THE QUEEN OF THE SCHOOL.
It is not an easy matter to break in a wild colt, and this was the
process which had now to take place with regard to the new girl, whose
eccentricities and daring, whose curious mixture of ignorance and
knowledge, of affectionate sympathy and careless levity, made her at
once the adored and detested of her companions.
In every sense of the word Bridget was unexpected. She had an
extraordinary aptitude for arithmetic, and took a high place in the
school on account of her mathematics. The word mathematics, however,
she had never even heard before. She could gabble French as fluently
as a native, but did not know a word of the grammar. She had a perfect
ear for music, could sing like a bird, and play any air she once heard,
but she could scarcely read music at all, and was refractory and
troublesome when asked to learn notes.
"Just play the piece over to me," she said to her master. "I'll do
it if you play it over. Yes, that's it--tum, tum, tummy, tum, tum.
Oughtn't you to crash the air out a bit there? I think you ought. Yes,
that's it--_isn't_ it lovely? Now let me try."
Her attempts were extremely good, but when it came to laboriously
struggling through her written score, all was hopeless confusion,
tears, and despair.
With each fresh study Bridget showed the queer vagaries of a really
clever mind run more or less to seed. She did everything in a dramatic,
excitable style--she was all on wires, scarcely ever still, laughing
one moment, weeping the next; the school had never known such a time as
it underwent during the first week of her residence among them.
After that period she found her place to a certain extent, made some
violent friends and some active enemies, was adored by the little
girls, on whom she showered lollipops, kisses, and secrets, and was
disliked more or less by every girl in the sixth and fifth form,
Dorothy Collingwood excepted.
All this time Miss Percival, the head girl of the school, was absent.
She had been ill, and had gone home for a short change. She did not
return until Bridget had been at the Court a fortnight.
By this time the preparations for the Fancy Fair were in active
progress. Janet May had obtained her own wish with regard to the
Committee, each member of which was allowed to choose a band of workers
under herself, to make articles for the coming sale.
The Fair was the great event to which the girls looked forward, and in
the first excitement of such an unusual proceeding each of them worked
with a will.
Janet was the heart and soul of everything. She was a girl with a
great deal of independence of character; she was not destitute of
ambition--she was remarkable for common sense--she was sharp in her
manner, downright in her words, and capable, painstaking, and energetic
in all she did.
She was a dependable girl--clever up to a certain point, nice to those
with whom she agreed, affectionate to the people who did not specially
prize her affection.
Janet was never known to lose her temper, but she had a sarcastic
tongue, and people did not like to lay themselves open to the cutting
remarks which often and unsparingly fell from her lips.
She used this tongue most frequently on Bridget O'Hara, but for the
first time she was met by a wondering, puzzled, good-humored, and
non-comprehending gaze.
"What does Janet mean?" Bridget would whisper to her nearest companion.
"_Is_ she saying something awfully clever? I'm sorry that I'm stupid--I
don't quite catch her meaning."
These remarks usually turned the tables against Janet May, but they
also had another effect. She began to be sparing of her sharp, unkind
words in Bridget's hearing. This, however, did not prevent her hating
the new girl with the most cordial hatred she had ever yet bestowed
upon anyone.
Bridget was a fortnight at the school, and had more or less shaken down
into her place, when the evening arrived on which Miss Percival was to
return.
Dorothy, Bridget, and a number of the girls of the lower school were
walking up and down a broad road which led to the shore. They were
talking and laughing. The smaller girls were dancing and running about
in their eagerness. Some very funny proposal had undoubtedly been made,
and much explosive mirth was the result.
Janet and Olive Moore were returning slowly to the house after a
vigorous game of tennis. They stopped to look down at the group who
surrounded Dorothy.
"We have lost her," said Olive, with a sigh.
"Lost whom?" answered Janet in her tart voice.
"Why, Dorothy Collingwood; she has gone over to the ranks of the enemy."
"What do you mean, Olive?" Olive turned and looked at Janet.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," she answered; "you know who the
enemy is--at least you know who is your enemy."
"I never knew before that I had an enemy," said Janet, in her guarded
voice.
Olive looked at her steadily.
"Come now, Janet," she said, "confession is good for the soul--own--now
do own that you cordially hate the new girl, Bridget O'Hara."
"I'm sick of the new girl," said Janet; "if you are going to talk
about her I shall go into the house; I want to look over my French
preparation. M. le Comte is coming to-morrow morning, and he is so
frightfully over-particular that I own I'm a little afraid of him."
"Nonsense, Janet, you know you're one of the best French scholars in
the school. You won't get out of answering my question by that flimsy
excuse. Don't you hate Miss O'Hara?"
"Hate her?" said Janet; "there must be a certain strength about a girl
to make you hate her. I've a contempt for Bridget, but I don't rouse
myself to the exertion of hating."
"Oh, well; it's all the same," said Olive. "You won't admit the feeling
that animates your breast, but I know that it is there, _chérie_. Now
I have got something to confess on my own account--I don't like her
either."
"You have too good taste to like her, Olive, but do let us talk about
something more interesting. How are you getting on with that table
cover for the fair?"
"Oh, I'll come to that by and by; now about Miss O'Hara. Janet, I deny
that she's weak."
"You deny that she's weak," repeated Janet. "I wonder what your idea of
strength is, Olive."
"She's not learned, I admit," replied Olive, "but weak! no, she's
not weak; no weak character could be so audacious, so fearless, so
indifferent to her own ignorance."
"If she had any strength, she'd be ashamed of her ignorance," retorted
Janet.
"I don't agree with you," answered Olive. "Strength shows itself in
many forms. Miss O'Hara is pretty."
"Pretty," interrupted Janet, scorn curling her lip.
"Yes, Janet, she's pretty and she's rich, and she's destitute of fear.
She is quite certain to have her own party in the school. I repeat,"
continued Olive, "that there is no weakness in Bridget. I grant that
she is about the most irritating creature I know, but weak she is not."
"Well, well," interrupted Janet impatiently, "have your own way, Olive.
Make that tiresome, disagreeable girl a female Hercules if you fancy,
only cease to talk about her. That is all I have to beg."
"I must say one thing," replied Olive, "and then I will turn to a more
congenial theme. I hope Evelyn Percival won't take Miss O'Hara's part.
You know, Janet, what strong prejudices Evelyn has."
"Oh, don't I!" said Janet, stamping her small foot.
"And if she happens to fancy Bridget she won't mind a word we say
against her. She never does mind what anyone says. You know that,
Janet."
"I know," echoed Janet, a queer angry light filling her eyes for a
minute. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! What with our examinations and the Fancy
Fair, and all this worry about the new girl, life scarcely seems worth
living--it really doesn't."
"Poor darling!" said Olive, in a sympathetic tone. "I thought I'd tell
you, Janet, that whatever happened I'd take your part."
"Thanks!" said Janet calmly.
She looked at her friend with a cool, critical eye.
Olive Moore belonged to the toadying faction in the school. Toadies,
however, can be useful, and Janet was by no means above making use of
Olive in case of need.
She scrutinized Olive's face now, a slightly satirical expression
hovering round her somewhat thin lips.
"Thanks!" she repeated again. "If I want your help I'll ask for it,
Olive. I'm going into the house now, for I really must get on with my
preparation."
Janet turned away, and Olive was obliged to look out for a fresh
companion to attach herself to.
She looked at the merry group on the lawn, and a desire to join them,
even though of course she knew she was in no sense one of them, came
over her.
She ran lightly down the grassy slope, and touched Dorothy on her arm.
"I'm here, Dolly," she said, in her rather wistful manner.
"Oh, well; it's all right for you to be here, I suppose," said Dorothy.
"What were you saying, Bridget? I didn't catch that last sentence of
yours."
"I was going up the staircase," continued Bridget. "I held a lighted
candle in my hand. It was an awful night--you should have heard the
wind howling. We keep some special windbags of our own at the Castle,
and when we open the strings of one, why--well, there is a hurricane,
that's all."
"Oh, she's telling a story," whispered Olive under her breath. She
settled herself contentedly to listen.
"Go on; tell us quickly what you did with the candle, Biddy!" cried
little Violet, pulling her new friend by the arm.
"Don't shake me so, Vi, my honey; I'm coming to the exciting place--now
then. Well, as I was going up the stairs all quite lonely, and by
myself, never a soul within half a mile of me----"
"But your castle isn't half a mile big," said Katie, another small
girl. "And you did say your father lived there with you, and, of
course, there must have been some servants."
"Well, dear, well! half a mile is a figure of speech. That's a way
we have in Ireland--we figure of speech everything; it's much more
graphic. Now, to go on. I was running up the stairs with my candle, and
the wind rushing after me like mad, and the Castle rocking as if it
were in an agony, when---- What do you think happened?"
"What?" said Katie, her eyes growing big with fascination and alarm.
"The wind dropped as if it were dead. After screeching as if it had the
tongues of hundreds of Furies, it was mummer than the timidest mouse
that ever crept. The Castle ceased to rock; it was the suddenest and
deadest calm you could possibly imagine. It was miles more frightful
than the storm. Just then there came a little puff of a breeze out of
the solid stone wall, and out went my candle."
"O Bridget!" exclaimed the little girls, starting back in affright.
"Bridget, you are talking a great deal of nonsense," said Dorothy, "and
I for one am not going to listen to you. We are much too sensible to
believe in ghost stories here, and there is no use in your trying to
frighten us. Good-by, all of you; I am off to the house!"
Dorothy detached herself from Bridget's clinging arm, and ran quickly
up the sloping lawn.
Bridget stood and watched her. Olive kept a little apart, and the
smaller girls clustered close together, watching their new friend's
face with interest and admiration.
The Irish girl looked certainly pretty enough to win any number of
susceptible small hearts at that moment. Her pale blue dress set off
her graceful figure and fair complexion to the best advantage. Her
mirthful, lovely eyes were raised to follow Dorothy as she disappeared
into the house. Her lips were parted in a mischievous smile. She raised
one hand to push back the rebellious locks of chestnut curls from her
forehead.
"Now, Biddy, go on, Biddy!" exclaimed the children. "We love ghost
stories, so do tell us more about the candle."
"No!" said Bridget. "_She_ says they aren't good for you, so you shan't
have them. Let's think of some more fun. Who's that new girl, who, you
say, is going to arrive to-night?"
"New girl!" exclaimed Katie, "why, she's about the very oldest girl in
the school--the oldest and the nicest. She's the head of the school.
We call her our queen. She's not like you, Biddy, of course; but she's
very nice--awfully nice!"
"And what's the darling's name?" asked Bridget.
"Evelyn Percival. Doesn't it sound pretty?"
"Faix, then, it does, honey. I'm all agog to see this lovely queen. Why
has she been absent so long? Doesn't Mrs. Freeman require any lessons
of the sweet creature? Oh, then, it's I that would like to be in her
shoes, if that's the case."
"She has been ill, Biddy," said Violet. "Evelyn has been ill, but she
is better now; she's coming back to-night. We are all glad, for we all
love her."
"Let's run down the road, then, and give her a welcome," said Bridget.
"In Ireland we'd take the horses off the carriage, and draw her home
ourselves. Of course, we can't do that, but we might go to meet her,
waving branches of trees, and we might raise a hearty shout when we saw
her coming. Come along, girls--what a lark! I'll show you how we do
this sort of thing in old Ireland! Come! we'll cut down boughs as we go
along. Come! be quick, be quick!"
"But we are not allowed to cut the boughs, Bridget," said Katie.
"And we are not allowed to go out of the grounds by ourselves," cried
several other voices.
"We are not by ourselves when we are together," replied Bridget. "Come
along, girls, don't be such little despicable cowards! I'll square
it with Mrs. Freeman. You trust _me_. Mrs. Freeman will forgive us
everything when the queen is coming back. Now, do let's be quick, we
haven't a minute to lose!"
Small girls are easily influenced, and Bridget and her tribe rushed
down the avenue, shouting and whooping as they went.
Olive had no inclination to join them. They had taken no notice of her,
and she was not sufficiently fascinated by Bridget to run any risk for
her sake. She knew that her present proceedings were wrong, but she
was not at all brave enough to raise her voice in protest. She walked
slowly back to the house, wondering whether she should go and tell
Janet, or sink down lazily on a cozy seat and go on with a story book
which was sticking out of her pocket.
As she was approaching the house she was met by Miss Delicia, who
stopped to speak kindly to her.
"Well, my dear child," she said, "I suppose you, like all the rest of
us, are on tenter hooks for our dear Evelyn's return. From the accounts
we received this morning, she seems to be quite well and strong again,
and it _will_ be such a comfort to have her back. I don't know how it
is, but the school is quite a different place when she is there."
"We'll all be delighted to have her again, of course," said Olive. "And
is she really quite well, Miss Delicia?"
"Yes, my love, or she would not be returning."
Miss Delicia hurried on, intent on some housewifely mission, and Olive
entering the house went down a long stone passage which led to the
sixth form schoolroom.
Janet was there, busily preparing her French lesson for M. le Comte.
She was a very ambitious girl, and was determined to carry off as many
prizes as possible at the coming midsummer examinations. She scarcely
raised her eyes when Olive appeared.
"Janet!"
"Yes, Olive; I'm very busy. Do you want anything?"
"Only to tell you that that pet of yours, Bridget O'Hara, is likely to
get herself into a nice scrape. She has run down the road with a number
of the small fry to meet Evelyn. They are taking boughs of trees with
them, and are going to shout, or do something extraordinary, when they
see her arriving. Janet, what's the matter? How queer you look!"
"I'm very busy, Olive; I wish you'd go away!"
"But you look queer. Are you frightened about anything?"
"No, no; what nonsense you talk! What is there to be frightened about?
Do go; I can't learn this difficult French poetry while you keep
staring at me!"
"I wish you'd say what you think about Bridget. Isn't she past
enduring, getting all the little ones to disobey like this? Why, she
might be expelled! Yes, Janet; yes, I'm going. You needn't look at me
as if you'd like to eat me!"
Olive left the room with slow, unwilling footsteps, and Janet bent her
head over the copy of Molière she was studying.
"Nothing in the world could be stupider than French poetry," she
muttered. "How am I to get this into my head? What a nuisance Olive is
with her stories--she has disturbed my train of thoughts. Certainly,
it's no affair of mine what that detestable wild Irish girl does. I
shall always hate her, and whatever happens I can never get myself to
tolerate Evelyn. Now, to get back to my poetry. I have determined to
win this prize. I won't think of Evelyn and Bridget any more."
Janet bent her fair face again over the open page; a faint flush had
risen in each of her cheeks.
She was beginning to collect her somewhat scattered thoughts, when the
door was opened suddenly, and, to her surprise, Mrs. Freeman came into
the room.
"Pardon me for disturbing you," she said; "I did not know anyone was in
the schoolroom at present."
"I am looking over my French lesson, madam," answered Janet, in her
respectful tones. "It's a little more difficult than usual, and I
thought I'd have a quiet half hour here, trying to master it."
"Quite right, Janet, I am glad you are so industrious. I won't disturb
you for more than a minute, my love. I just want to look out of this
window. It is the only one that commands a view of the road from
Eastcliff. Evelyn ought to be here by now."
Janet did not say any more. She bent forward, ostensibly to renew her
studies, in reality to hide a jealous feeling which surged up in her
heart.
What a fuss everyone _was_ making about that stupid Evelyn Percival.
Here was the head mistress even quite in a fume because she was a
minute or two late in putting in an appearance.
It really was too absurd. Janet could not help fidgeting almost audibly.
"Janet," said Mrs. Freeman, "come here for a moment. I want you to use
your young eyes. Do you see any carriage coming down the hill?"
Janet sprang from her seat with apparent alacrity.
"Look, dear," said the governess. "What is that distant speck? I am so
terribly near-sighted that I cannot make out whether it is a carriage
or cart of some sort."
"It is a covered wagon," said Janet. "I see it quite plainly. There is
no carriage at all in view, Mrs. Freeman."
"My dear, I must tell you that I am a little anxious. Hickman took that
shying horse, Caspar, to bring Evelyn home. I intended Miss Molly to
have been sent for her. Dear Evelyn is still so nervous after her bad
illness that I would not for the world have her startled in any way.
And really, Caspar gets worse and worse. What is the matter, Janet?
_You_ have started now."
"Nothing," replied Janet. "I--I--shall I run out to the front, Mrs.
Freeman, and listen if I can hear the carriage? You can hear it a very
long way off from the brow of the hill."
"Do, my love, and call to me if you do. I would not have that dear girl
frightened for the world. I am more vexed than I can say with Hickman."
Janet ran out of the room. Her heart was beating hard and fast. Should
she tell Mrs. Freeman what Olive had just confided to her, that Bridget
and a number of the smaller children of the school had rushed down the
road to meet Evelyn, carrying boughs in their hands, and doubtless
shouting loudly in their glee?
Caspar was a sensitive horse; even Janet, who had no physical fear
about her, disliked the way he started, and shied sometimes at his own
shadow. It was scarcely likely that he would bear the shock which all
those excited children would give him.
Oh, yes, she ought to tell; and yet--and yet----
She stood wavering with her own conscience. Caspar was nervous, but he
was not vicious.
All that could possibly happen would be a little fright for Evelyn,
and a larger measure of disgrace for Bridget. And why should Janet
interfere? Why should she tell tales of her schoolfellows? Her story
would be misinterpreted by that faction of the girls who already had
made Bridget their idol.
No, there was nothing to be alarmed about. Evelyn was too silly, with
her nerves and her fads. Janet stood by the bend of the hill. Her
thoughts were so busy that she scarcely troubled herself to listen for
the approaching carriage.
She stood for a minute or two, then walked slowly back to the window,
out of which her schoolmistress leaned.
"I don't hear any sound whatever, Mrs. Freeman," she said, "but please
don't be alarmed; Evelyn's train may have been late."
"Hark! Stop talking!" said Mrs. Freeman.
There was a sound, a commotion. Several steps were heard; eager voices
were raised in expostulation and distress.
"Let me go," said the head mistress.
She stepped out of the open window, and walked rapidly across the wide
gravel sweep.
Alice, Violet, and several more of the little girls were running and
tumbling up the grassy slope. The moment they saw Mrs. Freeman they
ran to her.
"Oh, come at once!" said Violet, "there has been an accident, and
Evelyn is hurt. Bridget is with her. Come, come at once!"
The child's words were almost incoherent. Alice, who was not quite so
excitable, began to pour out a queer story.
"I know we've all been awfully naughty, but we didn't think Caspar
would mind the boughs. He turned sharp round and something happened
to the wheels of the carriage--and--and--oh, Mrs. Freeman, do come. I
think Evelyn must be dead, she's lying so still."
"Are you there, Janet?" said Mrs. Freeman. "Go into the house, and ask
Miss Patience to follow me down the road. And see that someone goes
for Dr. Hart. Alice, you can come back with me. The rest of the little
girls are to go into the playroom, and to stay there until I come to
them."
Mrs. Freeman spoke calmly, but there was a look about her face which
gave Janet a very queer sensation. The schoolmistress took Alice's
hand, and walked as quickly as she could to the scene of the accident.
The carriage lay smashed a couple of hundred yards from the gates of
the avenue.
Bridget was sitting in the middle of the dusty road with a girl's head
on her lap. The girl's figure was stretched out flat and motionless;
her hat was off, and Bridget was pushing back some waves of fair hair
from her temples.
"It's all my fault, Mrs. Freeman," said Bridget O'Hara, looking up with
a tear-stained face at her governess. "_I_ made the children come, and
_I_ made them cut the branches off the trees, and we ran, and shouted
as we ran. I didn't think it would do any harm, it was all a joke, and
to welcome her, for they said she was the queen, but no one is to blame
in all the wide world but me."
"Oh, what a wicked girl you are," said Mrs. Freeman, roused out of
her customary gentle manner by the sight of Evelyn's motionless form.
"I can't speak to you at this moment, Bridget O'Hara; go away, leave
Evelyn to me. Evelyn, my darling, look at me, speak to me--say you are
not hurt!"
When Mrs. Freeman told Bridget to go away and leave her, the Irish girl
stopped playing with the tendrils of hair on Evelyn's forehead, and
looked at her governess with a blank expression stealing over her face.
She did not attempt to rise to her feet, however, and Mrs. Freeman was
far too much absorbed to take any further notice of her.
"If I had only some smelling salts," she began.
Bridget slipped her hand into her pocket, and pulled out an exquisitely
embossed vinaigrette.
The governess took it without a word, and opening it applied it to
Evelyn's nostrils.
After two or three applications the injured girl stirred faintly, a
shade of color came into her cheeks, and she opened her eyes.
"There, thank Heaven, I haven't killed her!" exclaimed Bridget.
She burst into sudden frantic weeping.
"I believe I am more frightened than hurt," said Miss Percival,
struggling to sit up, and smiling at Mrs. Freeman, "I'm so awfully
sorry that I've lost my nerve. Where am I? what has happened? I only
remember Caspar turning right round and looking at me, and some people
shouting, and then the carriage went over, and I cannot recall anything
more. But I don't think--no--I am sure I am not seriously hurt."
"Thank God for that, my darling," said Mrs. Freeman. She put her arm
round the young girl, kissed her tenderly, and drew her away from
Bridget.