure to feel badly when she sees
the others going; her pride'll be hurt."
So Genevieve was invited, and it was a merry little party that gathered
in the front hall. They weren't going very far, to be sure, but they
were going away anyhow, if it was only for the afternoon. Aunt Nell took
them for a run through the park and out into the country before they
went home for tea.
They had a jolly tea-party; Aunt Nell poured tea for them, supplied them
with plenty of toast and muffins, sandwiches and cake, and then very
soon vanished.
"I knew they would talk more freely if I were not there," she said
afterwards to Judith, "and unless things have changed very much since I
was at York, I can give a pretty good guess as to what you talked about.
Confess now," as Judith blushed a little under Aunt Nell's laughing
quizzical eyes, "didn't you discuss every teacher on the staff from the
cut of her Sunday coat to the cut of her Monday temper? Of course you
did."
And of course they had. Genevieve convulsed them by a dramatic
representation of a stormy scene between herself and Madame Philippe;
then Miss Evans's new evening frock, Miss Marlowe's incomprehensible
taste in preferring Jane Austen to Dickens, Miss Langton's terrifying
sarcasm, Miss Ashwell's sweet new sweater coat, all were discussed with
an enormous amount of interest and delight.
Next day life was "flat, stale, and unprofitable." Judith didn't realize
how tired she was; mentally and emotionally she had been keyed up to a
very high pitch during the last two or three months and now had come the
inevitable reaction. No wonder she was dull and miserable. But next
morning the sun was shining brightly, there was a fresh, clean-washed
feeling in the air, and as Judith stood at the open casement window in
the dining-room waiting for the others to come down to breakfast, she
saw to her joy that the maple trees in the garden were beginning to put
out their tiny red flowers. Was spring really coming after all this
dismal weather? Judith's spirits went up with a bound. Oh, if summer
were only here and one could stay out-of-doors!
The others came in to breakfast; Uncle Tom buried himself in his
newspaper and ate at intervals; Doris, as pretty as a picture in her
pink gingham frock, began a long monologue about a dolls' tea-party she
had had in a dream last night; Bobby busied himself with his porridge;
Aunt Nell cooked the eggs in a little electric grill; and Judith found
she had plenty to do attending to the electric toaster and her porridge
at the same time. Usually Lizzie brought in a plate of hot toast and
then some one at the table made additional pieces on the toaster, but
this morning there was no supply to begin with.
Judith chatted happily about the plans for the week: Aunt Nell mustn't
forget that she had promised to take her to do her spring shopping;
Daddy had sent a cheque; she did hope there would be a letter from Nancy
this morning saying that she could come for the last week-end; and did
Aunt Nell remember, too, that she had invited Miss Ashwell for dinner on
Thursday? Judith noticed that Aunt Nell's smile was somewhat forced. Was
anything wrong? Didn't Aunt Nell want Nancy, after all? How dreadful!
She would have to ask her after breakfast.
Uncle Tom finished his breakfast with a rush and then, gathering up
letters and papers, made for the hall. Aunt Nell, Bobby, and Doris were
kissed good-bye, and he was gone with a great banging of doors.
Aunt Nell came back rather slowly into the dining-room, folded up Uncle
Tom's table napkin, pushed back Bobby's chair and then said tersely,
"Lizzie has gone."
"Gone!" said Judith stupidly; "gone where?"
"I don't know that I care very much where," said Aunt Nell; "the point
is that she has gone. She gave me notice a week ago, and I've been
trying desperately hard ever since to get some one else, but I've had no
answers to advertisements. Lizzie just sent a note saying that she had
decided to get married at once and that she and 'her friend' had gone to
Buffalo for the holiday and she wouldn't be coming back here. I did
think she'd stay her month, at least, after all the time she's been
here--but I suppose he had a holiday and overpersuaded her. I don't feel
that virtue has been rewarded either," she added ruefully, "for if I
hadn't given her all of Easter Monday for herself she might be here to
wash the breakfast dishes, instead of which you and I must do them."
"Instead of which _I'll_ do them Aunt Nell," Judith said laughingly.
"Dishes aren't anything. Come on, Doris, let's see how quickly we can do
them. Don't worry, Aunt Nell. I'm not Lizzie, of course, but I'm just
spoiling for something to do." And she gave Aunt Nell a reassuring hug
and kiss.
"You're a little brick, Judy--of course we'll manage. I'll 'phone for
Mrs. Webster to come this morning instead of this afternoon to look
after Hugh, and then you and I can do the rest."
But alack! Mrs. Webster's sister answered the 'phone--she was very
sorry, her sister was in bed with tonsillitis and she had just sent for
the doctor--it would be a week or two, anyway, before she could come
back to look after the baby.
Here was news, indeed--Bobby and Hugh were work enough for one person at
any time. Baby Hugh had a cold, and was cross and fretful because a
certain tooth was reluctant about making its first appearance.
They had a busy day. Aunt Nell went out in the afternoon to try her luck
at various employment agencies and Judith took the children for a walk.
She rather enjoyed it at first, but after three-year-old Bobby had
demanded the repetition of the story of "The Three Bears" for the sixth
time, and had fiercely resented the changing of a phrase with "Dat's not
in the tory," Judith began to feel tired and cross.
Doris was very little trouble, for she was, as usual, entirely engrossed
in an endless game of her own invention. She furnished each house they
passed with a large family and gave every member a name and occupation:
thus the big white house at the corner where Judge Wilton lived was
peopled in Doris's imagination with Mr. and Mrs. Black and their eight
children, Mary and Martha, Robert and Thomas, Geoffrey and Susan, Billy
and Minnie. Judith could hear her describing them. "Mary is a cook, she
writes nice letters and makes lemon pies; Martha is a nice girl, she has
yellow hair and blue eyes; Robert is tall and strong, he is a coachman
and squints with his left eye"; and so on and so on. A few families of
this size absorbed Doris's attention for hours at a time.
Judith took most comfort out of Baby Hugh; he was so sweet and so
kissable, his eyes so blue and his cheeks so like wild roses that
sometimes Judith felt that she would just have to take a little bite out
of the adorable crease at the back of his neck.
The first of the precious two holiday weeks was gone before either Aunt
Nell or Judith had accomplished any of the things they had meant to do,
and the good times, especially Nancy's visit, which Judith had looked
forward to with such pleasure, seemed to have vanished into thin air.
There was no doubt that Aunt Nell needed her, for there was endless
dusting and dishwashing to do, and some one always had to be with the
children.
Judith was making gravy one evening--a task she detested--when Uncle
Tom came into the kitchen looking particularly pleased with himself.
"You're late, dear," was Aunt Nell's greeting; "please hurry; I haven't
had time to give Bobby his supper, he'll have to have it with us, and
I'm afraid Baby isn't asleep yet."
"Hurrah, hurrah!" said Uncle Tom--very irrelevantly, Judith thought
indignantly; gravy-making time was no occasion for being funny, but
Uncle Tom was like that, you never knew.
"It takes a man to tackle a job," said Uncle Tom complacently as he
carved the roast--"you wouldn't let me wait to tell you some good news I
had brought home. Perhaps we'd better wait now until dinner is over," he
continued. But of course he couldn't wait--modesty was not Uncle Tom's
strong point. "Well, if you must know, as I said it takes a man to
tackle a job. I just mentioned to Stewart that we were in a fix,
couldn't get a cook for love or money. 'This time for love and money you
can,' said Stewart. 'My wife and I are going down to Bermuda to-morrow
and we didn't quite know what to do with our Chinese boy--Mrs. S. had
promised to lend him to her sister, and quite suddenly her sister
decided to go with us.' So there you are," finished Uncle Tom
superbly--"he arrives to-morrow, tip-top cook, takes complete charge of
kitchen arrangements. Not bad, eh?"
Not bad! Aunt Nell almost wept for joy. If it hadn't been that she had
had to spend so much time hunting for help, the housekeeping would have
been nothing, she declared stoutly to Uncle Tom later, with her head
tucked under his chin. She did weep a tear or two into his favorite tie.
"Judith has been splendid, and of course we could have managed
perfectly; it was the time I spent going from one bureau to another and
following up this trail and the other that has tired us both."
"Strikes me," said Uncle Tom, "that Judy couldn't have tackled the pots
and pans last year the way she does now."
"Of course she couldn't," said Aunt Nell, trying vainly to repair the
damages Uncle Tom had done to her hair in his desire to show his
sympathy--he inevitably wound the loose strands of her hair tightly
around her ears. "Judy has had to tackle all sorts of things this year,
more things than she ever dreamed of, and she's caught the York Hill
spirit of putting through any sort of job that her hands find to do."
"Look here," said Uncle Tom, "wait until I get settled on the
Chesterfield before we begin on York Hill. I often wonder how I manage
to get on at the office without having had the inestimable privilege of
being trained at York Hill Ladies' Academy!"
Yip arrived next morning at the promised time--it seemed too good to be
true--bland, smiling, competent, and one of the first things Aunt Nell
did was to send a telegram to Nancy inviting her to come just as soon as
her mother would spare her. The answer came almost before Aunt Nell and
Judith had finished planning their shopping expedition for the next
day--Mrs. Nairn and Nancy were coming up to Toronto for a week's visit
with some relatives from Boston who were passing through on their way to
Vancouver, and Nancy "accepted with pleasure" for the last few days of
the holidays.
Judith had a happy day buying her spring "trousseau"--Nancy had
cautioned her to lay in a goodly supply of white skirts and middies for
the "sports" term--and then came the looked-for morning when she waited
for the Montreal express that was to bring her this best friend--whom
she hadn't met a short seven months before and whom now she was sure she
couldn't live without!
Seven months ago! Was it really less than a year ago that she herself
had come into this very station feeling a little bit frightened of the
new life at York Hill? Judith smiled happily. How different things were
now--but that must be the train. Her heart beat quickly as she scanned
the faces of the incoming travellers. Yes, there was Mrs. Nairn and
there was Nancy's adorable little self. Oh, how good it was to see her
again!
Breakfast over and Mrs. Nairn escorted to her cousins' hotel, the two
chums settled down to a long morning's gossip. So many things can take
place in two weeks! Judith had to hear every single thing that had
happened to Nancy since they parted, and Nancy, every single thing that
had happened to Judith.
"Jack thinks that is one of the funniest things about girls'
friendships," observed Nancy after she had received a very full account
of the two weeks' doings, "our wanting to know _everything_ about our
friends; he thinks it's awfully queer, but I think it's queer not to.
Why, when he and Tom meet on Monday he'll say, 'Hello, Tom;' and Tom
will say, 'Hello, Jack,' and then they'll begin talking about the state
of the cricket crease very likely."
[Illustration: JUDITH HAD TO HEAR EVERY SINGLE THING THAT HAD HAPPENED
TO NANCY SINCE THEY PARTED]
Nancy was very full of all the delightful events of next term; there
would be the Cup Matches first of all, and the teams of the various
houses were discussed "up and down and round and about"; then would come
Field Day. "I'm not sure," said Nancy, "just which is the nicest day of
all at school; sometimes I think it's the day of the Reunion suppers
when the Old Girls come back, or Prize-giving Day, or the day of the
final Cup Match, and then when Field Day comes I'm perfectly certain
it's the best of all."
Then there was the Reunion play to discuss; it was to be "Pride and
Prejudice" this year and Judith had been reading the story during the
holidays. Would Catherine be the heroine or would Eleanor be chosen, and
what about Genevieve for one of the other parts? She would make a good
Mrs. Bennet. Of course she could act splendidly, but still--Judith
expressed her astonishment at Genevieve's returning popularity. "After
what she did I don't see how some of the girls can admire her so
much," she said to Nancy.
"But popularity's queer, anyhow," said Nancy; "look at Rosamond Fraser.
I suppose some people would say that Rosamond was one of the most
popular girls in the house, and we know it's because she always has such
good 'eats' to give away. And then there's Eleanor, we know she's
popular because she is such a brick. There ought to be another word for
_her_ kind of popularity. Genevieve is clever, you know, and she's
awfully funny," she continued, smiling as she remembered Genevieve
mimicking Miss Langton in a temper; "anybody who is amusing can be
popular," she concluded sagely.
Judith was impressed with Nancy's wisdom. "Well, but--Miss Ashwell and
Miss Marlowe are popular, too, aren't they?"
"Yes," said Nancy; "but it's not the same kind of popularity as Miss
Morton's. Miss Morton is like Rosamond; the West House girls say you can
always get a special permission from her if you're sweet enough to her.
She positively likes 'slush.'"
"And Miss Marlowe is like Eleanor," assented Judith thoughtfully.
"Nancy, which do you like the best, Miss Ashwell or Miss Marlowe?"
But this was a question not to be easily settled; they spent a most
enjoyable though perhaps not highly profitable morning discussing this
and various other items of burning interest; they loved to gossip, as
all schoolgirls--and most of the rest of us--do, but it was harmless
enough and never unkind.
* * * * *
Aunt Nell, apparently, was determined that Judith should have a gay
week-end, for after luncheon she warned them that this was to be their
last quiet morning. Yip, it seemed, was so proud of his skill in
concocting wonderful salads and ices, that he had no objection to
company--and Judith was to invite any one she liked for dinner
to-morrow, and they were to lunch with Mrs. Nairn downtown and go to a
matinee, and Aunt Nell would be delighted to give them a tea-party the
day before school opened.
They had the jolliest time possible; Judith loved playing hostess, and
carte-blanche for a dinner and a tea-party was a great treat; and to
have Nancy to discuss everything with--"just bliss" Judith confided to
Aunt Nell.
And if holidays _will_ end, it wasn't hard to go back to the "Jolly
Susan" and look forward to the good times which were promised in "the
best term of all."