darkness, this immediate danger was removed; and Sally wept
unrestrainedly, almost as much with relief as with pain.
Her head ached and her body felt a mass of bruises, but at least she
was free, and had, as her brothers would have called it, "kept her
end up," in the matter of the puppy. Their approving eyes seemed to
rest upon her as at last she stifled her sobs and, pulling herself
stiffly to her feet, began to look around her.
The moon was behind the clouds, and in both directions the road lay
like a white ribbon, cutting the darkness of the heath, save where
the flaring gas-jets of the Fair flamed across it in a yellow patch.
As she peered one way she saw a halo of light edging the horizon, and
knew that this was Parchester and that she must turn her back on it
to reach Seascape House.
Utter blackness, but for the ribbon of road, lay the other way, and
with a little shiver at the prospect, Sally, skirting the furze
bushes and digging her hands deep into her pockets, began to run
across the heath parallel with the road along which she and Trina had
so lately driven.
CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH
"JUST SILLINESS"
The road across the heath, when Sally joined it, lay white and clear
for about half-a-mile; then scattered firs--wind-blown and
bitten--began to appear, and after these a series of pine plantations
that as the moon peeped from behind clouds threw their shadows across
the sky like the vaulting in some great church.
So far, since she left the neighbourhood of the Fair, the girl had
met no one save a solitary car that passed her with blinding lights;
but it seemed to her that the wood was alive with strange night birds
that brushed the branches above her head, or beasts that ran
scurrying through the undergrowth. It was this feeling of being
watched, while she could not see, that kept her, in spite of her
bruises, running at almost breathless speed; but, exhausted at last,
she sank down on a bank beside a ditch, where the road lay open and
clear between two clumps of pines.
At once she became conscious of how much her eye had swollen, and
putting her poor bruised hands together over it, she sat huddled up,
with her elbows resting on her knees. How long she remained there
she did not know; but suddenly she rose to her feet and
screamed--something had touched her, something soft and wet.
She looked down, and saw it was the mongrel dog, to whose rescue she
had come at the Fair. Now, almost as frightened as she had been, he
crouched at her feet, slowly wagging his tufted tail, and begging
with abject eyes that she would not kick him or send him away. He
had lovely brown eyes (mongrels often have) and Sally, forgetting her
own hurts, drew him up into her arms, and began to kiss him, while he
responded with frantic licks and little whines of satisfaction.
"I love you, puppy, I love you," she whispered, and became
indifferent to the loneliness of her surroundings. With what was
almost a swagger she put him down at last, and continued her homeward
road--this time at a pleasant stroll. She even found courage to
laugh at the predicament in which she had landed herself--made worse
as it was by this new witness to her naughtiness.
"Friend pup," she said, as he ran joyously beside her, leaping
occasionally to lick her hand--"Friend pup, I very much fear that I
am in the soup, and you will put the lid on that soup. Never mind,
life is no longer dull, and we shall make a fine exit from Seascape
House together."
This boast brought her thoughts back with a jerk to Trina Morrison
and her friends. How long had she herself lain among the gorse
bushes? Perhaps the dance was over, and Austin having already
dropped his cousin at the school wall, she was safe in her bed.
If so, would she think of Sally and wonder what had become of her and
whether she had also returned in safety?
It was a difficult question to answer, and the girl shuffled over
facing it. In her heart, she knew it was quite possible Peter would
continue to forget her if it was inconvenient to remember; but she
pushed that thought away with a sop to her vanity.
"Anyhow, she knew I was the kind of person who could take care of
myself; besides, she warned me of all the risks, so it's not her
fault, whatever may happen to me."
This seemed the best conclusion of the matter. If you are faintly
conscious that your idol's feet are clay, it is best to leave them
decently covered; so Sally gave up speculating about Trina, and began
to wonder instead, as she drew near Seascape House, how she should
make her entrance, and explain either her own appearance, or the dog.
She did not look forward to a cross-examination on how she had spent
the evening, by Old Cocaine.
Turning down the lane, she stood for a few minutes gazing
irresolutely at the high wall, under the hanging tree. There was the
rope that would help her up--within reach, if she jumped--but she
knew that her bruises would not let her do this, even if she could
solve the problem of how afterwards to lift up the dog.
No, she must turn back, and enter boldly by the front avenue, as
though that were the way by which she had left; and thus, when
stopped (as she surely would be, and questioned), she would not be in
danger of betraying Trina's secret.
This decision made, she called to the puppy, and returned once more
to the high road, where a few yards' further walking revealed a new
obstacle. The gates were locked, and their iron spikes rose
mockingly above her, as she gazed through the bars at the drive.
"I suppose it will be a case of waking 'Ma Jakes' at the lodge," she
muttered; but at this minute the puppy, who quite realised his new
mistress's desire to enter the forbidden garden, discovered a way in
for himself by a ditch at the side of the raised drive. That it was
not a large enough opening for Sally, he, however, failed to grasp,
and began to whine and bark encouragingly from the other side, only
raising his voice a little louder when she whispered to him to be
quiet.
"That settles it," said the girl, and with a sudden impulse not to be
caught begging for an entrance, began to climb the iron-work; but the
exertion was so great that by the time she had pulled herself over
the spikes, the sweat was running down her face. Trembling all over
at the strain, she rested before she began the descent, and suddenly
heard the dog growl.
As she looked over her shoulder, she saw a light approaching down the
drive.
With a little cry of panic, she hastened her movements, caught her
foot between the bars, released it, and then fell to the ground,
doubling it beneath her. The pain this time was far worse than her
swollen eye, or any of her bruises; and as the puppy ran to lick her
face, she pushed him away--moaning a little.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? Why--it is a boy and a dog."
Sally opened the eye that was not swollen, and saw by the light of an
electric torch, Miss Castle, her Form mistress, bending over her. In
a flash she remembered the open window as they climbed down from the
roof, and a voice calling out to them. It was evident they had
aroused Miss Castle's suspicions, and that at the sound of a dog
barking she had come out to see what was wrong.
"Oh, I'm so glad it is you," the girl whispered. "You won't be angry
with the puppy, will you? It is not his fault."
The other stared at her, at first blankly amazed, and then with
dawning surprise and horror.
"Sally!" she said. "Sally Brendan?" And then--"Oh, my poor child,
what has happened to you?"
"My foot ... the pain...."
Sally tried to move as she spoke, and fainted. When she was able to
realise her surroundings again, she was lying on two chairs in the
lodge kitchen; and "Ma Jakes," a fat woman with her hair in curlers,
was trying to blow the embers into a blaze. Miss Castle was writing
a note at the table.
"Take this to the sanatorium at once," she said as she finished to a
man in the doorway, who, Sally knew, must be Jakes, the
gardener--only he looked so odd in a shabby dressing-gown, with the
legs of his pyjamas falling over his boots, and his matted hair
standing wildly on end.
"Where is the puppy?" asked Sally, as Miss Castle came towards her,
and at this minute he made his presence known by a yelp, as he
retreated under the table before a large angry cat.
"Eating the poor thing's supper, 'e was," said Mrs. Jakes
resentfully; "'e ought to be drowned, 'e ought."
She was angry at being dragged out of her bed, "because," so she put
it to herself, "of the mischieviousness of one of them dratted
noosances of girls."
"It's just--he's so terribly hungry," said Sally. And her voice
trembled because her foot hurt her so much, and her swollen eye
nearly as badly.
"I ... fought a boy to save him from being hurt, and I don't want him
scolded or drowned."
She looked entreatingly at Miss Castle, who seemed to understand, for
she drew the dog over and patted him gently.
"All right, Sally--he shan't be hurt, and I will get him some food
myself. Don't try to talk any more, child."
She slipped her arm behind the cushion on which the girl's head was
resting and raised her a little. Sally lay quite still, and gazed at
the tin canister on the mantel-piece in which Mrs. Jakes kept her
tea. She found herself concentrating on its shininess, and wondering
how it had got its two dents, because she knew she must think of
something, or the pain would become unendurable, and she would cry
like a baby. It was no use at all to consider explanations or what
it was best to say to Miss Cockran, for her head was altogether too
stupid to form a connected story.
When at last she did see the Headmistress, it was only for a minute,
in what afterwards seemed a kind of dream, with a white-capped nurse
standing in the background.
Sally found herself saying, "I'm sorry," as she met the searching
grey eyes, and though they did not smile they were quite kind as they
gazed down at her.
"That's right. I am glad you are sorry," Miss Cockran said. "But I
don't want you to talk now, just to try to sleep. Later on you shall
tell me everything."
She was turning away when Sally clutched at her arm.
"Miss Cockran," she said; "Please ... the puppy ... he is such a
darling, and it's not his fault--you will be kind to him?"
This time the Headmistress smiled.
"He has just had a large bowl of bread and milk, and Miss Castle and
Nurse Baker are putting some ointment on his ear. He is quite happy;
so lie quiet, child, and don't worry any more about him."
Sally tried to lie quiet, but her foot was very painful, and her
whole body ached. Even when she fell asleep she did not seem able to
forget the pain; but woke up in a panic, dreaming that boys were
pelting her with stones.
"You have had a slight touch of fever, but you will be all right now,
if you are good," the white-capped nurse told her some days later,
but when Sally demanded leave to get up she shook her head.
"Why, you will have to keep that sprained ankle of yours up for some
time--there's a nasty swelling."
Sally had very rarely been "laid up." On the few occasions when it
did occur, the whole of her family had combined to amuse her and keep
her quiet; because her mother said it would be bad to allow her to
become over-excited. Even so, she had been peevish and not
particularly grateful.
Now, convalescence took on a very different note. For some days
Sally saw no one but the Matron of the sanatorium, her nurse, and the
old doctor who came to look at her ankle. Occasionally she could
hear the voices of those recovering from measles; but they were in
another passage, and all communication with them was forbidden.
Sally did not even know if they were aware of her presence in the
building.
It was obvious that she was in disgrace--"a leper"--as she told
herself bitterly, turning the pages of some magazines, which, with
some Patience cards, were almost her sole means of passing the time.
Occasionally Matron read to her; but her choice of books bored the
girl, and she refused to be drawn on to school topics.
"Miss Cockran will tell you anything she wishes, when she has time to
see you," was her final answer to Sally's frequent entreaties, and
the girl's heart sank.
Left to herself, she lay and brooded over Trina Morrison's remark
that, were they to run away and be caught, they would not be allowed
to provide the school with even a few minutes' peep-show.
"I suppose it means expulsion," she told herself--and longed to know
if Peter had escaped detection. It was maddening to think that when
she did see Miss Cockran she could not inquire after her for fear of
arousing suspicion.
It was a very sulky girl, outwardly calm, but really a good deal
shaken, who faced her interview with the Headmistress. The account
she gave of her adventures was of the barest.
"I heard there was a Fair--and I wanted to go. So I got out of the
house and went: and as I was coming away, some boys were illtreating
the puppy--and afterwards he followed me."
"Haven't you missed out that you fought the boys?" asked Miss Cockran
quietly.
Sally flushed. Something had kept her from her usual boasting:
indeed, when she remembered the fight, her feeling was rather of
shame than pride.
"I put up a simply rotten show," she muttered.
"You fought pluckily, at any rate--and in a good cause. I am proud
of that."
The girl found the tears rising to her eyes at this praise, and her
sullenness began to vanish.
"I ... I'm sorry about the rest now--I wasn't before ... but ... it's
been horrible at school, and I didn't care----"
"You wanted to be expelled, you mean?"
Sally crumpled the edge of the counterpane between her hot hands.
"I did at one time. I'm not doing any good here that I can see."
"You have a good form record--top every week, I think. On the other
hand, I hear you are untidy in the dormitory, and often rude to
Matron, and Decima Pillditch."
There was no answer for some minutes, and then the girl said:
"I like the class work--it's interesting--I could do stiffer stuff."
"I know. You would have been moved up next term."
Sally's heart sank at that "would have been."
"Are you going to expel me?" she demanded suddenly.
Miss Cockran had been sitting very still on her chair beside the bed;
but now she rose, and after looking down at the girl with her clear
grey eyes for a few seconds, turned and paced the room.
"I don't know, Sally," she said, stopping at last. "Frankly, I can't
decide. I hate expelling girls. It means such a stain on their
career for always, and you are so young to start with that. Yet what
you have done is quite impossible, and fully deserves the worst
punishment school life knows."
Sally had begun to grow sulky again, and almost involuntarily her
usual formula of disdain sprang to her lips:
"I don't care----"
The Headmistress had walked to the window, and was looking out, but
she wheeled sharply as she caught the words.
"Do you mean it, child? If so, there is, of course, nothing more to
be said--you will leave directly your foot is well enough, and not
come back here. But have you thought what expulsion stands for?"
"I've only been here one term, and..."
"Yes--one term--and that will be the end of your school life, at any
rate, in England, I fear. Other schools will not be anxious to take
you. Is it because you preferred home work so much, and living with
your family, that you have done this reckless thing?"
There was so much real anxiety in Miss Cockran's voice as she asked
the question, and her eyes, though grave, were so kind, that Sally
felt the last of her outposts of defiance break down. At the same
moment, she caught a vision of the schoolroom at home, and the
boredom of lessons alone there, for all the years, until she grew up.
"It wasn't true, what I said just now," she burst out suddenly. "I
do care--the other girls are hateful to me, and I'm very unpopular;
but I like the work and the games, when I'm given a chance at them.
I'd like to get a scholarship, and go on to College--Oxford--I know I
could do it."
Miss Cockran nodded as if she understood.
"Then why ... why this mad escapade?" she said at last; "I don't
understand."
Sally flushed a deep red. It seemed as if Trina Morrison's share in
the adventure was not known, and she, at least, had come back all
right, undetected. Her spirits rose at the thought.
"It was just ... just silliness----" she said at last. "I do mad
things sometimes."
"Ah," said the Headmistress, "just silliness, ... and it might have
wrecked your life. If I had thought it deliberate naughtiness, and
not, well--just silliness--I would have had no hesitation in thinking
it my duty to expel you. A school cannot be run without discipline,
any more than a ship."
Sally shifted her bad foot uncomfortably. She hated apologies, and
usually skimmed over them as airily as possible; but something told
her that nothing but complete submission would be of any use on this
occasion. With a great effort, she forced herself to look Miss
Cockran in the face as she spoke.
"I ... I'm really sorry, and would like to stay, if you'll have
me--and I'll try to keep straight--keep the rules, I mean--in future.
And ... and I don't think it will do the discipline any harm if I
stop, because everyone hates me so much that I couldn't have
persuaded them to go to the Fair with me, even if I had wanted to--I
mean, I'm not a bad influence--I'm just no influence at all."
In spite of herself, the Headmistress smiled at the last part of this
confession.
"Poor Sally," she said. "There's a lot to learn at school besides
lessons, isn't there?"
"No one gives me a chance ... they all hate me ... and----"
Miss Cockran put up her hand.
"Hush, Sally--think very carefully before you speak when you begin to
say anything like that. Just remember this--that I am going to give
you a chance now--suppose you give the others a chance next term."
She bent, kissed the girl and went quickly from the room.
CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH
AUTOLYCUS
Sally Brendan saw no one belonging to the school during the remainder
of her convalescence except Miss Cockran occasionally, and once Miss
Castle, who came to tea with her. It was a red-letter afternoon, for
Sally had been allowed up for the first time, with a crutch under her
arm, to take the weight off her injured foot, and was able to
establish herself in a cosy armchair in the window, from which she
could command a view of the distant lodge and drive.
Down below, she could see some of the convalescents from measles
walking arm in arm, or playing crazy croquet, on a lawn that was all
bumps and slopes. The sound of good-natured squabbling, interspersed
with many giggles and shouts, rose continuously; but though bored by
her own society, the girl made no attempt to follow what was
happening, or to attract attention. Rather, she pulled the curtain
slightly forward so as to leave herself in the shadow.
A glance had told her that Peter, at any rate, had not found her way
to the sanatorium group, and there was no one else in the school in
whom she took the faintest interest: besides, when she hobbled across
the room, she had passed a looking-glass, and, though vanity formed
no part of Sally's conceit, the sight had given her something of a
shock.
Her head might speak to a phrenologist in bumps of brains and
determination, but to the ordinary observer it was, at the present
moment, frankly ugly, with the short hair, that should have crowned
it in curls, cut roughly, in odd, shaggy lengths. The injured eye
was no longer swollen, but still rainbow-coloured; in fact, as Sally
honestly told herself, she was a figure of fun, and when Miss Castle
entered the room she looked up anxiously to detect a smile.
The smile was there; but it was friendly--not malicious--and Sally
quickly forgot all about her own appearance when she saw the second
visitor. For the moment she scarcely recognised the dirty cowering
mongrel she had rescued in the well-brushed, rather self-assertive
puppy who hurled himself on her knee and began frantically to lick
her face.
"Why, he's quite handsome," she said, and Miss Castle laughed.
"I've told them so in the Common Room, but they won't believe
me--except Miss Cockran--and she quotes, 'handsome is as handsome
does,' because he caught a rat in the cellar last night."
"Oh, did he?--the angel! He is an angel dog, isn't he, Miss Castle?"
"I haven't found his wings yet--I fear he is a thief and a
rascal--but he is a very attractive rascal, and has made me take more
exercise in the last few days than in all the rest of the term,
Sally."
Sally looked up quickly: she was amusing the puppy with the end of
her dressing-gown tassel, and as she tried to prevent him from
barking she said anxiously:
"Miss Castle, what is going to happen to him? I have not been
allowed to get letters, or write home, but I know I can make Mother
keep him, if I take him back with me; though if I ask her through the
post my sister Cecilia will tell her to say 'No.' You see we have
two dogs already."
"I sympathise with Cecilia, three dogs are too many in most houses."
"Well, you see, there are the boys and I who can always exercise
them."
"Perhaps--in the holidays--but what about term time?"
Sally looked a little sulky. People always saw Cecilia's point of
view: she was so dreadfully reasonable.
"Still, I shall take him home, all the same," she said obstinately.
"When you rescue someone like that you can't just shut him out of
your life, and forget him, as if he came to you in an ordinary way."
"No--I see that."
Miss Castle was sitting in the window seat and had drawn the puppy
down on her knee, with her hand over his nose to make him be quiet.
"What do you say to his stopping here?" she added.
"Oh, Miss Castle! ... What, in school?"
"No, Sally, I don't mean that. Why, if one girl started a pet we
should have a menagerie--cats, rabbits, tortoises and monkeys--Oh,
Heaven forbid!"
Sally laughed, in spite of her anxiety.
"Well, I don't understand, then. Matron wouldn't have him in the
san.: she's much too particular. The other day she told me cats were
nasty dirty things that carried infection."
"I expect Miss Cockran would keep him, if you liked to give him to
her."
"Miss Cockran?"
Miss Castle threw back her head and laughed at the open-eyed
astonishment with which her suggestion was received.
"Oh, Sally, you girls are funny sometimes. Do you think mistresses
are a race apart with no ordinary affections and weaknesses?"
The girl got very red.
"No, of course not--at least, I suppose not. You are quite
different, at any rate. But Miss Cockran looks ... oh, and Miss
Cheeseman, you know ... well, not silly, like us."
As she floundered, trying to find the words she wanted, Miss Castle,
bending to kiss the puppy, who lay sprawled across her knee, examined
her with twinkling eyes.
"I'm glad I'm silly," she said at last; and then as the girl began to
expostulate indignantly that she hadn't meant that, of course, the
other stopped her:
"I know what you mean, so don't apologise or explain--just remember
it's not always safe to judge people by their appearances--Autolycus,
for instance...."
"Auto!--what? Do you mean the puppy?"
"Yes--I have christened him that because he was picked up at a Fair,
and there's no doubt he's a rascal--Shakespeare met, or invented, a
gentleman of that name who was a pedlar, habitually attending Fairs.
Anyhow, we'll call him 'Tolly' for short, except at School
Commemoration."
"And Miss Cockran says he may stay here?"
"Yes--she is even prepared to adopt him, if you will pass on the
ownership. You see, about a year ago she had a Yorkshire terrier,
'Gyp,' whom she loved very much, and he was lost down a rabbit
burrow. She says she never meant to have another dog, because she
suffered so much when 'Gyp' disappeared; but 'Tolly' seems to have
been sent to her, and he's very fond of her already."
"How splendid!"
"Yes--we are all fond of him. Even Miss Cheeseman will be converted
to him in time, I hope, though she doesn't really care about animals."
"She wouldn't," muttered Sally, who disliked the thin, dark, rather
precise little mistress, who was second in command at Seascape House,
and took her Form in English Composition.
Miss Castle appeared not to hear this remark, unless the slight
puckering of her brows showed she was displeased at it.
"I'm going to take Tolly away now," she said, "or he will begin to
eat the cushions; but I will come back for some tea in about
half-an-hour."
"Oh, thank you, Miss Castle--it's awfully decent of you."