PRIZE-GIVING
AFTER the excitement of the previous day, Saturday morning felt a little
flat and insipid. There was still plenty to do--desks to clean, trunks
to pack, the last preparations to be made for to-night's play--a hundred
and one things in fact.
The crew of the "Jolly Susan" were not particularly jolly; they were
tired, and they hated to take down pictures and curtains, and dismantle
their pretty rooms.
Next year wouldn't be the same, they assured each other; they'd never be
all together again: Sally May wasn't even sure if she were returning to
York Hill. Josephine expected to be back and Jane probably, and Nancy
and Judith. Judith was glad that there wasn't any question as to whether
Nancy would return. She was rapidly coming to the place where she felt
that she simply couldn't live without Nancy. Indeed, the summer
holidays, even with Daddy and Mother home again, had seemed long and
blank until she had received permission to invite her special friend to
spend a month at the Benson's camp in the North.
"Of all the ships that sail on land,
There's none like 'Jolly Susan';
Her crew works well with heart and hand,
And sometimes they're amusin',"
sang Josephine in her deep voice. "It's the number of things I've got to
remember that's weighing down MY young mind. Judy, do come in here and
help me--you're so supernaturally tidy, perhaps _you_ can tell me how to
separate the sheep from the goats."
"Tidy, nothing," said Judith cheerfully, surveying Josephine's wardrobe
and personal belongings spread over the entire room. "But why sheep?"
"Sheep-things I keep for prize-giving, and the play and the journey;
goats--the rest, all of which must go into the big trunk and depart in
two hours for the station. I know I'll pack my white slippers or my
toothbrush or something equally important unless some kind soul will
take me--and mine--in hand."
"Let's make a list of what you'll want for the journey," said Judith,
setting to work with a will, "then you sort and I'll pack."
"Jack and Tom are coming to-night," said Nancy, bursting into the "Jolly
Susan" a little later, holding an open letter in her hands. "Isn't Miss
Meredith a brick? She sent them special invitations when I told her Jack
was still in town."
Nancy looked excited and beckoned Judith into her room where she pointed
to two violet-coloured boxes.
"They've sent us the loveliest flowers," she said in a low tone; "it's a
shame we can't have them at prize-giving, but only the Sixth carry
flowers--let's put them in water and we'll wear them to-night at the
play."
Judith took off the wrappings. "AREN'T they adorable? I never saw such
darling little roses--how AWFULLY nice of them!"
Judith had never had flowers sent to her before and she felt that it was
quite an occasion, and in some mysterious way marked the fact that she
was growing up and next year would be in the Sixth. It WAS exciting.
"The play's to begin at seven sharp," called Jane. "Did you see the
notice?--early lunch and an hour's quiet before prize-giving. What a
bore!"
"I'll be glad of it," said Sally May. "I'm not altogether sure of some
of my speeches. I know I'm going to be fearfully nervous."
"I'll hear you after lunch," said Judith--"'I have a high respect for
your nerves, Mrs. Bennet. They are my old friends. I have heard you
mention them with consideration these twenty years at least!'"
"I believe you know at least half of 'Pride and Prejudice' by heart,"
said Nancy admiringly.
"Well, not half," Judith laughed, "but I love it. I'd rather play
Elizabeth myself than any other part I know, and so I'm just crazy glad
that Catherine's going to do it. Miss Marlowe didn't want to give
Catherine another heavy part after being Viola and she tried Helen and
Esther, but they simply couldn't do it. Catherine is too sweet for
words. You should hear her say to Mr. Collins, 'Do not consider me now
as an elegant female, intending to plague you!' Catherine an elegant
female! Mr. Collins is simply killing. I do hope Eleanor will be careful
of the coat--it's really too tight for her."
"You're a brick, Judy," said Josephine appearing in the doorway. "The
trunk is ready for Brodie. My word, what stunning roses! No, don't tell
me who sent 'em. I'll have three guesses."
"Come on," cried Judith hurriedly, "we've got to see that everything is
in place for to-night. Patricia said we were to be in the gym by eleven
sharp."
And she rushed off followed more slowly by Josephine who vowed that she
wasn't going to escape a chaffing by such diplomatic exits.
Patricia and several of the Properties Committee were already at work.
Brodie and Robert had put up the extension to the platform, the
footlights and the big green curtains, and had brought over from Miss
Meredith's house some charming pieces of old mahogany; the scenery
painted by the Studio class was stacked against the wall; in fact all
the materials out of which was to be evolved an eighteenth-century
drawing-room were ready at hand.
"Josephine, you and Rosamond take this list and check it over please to
make certain that everything's ready for Edith. Be SURE you don't
forget a single thing--we'll be in a fearful rush after prize-giving.
Seven is a perfectly awful hour to begin. Now keep your wits about you,
Josephine--go over everything carefully."
"Right-o," replied Josephine; "give a dog a bad name--and hang him. No
one believes in me just because my hair is untidy. You'll live to see
the day, Patricia, when--"
"Clear out," said Patricia, laughing at Josephine's solemn indignation.
"I've got millions of things to do--now, please look after your share.
Come on, Judy, let's tackle this parlour."
"Oh, how sweet!" cried Judith as they pulled out the big awkward screen.
"Three cheers for the Studio girls! Wherever did you get such
old-fashioned wall-paper, Peggy?"
"Miss Ashwell found it in one of the shops," said Peggy, "and we painted
the border ourselves to match the chintz. Aren't those frilly little
petticoats for the chairs the cunningest things?"
They worked hard for a couple of hours, and when curtains were hung at
the windows which gave glimpses of an old-fashioned garden, and pictures
and bric-à-brac, such as our grandmothers loved, in their appointed
places, they felt that the result justified their labours.
Judith produced a list and checked it over--yes, everything was ready
but the candlesticks, and she'd get those now, and remind Patricia about
the draperies which were to transform Mrs. Bennet's parlour into a
ball-room or Lady de Burgh's drawing-room.
"It's charming," declared Miss Marlowe who had come in just before.
"Congratulations, Patricia, you've certainly done your share towards
making to-night a success. And you're ready in such good time--it's nice
not to have a rush at the end."
"That's really owing to Judy, Miss Marlowe," said Patricia quickly; "she
and the others, too, have been splendid."
"I'm glad you've had such good helpers," said Miss Marlowe, giving
Judith a special smile of approval. "I shan't give a thought to the
stage management, Patricia; I'll leave that and the properties to
you--there are one or two who still need help with their parts and I
want to give them every moment possible."
Judith fairly glowed with happiness as she watched Miss Marlowe
disappearing down the hall. Miss Marlowe's words of praise were eagerly
prized--they really meant something. Like most other people Judith loved
to be approved of, and she had lived these last few days in an
atmosphere of admiration. She was this afternoon to receive a special
prize in English, and the second prize for General Proficiency in her
Form. She had won the tennis trophy for her House, and in many little
ways latterly the Senior girls and her own friends had shown her that
they turned to her as to a leader; she knew that it was whispered about
that next year she and Nancy would probably be prefects. It would be
hard, of course, but it would be awfully nice--
Patricia broke in upon her happy musings by calling to Josephine who was
leaving the Hall.
"Is everything O.K. in the make-up room, Jo?"
"Molly Seaton's wig hasn't come yet, but Stewarts say they'll have it
here by three o'clock," answered Josephine.
"And they promised faithfully to have it here last night," said Patricia
disgustedly. "Now will you be certain sure to get it from the parcel
room and see that Molly has it in plenty of time. I'll make the two of
you responsible--Judy, you remind her--we go straight to the
drawing-room for the reception after prize-giving and--"
"Don't worry your fussy old self," said Josephine cheerfully; "nobody
really believes in me, but Judy never forgets. We'll put the wig with
our own fair hands on Molly Seaton's head. Come on, Judy, and see if
Cathy's flowers have come yet."
Upstairs everything was in delightful confusion: trunks were being
carried off, last packings attended to, every one was visiting every one
else, and every one was doing her best to make her voice heard above the
general confusion.
After luncheon white frocks were donned for prize-giving, and then the
younger girls went about in groups visiting the graduating Sixth Form
and admiring their flowers.
The crew of the "Jolly Susan" had clubbed together to buy roses for
their Captain.
"We can't get blue roses," Nancy had said regretfully, "but let's get
the palest pink we can find and tie them with blue gauze. I'm afraid
that's all we can do to suggest sailor boys. Whatever shall we do
without her next year?"
There were beautiful flowers everywhere they went, but the crew were
quite convinced when they came back to the "Jolly Susan" that none were
lovelier than theirs, and most certainly no one to compare with
Catherine herself.
Prize-giving proved even more exciting than Judith had anticipated. "If
only Daddy and Mother could have been here," she thought, as she took
her place in the long line of white-frocked girls and looked a bit
wistfully at the big audience which held the girls' fathers and mothers.
But that must be Uncle Tom--yes, it was, and Aunt Nell--bless them. She
wouldn't feel lonely now. And yes--there were Tom and Jack. Then Judith
remembered that she mustn't look about the audience, but keep her mind
on the programme. She looked down at the printed sheet in her hand, but
she knew quite well where they were sitting, and Jack's friendly smile
was the first she saw when she came down from the platform with her
prizes in her hand.
Prize-giving was an especially important event for the Sixth, who were
graduating. To them it was perhaps the greatest moment of the year, for
the receiving of diploma or certificate, seeming to mark a parting of
the ways, was bitter sweet--bright with hopes of the joys to come, but
tinged with regret for "the great glad days" that were now left behind.
The School gave them a great ovation. Judith, looking at the group of
prefects and captains who received a special pin as a badge of honour,
echoed Nancy's cry--how COULD they get along without them next year?
Miss Meredith held a reception afterwards on the lawn, for it was a
perfect June day. Judith carried her prizes proudly for Aunt Nell and
Uncle Tom to inspect.
"I didn't trip after all, Aunt Nell," she said laughingly; "if you only
knew how relieved I was to think that I had made my curtsey and was down
from the platform without mishap!"
Jack and Tom with Sally May and Nancy joined the group and
congratulations were the order of the day. Sally May had a prize for
sketching to exhibit, and Nancy one for fine sewing.
It was a gay, delightful party, and when messengers began to send round
word that actors and committee members must go in for early tea in order
to be ready in good time for the play, Judith could hardly believe that
prize-giving was really over.
Judith and Nancy had still so much to discuss concerning the day's
happenings that they refused to be separated, and Judith, who was to
help change the scenery, established Nancy in a corner beside her so
that she could share in the fun behind the scenes.
Nancy was loud in her praises of the quaintness of the stage-setting,
and Judith, feeling delightfully superior and important, enjoyed herself
enormously showing Nancy how they had contrived this and that to better
the effect.
Peeping around one corner of the curtain they could see the audience
arriving, and behind in the make-up room there was a buzz of voices and
a general feeling of excitement which was quite thrilling.
Presently the hall was full, the orchestra had finished their overture,
and had begun all over again, but the actors did not appear. Something
must have gone wrong.
"Miss Marlowe _will_ be annoyed," whispered Judith to Nancy. "She simply
hates being late." And curiosity tempted her to slip into the
dressing-room to see what was happening.
The room was humming with repressed excitement; last touches of rouge
were being added; Lady Catherine de Burgh was walking solemnly up and
down before a mirror practising the art of making her plumes "nod
majestically," Sally May was saying feverishly over and over again, "My
dear Mr. Bennet, have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at
last?"--"If I can just keep talking I won't be nervous," she confided to
Jane--"My dear Mr. Bennet, have you heard that Netherfield Park--";
Althea (Bingley) was practising bows with Josephine in a secluded corner
of the adjoining room, and Catherine was having the finishing touches
put to her pretty curls. Everything seemed as it should be--no, Mr.
Bennet (Molly Seaton) was protesting almost tearfully to Miss Marlowe,
"It was never given to me: Patricia said it was late and she'd look
after it." Judith's face flamed--Molly's wig! She had entirely forgotten
it!
"Where is Patricia?" said Miss Marlowe in a voice whose quality made the
room suddenly become perfectly quiet. Judith tried to speak, but her
lips and throat had suddenly become quite dry. How could she tell Miss
Marlowe it was her fault!
Sally May was speaking--something about a telegram and Patricia--Judith
didn't hear her--a furious argument was raging within her--with
lightning-like speed Top Self and Deep-Down Self strove for mastery.
"How can you tell Miss Marlowe it's your fault--after the way you've
been trusted and looked up to?--It was Josephine's job, anyway--you did
yours"--"But of course you can't let Patricia be blamed"--"Miss Marlowe
will never forgive you"--"You can't let Patricia be blamed for it--you
WERE to remind--"
The silence had penetrated to the far corner and as Judith opened her
lips to speak, Josephine's horrified tones were heard.
"It's my fault, Miss Marlowe, Patricia asked me to look after it."
"You, Josephine?" Miss Marlowe's tones were icy. "Well, you have been
consistently careless all year: I wonder that you were given any
responsibility."
Judith could not bear that.
"Miss Marlowe," she began in a voice which sounded curiously thin and
weak.
But the words were drowned in Sally May's shout:
"Why, here's the box--it's been under this cloak all the time."
The others bent forward to see the precious wig, and Top Self was quick
to make one more effort.
"What a little thing to make such a tremendous fuss about! No one has
seen you--just slip off again to your post, and when Josephine tells you
about it you can take your share of the blame then--Miss Marlowe doesn't
want to be bothered with any one else confessing to something that's all
over with now--why, it will even look like pretending to be too honest
if you interrupt her now--"
Top Self probably had any number of arguments besides; these flashed
through her mind in a second, but Deep-Down Self answered them in a most
wonderful way and just as quickly. Thinking about it afterwards, Judith
couldn't understand how the most important thing that had happened to
her during the whole year could have occurred in a second or two, and
she found it very difficult to put into words, even for herself, just
how Deep-Down Self had conquered. It seemed as if suddenly those who
stood for the best and finest things in York Hill rose in her mind and
confronted Top Self--Catherine, Nancy, Josephine, Eleanor, Miss
Marlowe, Miss Ashwell, Miss Meredith--and when Judith had seen them she
turned again to Top Self--but Top Self had gone!
It had only taken a second of time, but even in that second fresh
tragedy had been added. The wig was a beautiful golden blonde!
"Quick, give me the powder," Miss Marlowe was saying. "Somebody get the
charcoal; we'll have to streak it a bit to make it grey."
Judith managed to get charcoal before any one else, and then said
desperately,
"It's my fault as much as Josephine's, Miss Marlowe--more mine, for
Patricia told me to be sure to remind Josephine."
"You, Judith?" said Miss Marlowe coldly. "I AM surprised,"--and she
wasted no more time on Judith, who went away feeling that she could
never be happy again.
Judith didn't go back to Nancy, she wanted to be alone. Her humiliation
was very real--not because she had forgotten, though it HAD hurt her
pride to think that she had been careless. But there was a deeper hurt
than that--she had actually hesitated to take her share of the blame, in
spite of precept and example in her home, and here this year at York
Hill. She had almost done something quite dishonourable.
"They'd despise me if they knew," thought Judith, crouching down behind
some scenery and wishing that she could run away instead of waiting to
help. "Why, oh, why do I make so many mistakes and fail so often? But I
won't--I won't let that horrid little Top Self conquer"--and, interested
in the working of her own mind, she paused a moment to consider how
curious it was that all those faces should rise to aid her just when she
needed them--"Seemed almost as if they WERE Deep-Down Self--but of
course they couldn't be, because that's me--but it's queer--they seemed
like a part of me too--"
Just then Catherine on her way to the stage caught sight of Judith, a
crumpled little heap behind the screen. She hadn't a moment, but she
took one, nevertheless, to stop and pat the back of Judith's neck--her
face she couldn't see--and say affectionately, "Never mind, Judy,
dear--we all forget sometimes--you're O.K. really."
Just a moment--but it brought Judith up out of her gloom.
"Dear old Cathy," she said to herself as she scrambled up to watch the
heroine make her entrance, "she's a brick, a real brick--I'll NEVER do
anything I'd be ashamed to tell her about."
"Hullo!" whispered Nancy; "come on over here and you can see
better--what's the matter?"
"Why?"
"Well, you look--as if you'd had a small fortune left you."
"I--think--I have," said Judith soberly but happily.
"Sh--sh--sh," commanded Nancy, "they're beginning. Here, you watch from
this crack, and I'll take this one." And they were soon lost to all
sense of surroundings as they followed Jane Austen's delightful story.
Sally May was a delicious Mrs. Bennet--her archness, her querulousness,
and above all her talkativeness. Was it Sally May or Mrs. Bennet? Molly
Seaton, as Mr. Bennet, proved an excellent foil--reserved, quiet, full
of a delightful sarcastic humour.
Miss Marlowe sat in the shadow of the green curtain holding the
typewritten manuscript, ready to prompt any one who stumbled--the first
scene was always the difficult one; but it went without a hitch and
Judith was soon busily helping to transform the parlour into a
ball-room, and listening with great excitement to the applause on the
other side of the green curtains.
Then the stage was filled with dainty, slim, ringletted ladies in
high-waisted flowered frocks and gentlemen in tight breeches,
long-tailed coats, and high stocks, and the curtains rolled back to
disclose a prettier and statelier dance than a modern audience often
sees.
As the story progressed, Catherine as Elizabeth, and Eleanor as Mr.
Collins, divided the honours pretty equally. No one who had not seen
Catherine as Viola could have guessed what a charming Elizabeth she
would make, and Eleanor--well, Eleanor _was_ Mr. Collins, a very triumph
of imagination! Eleanor had not Catherine's gift, and to picture
Elizabeth's delicate subtleties and humours would have been quite beyond
her, but she had walked, and talked, and eaten with Mr. Collins until
she was that worthy gentleman's double.
Who could ever forget the courtship scene, with Mr. Collins's ponderous
declaration and dexterous withdrawal from Mrs. Bennet's clutches?
Contrary to Judith's fears, Mr. Collins's coat withstood the pressure
of his windy eloquence and all the seams held fast.
Scene followed scene. Jane's love-story and Lydia's and Elizabeth's
until the tangles, always tied in true lovers' garlands, were
disentangled one by one and Mrs. Bennet was able to sing her hymn of
joy. "Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! What will become of
me? I shall go distracted."
It was a great success, of course, the Reunion Play always was, and each
one better than the last as every one said, but Judith and Nancy
privately decided that nothing could ever be better--it was perfect.
The play over, benches and chairs were piled up at the sides, the
orchestra played an entrancing tune, and every one danced; Mr. Collins
with Lady Catherine de Burgh, and Elizabeth with Judith, Mrs. Bennet
with Nancy, and Jane with Bingley.
Then by and by Miss Meredith gave a signal to the orchestra, and big
girls and little, Old and New, formed a great triple hand-clasped circle
and sang together as was the custom, "Should Auld Acquaintance be
Forgot?" And if some of the Old Girls found they couldn't sing at all
because their voices grew hoarse and husky, as they thought of what old
acquaintance in York Hill had meant to them and was going to mean to
their young sisters and daughters, what wonder!
It was over. The guests were moving slowly down to the drawing-rooms for
refreshments, and the School and the Old Girls crossed the quadrangle
and had their lemonade and cake in Big Hall. In twos and threes the
girls stood making plans for next year, or talking over the events of
the day.
Some one at the piano began to play "Forty Years On," the last song
always at York Hill on Prize Day.
Judith didn't want to sing--she slipped out through the open door. It
was a glorious sight, the moon was nearly full, and the quadrangle was
flooded with silvery light.
In front of her was the great main School building, its windows blazing
with light, the silhouette of the bell-tower etched against the sky. She
could hear the Old Girls behind her singing in the Gymnasium--
"Forty years on, when afar and asunder
Parted are those who are singing to-day,
When you look back and forgetfully wonder
What you were like in your work and your play."
Memories of the past year crowded into Judith's mind. The first days,
and this splendid last week; she could not put into words even to
herself what it had all meant to her, but deep within herself she
realized that Aunt Nell's wish had come true--York Hill was helping her
to be true to the best she knew.
The insistent rhythm of the chorus caught her and held her:
"Follow up! Follow up!
Till the field ring again and again
With the tramp of twenty-two men--
Follow up! Follow up!"
Judith had sung "Forty Years On" many times. It was a favourite for the
Saturday-night sing-songs, but never before had it gripped her like
this. Out into the night floated the golden notes of Kathryn Fleming's
glorious voice--
"Oh, the great days in the distance enchanted,
Days of fresh air in the rain and the sun
How we rejoiced as we struggled and panted,
Hardly believable forty years on.
. . . . . . .
"God give us bases to guard and beleaguer;
Games to play out whether earnest or fun;
Fights for the fearless and goals for the eager:
Twenty, and thirty, and forty years on."
"Follow up" sang the beautiful voice--and then came the answering
refrain from hundreds of York Hill daughters--"Follow up! Follow up!"
A great wave of emotion shook Judith--the pent-up feeling of the last
few days must find expression; with an unconscious dramatic gesture she
turned to the School and held out her hands. "Oh, I WILL have big ideals
and not little ones--I wanted to say a big 'Thank you' the other night,
dear York Hill--and I couldn't--I hadn't the words--and I can't now--but
I will, I WILL follow up."
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors corrected.
Page 11, "Nancy'" changed to "Nancy's" (Nancy's pet frock)
Page 42, "litle" changed to "little" (blessed little mother)
Page 92, "handerchiefs" changed to "handkerchiefs" (plenty of
handkerchiefs)
Page 109, "though" changed to "thought" (thought Judith, and)
Page 144, "romatic" changed to "romantic" (such a romantic)
Page 150, "Lotos" changed to "Lotus" (The Lotus-Eaters)
Page 158, "scarely" changed to "scarcely" (had scarcely seen)
Page 191, "acadamic" changed to "academic" (academic hoods showed)
Page 192, "Johnston" changed to "Johnson" to match usage in same
paragraph (Dr. Johnson's place)