A Valentine Party
Chilcombe Hall, where Lilias and Dulcie had been boarders for the last
two years, was an exceedingly nice school. It stood on a hill-side well
raised above the river, and behind it there was a little wood where
bulbs had been naturalized, and where, in their season, you might find
clumps of pure white snowdrops, sheets of glorious daffodils, and later
on lovely masses of the lily of the valley. In the garden all kinds of
sweet things seemed to be blooming the whole year round. Golden aconite
buds opened with the January term, and in a wild patch above the rockery
the delicious heliotrope-scented _Petasites fragrans_ blossomed to tempt
the bees which an hour's sunshine would bring forth from the hives,
scarlet _Pyrus japanica_ was trained along the wall under the front
windows, and early flowering cherry and almond blossoms made delicate
pink patches of color long before leaves were showing on the trees.
Beautiful surroundings in a school can be quite as important a part of
our education as the textbooks through which we toil. We are made up of
body, mind, and spirit, and the developing soul needs satisfying as much
as the physical or mental part of us. Long years afterwards, though we
utterly forget the lessons we may have learnt as children, we can still
vividly recall the effect of the afternoon sun streaming through the
fuchsia bush outside the open French window where we sat conning those
unremembered tasks. The lovely things of nature, assimilated half
unconsciously when we are young, equip us with a purity of heart and a
refinement of taste that should safeguard us later, and keep our
thoughts at a lofty level.
The "beauty cult" was a decided feature of Chilcombe Hall. Miss Walters
was extremely artistic; she painted well in water-colors and had
exquisite taste. Many of the charming decorations in the house had been
done by herself; she had designed and stencilled the frieze of drooping
clusters of wistaria that decorated the dining-hall wall; the framed
landscapes in the drawing-room were her own work, and she herself always
superintended the arrangement of the bowls of flowers that gave such
brightness to the schoolrooms.
Her twenty pupils had on the whole a decidedly pleasant time. There were
just enough of them to develop the community spirit, but not too many
to obliterate the individual, or, as Ida Spenser put it: "You can get up
a play, or a dance, or any other sort of fun, and yet we all know each
other like a kind of big family."
"Divided up into small families according to bedrooms!" added Hester
Wilson.
The bedrooms at Chilcombe Hall were rather a speciality. They were
large, and were furnished partly as studies, and girls had their own
bookcases, knick-knacks, and pretty things there. As the house was
provided with central heating, they were warmed, and a certain amount of
preparation was done in them each afternoon. Miss Walters' artistic
faculty had decorated them in schemes of various colors, so that they
were known respectively as The Rose, The Gold, The Green, The Brown, and
The Blue Bedrooms. Lilias and Dulcie Ingleton, Gowan Barbour, and Bertha
Chesters, who occupied the last-named, considered it quite the choicest
of all. They had each made important contributions to its furniture, had
clubbed together to buy a Liberty table-cloth, had provided vases in
lovely shades of turquoise blue, and had worked toilet-mats, nightdress
cases and other accessories to accord with the prevailing tone. "The
Blue Grotto," as they named their dormitory, certainly had points over
rival bedrooms, for it looked down the garden towards the river, and
had the best view of the sunset. Moreover, it was at the very end of the
corridor, so that sudden outbursts of laughter did not meet the ears of
Miss Hardy quite so easily as from the Rose or the Brown room.
The work of the spring term had been in full swing for nearly a month,
when Gowan Barbour, looking at the calendar--hand-painted, with blue
cranesbill geraniums--suddenly discovered that next morning would be the
festival of St. Valentine.
"Could anything be better?" she exulted. "We've won the record for
tidiness three weeks running, so we're entitled to a special indulgence.
I vote we ask to bring tea up here, and have a Valentine party. Don't
you think it would be rather scrumptious? I've all sorts of ideas in my
head."
"Topping!" agreed Dulcie, pausing in the act of tying her hair ribbon to
consider the important question, "specially if we could get Miss Walters
to let us send to Glazebrook for a few cakes. I believe she would, if we
wheedled!"
"What about visitors?" asked Lilias. "It would be much more of a party
if we had a few of the others in."
"We don't want a crowd, or we might as well be in the dining-hall,"
objected Bertha.
"Well, of course we shouldn't ask the whole school, naturally, but
perhaps just Noreen and Phillida!"
"We must get at the soft spot in Miss Walters' heart," decided Gowan.
"Pick a bunch of early violets if you can find them, lay them on her
study table, talk about flowers and nature for a little while, then ask
if we may have a quiet little party in our bedroom to-morrow afternoon,
with cakes at our own expense."
"Quiet?" queried Lilias.
"Well, of course you couldn't call it rowdy, could you? We'll send you
to do the asking. Those dimples of yours generally get what you want,
and on the whole I think you're the pattern one of us, and the most
likely to be listened to."
Tea at Chilcombe Hall was a quite informal meal. It partook, indeed more
of the nature of a canteen. The urns were what the girls called "on tap"
from four to four-thirty, and during summer any one might take cup,
saucer, and plate into the garden, provided she duly brought them back
afterwards to the dining-hall. Special permission for a bedroom feast
was therefore not very difficult to obtain, and Lilias returned from her
interview in the study with her dimples conspicuously in evidence.
"Well?" asked the interested circle in the Blue bedroom.
"Sweet as honey!" reported Lilias. "She said 'Certainly, my dear!' We
may each ask one friend, and we may spend two shillings amongst us on
cakes, if we give the money and the list of what we want to Jones this
afternoon, because he's going into Glazebrook first thing to-morrow
morning."
"Only two shillings!" commented Gowan.
"It will go no way!" pouted Bertha.
"Well, I can't help it. Miss Walters said 'Two shillings' most
emphatically."
"You might have stuck out for more! Those iced cakes are always half a
crown!"
"I didn't dare to stick out for anything. I was so afraid she'd change
her mind, and say 'There's good plain home-made cake with your
schoolroom tea, and you must be content with that,' like she did to Nona
and Muriel."
"We could get twelve twopenny cakes for two shillings," calculated
Dulcie; "but if there are eight of us, that's only one and a half
apiece."
"Best get eight twopenny iced cakes, and eight penny buns," suggested
Bertha, taking pencil and paper to write the important order.
"Right-o! Only be sure you put _pink_ iced cakes, they are so much the
nicest."
"Whom shall we ask? It won't be much of a beano on two shillings. Still,
they'll be keen on coming, I expect."
Noreen, Phillida, Prissie, and Edith, the four finally selected
favorites, accepted the invitation with alacrity. Bedroom tea-parties
were indulgences only given to winners of three weeks' dormitory
records, so the less fortunate occupants of the Brown and Rose rooms
were really profiting by the tidiness of their hostesses. The Blue
Grotto was placed in apple-pie order on the afternoon of the fourteenth
of February. A white hemstitched cloth and a bowl of snowdrops adorned
the center table, and the cakes were set out on paper doilies. Both
hostesses and guests were in the dining-hall by four o'clock, awaiting
the appearance of the urns, and each bore her cup of tea and a portion
of bread and butter and scones upstairs with her.
It was a jolly party round the square table, and if the cakes were not
too plentiful, they were at least voted delicious. The girls carried
down the cups when they had finished, shook the table-cloth out of the
window, carefully collected crumbs from the floor, so as to preserve
their record for neatness, then gathered round the table again for an
hour's fun before the bell should ring for prep.
"It's a Valentine party, and I've got a ripping idea," said Gowan.
"We'll put our names on pieces of paper, fold them up, shuffle them and
draw them; then each of us must write a valentine to the one we've
drawn. We'll shuffle these, and one of us must read them all out. Then
we must each guess who's written our valentines."
"Sounds rather brainy, doesn't it?" objected Noreen. "I don't think I'm
any hand at poetry!"
"Oh! you can make up something if you try. Valentines are generally
doggerel."
"Need it be quite original?" asked Edith.
"Well, if you really _can't_ compose anything, we'll allow quotations."
"Cracker mottoes?" suggested Dulcie.
"Exactly. They're just about in the right style."
"Are you all getting into a sentimental vein?" giggled Bertha. "Remember
'Love' rhymes with 'Dove,' and Cupid with--with--"
"Stupid," supplied Dulcie laconically.
"I'm not going to give my rhymes away beforehand," said Phillida. "Is
that shuffling business finished, Gowan? Then bags me first draw."
Each girl, having been apportioned the name of her valentine, set to
work to compose a suitable ode in her honor. There was much knitting of
brows and nibbling of pencils, and demands for a few minutes longer,
when Gowan called "Time!" At last, however, the effusions were all
finished, folded, shuffled, and laid in a pile. Gowan, as the
originator of the game, was unanimously elected president. She drew one
at a venture, opened it, and read:
"TO PHILLIDA
"Fair maiden, who in ancient song
Was wont to flout her swain,
I prithee be not always coy,
But turn your face again.
My heart is true, and it will rue,
That ever you should doubt me,
So sweet, be kind, and change your mind,
And don't for ever flout me."
"Who wrote that?" asked Phillida, glancing keenly round the circle.
"Noreen, I believe you're looking conscious! I always suspect people who
say they can't write."
"_I!_ No, indeed!" declared Noreen.
"You may make guesses, but nobody's to confess or deny authorship till
the end," put in Gowan hastily. "Remember, valentines are always
supposed to be anonymous. Now I'm going to read another.
"TO LILIAS
"Cupid with his fatal dart
Shot me through and made me smart,
So I pray, before we part,
Kiss me once, and heal my heart!"
"Short and sweet!" commented Edith.
"Very sweet--quite sugary, in fact," agreed Lilias. "It's the sort of
motto you get out of a superior cracker with gelatine paper on the
outside, and trinkets inside. There ought to be a ring with all that. I
believe it's Prissie's, but I'm not sure it isn't by Bertha."
"You mayn't have two guesses!" reminded Gowan, reaching for another
paper. "Hallo! this actually to me! I feel quite shy!"
"Go on! You're not usually afflicted with shyness," urged the others.
"TO GOWAN
"Wee modest, crimson-tipped flower,
Thou'st met me in an evil hour;
For I maun gang far frae thy bower,
And leave thee greeting 'mang the stour.
But lassie, thou art no thy lane,
This heart is also brak in twain,
And like to burst with grief and pain
To think I'll see thee ne'er again."
"H'm! He might have signed 'Robbie Burns' at the end of it!" commented
Gowan. "Seems to take it for granted I'm doing half of the grieving. No,
thanks! I prefer to 'flout them' like Phillida. He may go away with his
old broken heart if he likes. That's not my idea of a valentine."
"There were bad valentines as well as good ones, weren't there?"
twinkled Dulcie.
"Certainly; and if I set this down to you, perhaps I'll not be far out.
Who comes next? Oh! Bertha.
"TO BERTHA
"I have a little heart to let,
As nice as nice can be;
It's vacant just at present,
On a yearly tenancy.
It's quite completely furnished
With affection's choicest store,
Sweet nothings by the bushel,
And kisses by the score.
It sadly wants a tenant,
This little heart of mine,
So I beg that you will take it,
And be my Valentine!"
"Edith! Dulcie! Phillida!--Oh! I can't guess!" laughed Bertha. "There's
not the least clue! Go on, Gowan! I'll plump for Phillida."
The next on the list was--
"TO NOREEN
"Cupid on his rosy wing
Flits to offer you a ring:
Take it, dear, and happy make
One who'd die for your sweet sake!"
"That's the sugary type again, and suggests a cracker!" decided Noreen.
"You feel there ought to be a big dish of trifle somewhere near."
"I wish there were!" chirped Edith. "You haven't guessed yet!"
"Oh, well, I guess you!"
"I hope it's my turn next," said Prissie.
"No, it happens to be Dulcie," retorted Gowan. "You'll probably be the
last of all.
"TO DULCIE
"Oh, lady fair from Cheverley Chase,
The day when first I saw your face
Put me in such a fearful flutter
I could do naught but moan and mutter.
Whether I'm standing on my head,
Or if I'm on my heels instead,
I scarce can tell, for Cupid's arrows
Have made my brain like any sparrow's.
When you come near, my foolish heart
Goes pit-a-pat with throb and start,
And when I try my love to utter,
My fairest speech is but a stutter.
How to propose is all my task,
Whether to write or just to ask,
And ere I solve the problem knotty
I really fear I shall go dotty.
Oh, lady fair, in pity stop
And list while I the question pop.
'Tis here on paper; think it over,
And let me be your humble lover."
"Quite the longest of them all!" smiled Dulcie complacently.
"But not as poetical as mine!" contended Noreen.
"Oh, go on!" said Edith. "I'm sure I'm next!"
And so she was.
"TO EDITH
"Maiden of the swan-like neck,
I am at your call and beck;
If you will but wave a finger,
In your neighborhood I'll linger,
Praise your eyes, and cheeks of roses,
Bring you presents of sweet posies,
Sweetheart, if you will be mine,
Let me be your Valentine!"
"I haven't got a swan neck! It's no longer than other people's, I'm
sure!" protested Edith indignantly, looking round the circle for the
offender. "Who wrote such stuff?"
"There, don't get excited, child!" soothed Gowan. "'Edith of the Swan
Neck' was a historical character. Don't you remember? She ought to have
married King Harold, only she didn't, somehow. It's meant as a
compliment, no doubt!"
"I believe you wrote it yourself!"
"No, I didn't. At least I mustn't tell just yet. I'm going to read the
last one now.
"TO PRISSIE
"I am not sentimental, please,
I cannot write in rhyme,
I beg you'll all ecstatics leave
Until another time.
"But if I'm lacking in romance,
At least my heart is true,
And in its own prosaic way,
It only beats for you.
"'Mong damsels all I think you are
The nicest little Missie,
And beg to have for Valentine
That sweetest maid, Miss Prissie."
"Author! Author!" cried Prissie. "It's Lilias, I do believe!"
"Guessing's been horribly wrong!" said Gowan. "Only about one of you was
right. Shall I read the list?
"To Phillida by Dulcie.
To Lilias by Noreen.
To Gowan by myself.
To Bertha by Phillida.
To Noreen by Prissie.
To Dulcie by Bertha.
To Edith by Lilias.
To Prissie by Edith."
"So you wrote your own, Gowan! What a humbug you are! You quite put us
off the scent!"
"Well, I drew my own name, you see. I had to write something! Bertha
ought to have a prize for guessing right, only we've nothing to give
her. Shall we play something else?"
"Prissie's brought a pack of cards, and she says she'll tell our
fortunes," proclaimed Edith.
"I learnt how in the holidays," confessed Prissie. "A girl was staying
with us who had a book about it. We used to have ripping fun every
evening over it. Whose fortune shall I tell first? Oh, don't all speak
at once! Look here, you'd better each cut, and the lowest shall win."
Dulcie, who turned up an ace, was the lucky one, and was therefore
elected as the first to consult the oracle. By Prissie's orders she
shuffled the cards, then handed them back to the sorceress, who laid
them out face upward in rows, and after a few moments' meditation began
her prophecies.
"You're fair, and therefore the Queen of Diamonds is your representative
card--all the luck's behind you instead of facing you. I see a
disappointment and great changes. A dark woman is coming into your life.
She's connected somehow with money, but there are hearts behind her.
You'll take a journey by land, and find trouble and perplexity."
"Haven't you anything nicer to tell me than that?" pouted Dulcie. "Who's
the dark woman?"
"She seems to be a relation, by the way the cards are placed."
"I haven't any dark relations. They're all as fair as fair--the whole
family."
"It's silly nonsense! I don't believe in it!" declared Lilias
emphatically.
"I dare say it is, but it's fun, all the same. Do tell mine now,
Prissie!" urged Noreen, gathering up the cards and reshuffling them.
Before the fates could be further consulted, however, the big bell
clanged for preparation, and the magician was obliged to pocket her
cards, hurry downstairs, get out her lesson books, and write a piece of
French translation, while the inquirers into her mysteries also
separated, some to practise piano or violin, and some to study.
"A dark woman!" scoffed Dulcie, spilling the ink in her scorn as she
filled her fountain pen. "Any gypsy would have told me a fortune like
that. I'll let you know when she comes along, Prissie!"
"All serene! Bring her to school if you like!" laughed Prissie. "You
didn't let me finish, or I might have gone on to something nicer. There
were other things on the cards as well as those."
"What things?"
"Oh, I shan't tell you now, when you only make fun of them! Sh! sh!
Here's Miss Herbert!"
And Prissie, turning away from her comrade, opened her French dictionary
and plunged into the difficulties of her page of translation from
Racine.