THE DAY AFTER SCHOOL
A great day had dawned for Dorothea Bruce, a day long dreamed of and
alas, long dreaded!
The first day after school life!
She would joyfully have taken another two years of school-days, with
their sober joys and sweet intimate friendships; their griefs and small
quarrellings; their lessons and their play hours; their meetings and
their breakings up.
But yesterday she had "broken up" for ever. Yesterday she had mournfully
given eight locks of her beautiful hair away as "keepsakes," although it
must be owned to-day she had examined her hair carefully, looking over
her shoulder to see how it bore the loss of its tendrils.
Yesterday she had wept separately with each of her "intimate" friends,
excepting only Alma Montague, at this dreadful parting that had come
about.
Alma was not to lose Dorothea at all, instead she was to have her all to
herself at Katoomba for the holidays, and her queer little yellow face
wore a superior smile as she saw the other girls' sorrow at parting from
their "darling Thea."
Many things were promised and vowed in this touching season. The little
band of intimates were to write to each other every week; still to tell
each other _every single_ secret; to think of each other every night; to
be each other's bridesmaids as long as there were maids to go round, and
to visit each other in their married homes.
For of course they were all going to be married--every one of them.
It was Nellie Harden who had first alluded to the time "When I am
married," "When you are married," etc. She said she was rather curious
to see who would be married first, and even plain little Alma felt
cheerful in looking forward to the time when she would be engaged. They
simply took it for granted that in the great beautiful world into which
they were going there were lovers--lovers in plenty; lovers who vowed
beautiful vows, and performed gallant deeds, and wore immaculate
clothing, and still more immaculate moustaches.
Dorothea had decided to be "elder sister" to the best of her ability.
She intensely admired the beautiful elder sister in _The Mother of
Eight_, a book Mona had just lent to her.
The mother of eight was a girl of eighteen, who had promised her mother
on her death-bed to be a mother to all the little ones. Lovers had come
to her, imploring her to "make their lives," friends had put in their
claims, pleasures had beckoned; but the mother of eight had shaken her
beautiful head and stood there at her post until the eight were married
and settled in homes of their own, when the "mother" had suddenly died
of a broken heart.
This book formed the basis of Dorothea's day-dreams. She, too, was going
to be an "elder sister" and reform the home. In the flights of her
imagination she saw herself making Betty and Nancy new frocks, mending
Cyril's trousers, trimming her mother's hats, correcting her father's
manuscripts.
Wherever she looked she seemed to be wanted. A great place gaped in the
household, and it was for the elder sister to step in and fill it. And
Betty, wild madcap Betty, would want talking to, and training and
putting into the way in which she should go. And, of course, lovers
would come for Dot, but until Baby was well started in life she would
have none of them. And when she married, "a few silver threads would be
discernible in her golden hair, and there would be patient tired lines
at the corners of her mouth."
But it was only the first day after school now, and she had much to
think of. She was not going to commence the new order of things by being
an elder sister, although the home needed her sorely.
As things had fallen out, it was necessary, she found, to set duty aside
for a while.
She was invited to spend the end of December and the whole of January
with Alma Montague at Katoomba. They were to stay at the best hotel
there--Mrs. Montague, her sister Mrs. Stacey, Alma and Dot. Rooms had
already been engaged for the party (Alma's and Dot's adjoining each
other's), and all sorts of intoxicating details been settled.
Dot, indeed, spoke to her mother once about coming home to help,
instead of going away, but even if she had meant it--which must
be questioned--Mrs. Bruce was quite decided that she should go.
"It will do you good," she said, "and we don't need you at home at all.
Betty will be here--it will be holiday-time and she must help."
For February Dot had an invitation to Tasmania. In her wildest
imaginings she did not dream of accepting it, but Minnie Stevenson,
whose school-days lay behind her too, was going down before Christmas
and declared she could not be without Dot longer than the middle of
February.
And Mona--Mona, her nearest and dearest friend, said it was _very_ hot
on the Richmond River till the end of March, but April was a perfect
month there, and in April she would take _no_ refusal. She must have
Thea in her own home all to herself then.
Nellie Harden had her mother's consent to ask Dot to "come out" with
her. The debut was to take place in June, at a big ball, and Nellie had
"set her heart" on Thea and herself coming out at the _very_ same ball,
on the _very_ same night as each other, "All in white, you know, Thea
darling, and we _will_ look so nice."
So it will be seen Dot's idea of being elder sister and home daughter
had every chance of remaining an idea for the present. With such
alluring pleasures, where was there room for duty?
"I'll do my best _every_ time I am at home," said Dot to herself,
weighing pleasure and duty in the balance and finding duty sadly
wanting, "and I'll _write_ Betty good letters of advice, and take some
mending away with me to do."
But all that belonged to yesterday.
To-day Dot was at home, and in the important position of being about to
set out upon a journey. She was to start early in the morning and to go
direct to the Redfern railway station.
Mr. Bruce had gone to town to draw a five guinea cheque for his eldest
daughter. He also had to do a little shopping on her account. All his
instructions were written down in Dot's fair round hand-writing upon a
piece of foreign notepaper and slipped into his waistcoat pocket.
For those who are at all curious to know what the items were we will
steal a look at the paper--
1. Pair of white canvas shoes, size 2.
2. One cake of blanco (for cleaning them with).
3. Two pairs of black silk _shoe_ laces--not boot laces--(all of
those things at the same shop).
4. 1-1/4 yds. of _white_ chiffon (_very_ thin--for a veil).
5. 1 bunch of scarlet poppies--just common ones (both of these
at same shop--draper's).
6. _At a chemist's_: sponge (6_d._), tooth-brush (9_d._),
Packet of violet powder (6_d._).
Mrs. Bruce was letting down Dot's dresses, and altering a pretty blue
silk evening blouse (bought ready made). Cyril had cleaned her shoes and
the family portmanteau, an ugly black thing, and run half a dozen
errands grumblingly--all for Dot!
Betty was locked in her room in disgrace, for running away to seek her
fortune. No one was allowed to speak to her, even Baby's "Bet, Bet," was
sternly hushed; two slices of bread and a glass of water were placed
outside her door three times a day; three times a day she was permitted
to walk for five minutes, each time alone in the garden, then back again
to her room.
This state of things, which had commenced on Wednesday morning, was, if
Betty showed proper penitence and meekness, to terminate on Saturday
morning.
Yet even prisoner Betty was employed on Dot's behalf. She had Dot's
stockings to mend, and to add insignificant things like buttons and
tapes and hooks and eyes to those of her garments which had an
insufficiency of such trifles. And she was sewing away industriously
as she brooded over her woes.
Dot herself was unpacking and packing up. Unpacking all her exercise
books, and notebooks, and stacks of neat examination papers; her lesson
books and Czerney's 101 _Exercises for the Pianoforte_; her sewing
samples and wool-work; her study of a head in crayon, and waratahs and
flannel flowers in oils, and peep of Sydney Harbour in water colours.
"When I come home again," she told herself gravely, "I will arrange
life: I'll practise _at least_ two hours every morning; I'll do some
solid good reading _every_ day--some one like Shakespeare or Milton or
Bacon! I'll paint every afternoon. I really have a talent for
landscapes. And I'll finish writing my novel. For some things I'm really
glad I've finished learning."
A keen observer, regarding Dot's new scheme for life, would detect very
little time or thought for reforming the household, and training Betty
and teaching the younger ones. But then, Dot's schemes varied, and a
day seemed to her a very big piece of time to have to play with as she
liked, all in her own hands. Hitherto it had been given out to her in
hours by Miss Weir--this hour for French, that for English, this for a
constitutional, that for sewing, this for the Scriptures, that for
practice, and so on.
What wonder that the felt she could crowd all the arts and sciences into
a day when all the hours belonged to her for her very own.
When she went to bed at night, by way of beginning the home reforms she
looked at Betty very earnestly and shook her head, words being
forbidden.
And she removed her own particular text from above her bed to above
Betty's, feeling very old and sedate the while, for it must be owned
conscious virtue has a sobering effect.
But the action threw Betty into a towering rage.
"If you don't take down your old text I won't get into bed at all. I've
only been trying to make you all rich."
And Dot, who was always alarmed into placidity when she had provoked
wrath, returned "Blessed are the pure in heart" to its own position on
the wall.