The Senior Oxford
Gwen went back to school after three weeks' absence, fearing that
every chance of the Senior Oxford must have faded into thin air. She
had worked as well as she could at home, but it had not been the same
as studying with a mistress, and she felt her deficiencies painfully.
"There's no time to make things up now, either," she thought. "The
exam. begins on the sixteenth, and that's actually next Monday. Oh
dear! If only I were better up in maths! I know the chemistry'll stump
me too. That's to say if I'm even allowed to go in at all!"
On this last point her doubts were soon dispelled. At eleven o'clock
she received a summons to the headmistress's study.
"Well, Gwen," said Miss Roscoe. "It has been very unfortunate that you
were obliged to stay away so long, but you must do your best,
notwithstanding. I entered your name as a candidate for the Senior
Oxford, so you will, of course, take the examination. Miss Trent has
arranged to give you some extra coaching in the dinner hour every day
this week, and I think you ought to be able at least to secure a pass.
You're fairly certain all round."
"Except in maths.," said Gwen.
"Well, you must give all the time you can spare to that. But don't
overdo the cramming. It's sometimes a fatal mistake to work early and
late till your brain's utterly exhausted. I did that once myself and
missed a scholarship through it. Take an hour at tennis every evening
before you go to bed. Exercise is an absolute necessity if you're to
be in form for next week. You're looking pale, and you mustn't break
down before Monday. Tell your father to buy you a tonic."
Miss Roscoe spoke kindly, more sympathetically indeed than Gwen ever
remembered to have heard her before. She had a wide experience with
girls, and could estimate their capacities to a nicety. She had chosen
her candidates carefully, and would ensure that they were sent in well
prepared. So far she had had few failures in public examinations, and
every pass brought extra credit to the school.
Five members of the Form were to take the Senior Oxford; Elspeth
Frazer, Edith Arnold, Louise Mawson, and Betty Brierly, being the
other four, all of them considerably older than Gwen.
"We call you the five victims!" said Charlotte Perry. "I'm glad I'm
out of it. I sang a jubilee last week when Miss Roscoe read the list
and my name wasn't on it."
"There were eight girls sent in last year," said Hilda Browne.
"Yes, and two failed--Majorie Stevens and Daisy Wilson. I don't think
Miss Roscoe has forgiven them yet."
"Oh, dear! I'm afraid she'll be very down on me then," wailed Gwen.
"I'm a doubtful quantity!"
"You? Oh, you'll be all right! She'd never let you try if you
weren't--trust her!" said Charlotte Perry, and the rest agreed.
In spite of her schoolmates' assurances Gwen did not feel at all
certain of success, and it was in very blue spirits and a state of
woeful apprehension that she betook herself on the fateful sixteenth
of July to the Stedburgh Town Hall, which was the local centre for the
examination. It was her fifteenth birthday, and it seemed a funny way
of celebrating the day. She had been so agitated that morning that she
had scarcely been able to realize her presents, except the fountain
pen which Father and Beatrice and Winnie had clubbed together to give
her, and which she had brought with her to the exam. room.
At her first paper, however, she cheered up a little. It was easier
than she had expected, and though one or two questions were beyond
her, the rest were well within her capacity. Her new pen flew over the
sheets of foolscap, and if she was too nervous to do herself full
justice she at least acquitted herself with credit. The time-table
only allowed an hour between one and two o'clock for lunch, which was
provided for the candidates in a room at the Town Hall. Gwen anxiously
compared notes with Elspeth, Edith, Louise, and Betty, as they hastily
demolished plates of beef sandwiches and drank tumblers of lemonade.
On the whole she had done as well or even better than they, and she
began to cherish hopes.
As the week went on, Gwen, though not daring to be too sanguine,
could not help feeling that her papers had reached a fair standard
even in her weakest subjects. She had grown so accustomed to the
examination room that she was no longer nervous and was able to
express the facts she knew at their best advantage.
"There!" she said, when she had at last handed in her final sheets.
"It's a toss-up whether I'm through or not. I expect it depends on the
temper of the examiner who reads my papers. I'll hope he'll get his
dinner before he tackles them!"
"Your writing's clear at any rate," said Elspeth. "Mine's such a
scrawl I'm afraid that will be against me. Aren't you thankful the
thing's over?"
"Thankful hardly expresses my state of bliss."
"It's rather sickening to have school exams, next week, after all
this!" said Louise.
"They'll seem a mere trifle compared with the Oxford!" declared Gwen.
After the ordeal they had passed through in common the candidates were
on terms of good comradeship, and with Elspeth Frazer Gwen felt there
was a prospect of permanent friendship.
The last days of the term passed rapidly away. To Gwen the great event
of the school year was over. Though she did her best at them,
Rodenhurst examinations were a matter of quite minor importance. She
welcomed the breaking-up with intense relief. After the strain of the
past few weeks the holidays seemed an imperative necessity. It was
delightful to have a complete rest, to idle about in the garden or on
the shore, or take long invigorating walks on the moors. It would be
five or six weeks before she could hear the result of the Senior
Oxford, so she was obliged to endure the suspense as best she could.
In the meantime something happened--something so very unexpected and
extraordinary that for a time it almost put even her examinations in
the shade. It was Beatrice who told her the good news. Lately Beatrice
had begun to treat Gwen as one of the grown-up members of the
household, and to include her in their discussions of family affairs.
"It seems almost too wonderful to believe," said Beatrice. "Old Mr.
Sutton has resigned his incumbency of North Ditton, and do you know
the living is to be divided, and Skelwick, Basingwold, Hethersedge,
and Rigby are all to be one big new parish by themselves. And who's to
be Vicar, do you think?"
"Not Dad?" gasped Gwen incredulously.
"Yes. It has been formally offered to him, and he's going to accept
it. Oh! and, Gwen, the funny part is, do you know, that queer old
gentleman you met upon the wold turns out to be Sir Benjamin Hazlett,
the patron of the living."
"He didn't look like a Sir Anything!" exclaimed Gwen. "He was the
oddest, shabbiest, crankiest old fellow, and so inquisitive!"
"I hear he's very eccentric, and of course one sees now why he asked
so many questions. He'd actually never been at Skelwick before,
although he's the patron, and nobody here in the village knew him. He
told the bishop you'd suggested dividing the parish!"
"I!" shrieked Gwen, "I wouldn't have dared to suggest such a thing. I
only said it would be nice."
"Well, you put it into his head, anyway. He said the idea had never
occurred to him before, and he saw at once its extreme advisability.
He talked it over with the bishop, and they both agreed it ought to be
done. I suppose he came to church that evening to hear Dad preach, and
judge for himself what he was capable of."
"He evidently liked him. But who wouldn't?" returned Gwen. "Then Dad
has refused Rawtenbeck?"
"Yes; thank goodness we needn't go and live amongst chemical works and
factory chimneys! The Diocesan Society's going to build an extra
bedroom on to the Parsonage. Isn't that lovely?"
"It will be the Vicarage now, if you please!" declared Gwen, rubbing
her hands with satisfaction.
That her father's hard work should be recognized and rewarded at last
was indeed a triumph, and the thought that she had perhaps had an
unconscious share in bringing this about added a special element of
joy.
"It was like entertaining an angel unawares!" she chuckled. "Though
anybody less angelic-looking than poor old Sir Benjamin one couldn't
imagine! I'm glad I took that solitary walk on the wold, Bee!"
"So am I, as it happens, though it's the exception that proves my
rule."
The appointment to the new parish was indeed an important event for
Mr. Gascoyne in more ways than one. It not only gave him a better
position and larger opportunities of carrying on the work he had
begun, but it meant also pecuniary benefit. The living of Skelwick was
to be worth treble his curate's stipend, and though he was an
unworldly man, his children's future was a necessary consideration. He
would not be opulent, but he would now at any rate be free from money
troubles, and the family could carry out many precious schemes which
before had seemed mere dreams. The boys could be educated in course of
time at Stedburgh Grammar School, Lesbia could take music lessons, and
Gwen's visions of college might actually some day see fulfilment.
Winnie could give up the teaching she hated and become housekeeper at
home, that her elder sister might be free to take her training at a
great London hospital, for Beatrice's heart was still set on entering
the nursing profession.
"You'll see me a matron yet!" she announced. "I warn you that I'm
ambitious, and mean to get on!"
"I'll be a B.A. by then, and we'll shake hands over our mutual
success!" laughed Gwen.
"Don't forget you promised to be a lady doctor and study at college
with me!" put in Dick, who had become almost one of the family at the
Parsonage.
"You'll have to look out then, or I'll get ahead of you!"
"You won't do that, madam! I'm going back to school next term,
remember."
Dick was fortunately quite strong again. The specialist who had
examined him before declared he had outgrown his temporary delicacy,
and even gave him permission to play football when the season began,
as well as to recommence his work at Stedburgh.
"I shall be sorry to lose my pupil," said Mr. Gascoyne. "The children
will miss you here on Saturdays."
"I'll see them all every day in the bus," returned Dick cheerfully.
As the holidays wore on and it grew nearer and nearer to the time when
she might expect to hear the result of the Senior Oxford, Gwen waxed
impatient. The suspense was hard to bear, and seemed harder the longer
she waited.
"I want to be put out of my misery," she declared. "If I've failed I'd
like to know and have done with it."
"But you thought you'd done pretty well," said Winnie.
"How can I tell? Every day I think of something more that I left out
in my papers, and it makes me less and less hopeful. I've borrowed one
of Dad's big pocket handkerchiefs all ready to weep into! I warn you I
shall cry gallons if I've not passed."
Miss Roscoe had arranged that a telegram should be sent to each of the
candidates announcing the lists, and on the day when the news was
likely to arrive the Gascoyne family haunted the rampart on the wall,
watching eagerly for the advent of the telegraph boy. It was Basil who
spied him first, and Giles who got to the gate quickest to meet him,
and Beatrice who tore open the yellow envelope and read the message to
the excited audience.
"'First-class Honours, and Geographical Society's Silver Medal!'"
Gwen nearly dropped on the grass.
[Illustration: "IT WAS BASIL WHO SPIED HIM FIRST"]
"Let me look at it!" she quavered. "Are you sure you haven't made a
mistake, Bee?"
"Here it is in black and white. Look at it yourself, then, you
sceptic, and be convinced! I do congratulate you!"
"Hip, hip, hooray!" yelled the boys with such vigour that their shouts
aroused curiosity in the village, and several parishioners came to
enquire the cause of the rejoicings.
Gwen had known that the Royal Geographical Society offered two medals,
one of silver and one of bronze, to the two Senior candidates who gave
the best answers to the geography papers, but in her wildest visions
she had never contemplated winning one of them. To come out first in
all England in geography seemed an honour almost above the flights of
ambition.
"Miss Roscoe will be so rejoiced!" said Winnie. "She always thought
you'd do well, Gwen. Why, you'll be a credit to the school. She'll
boast about this silver medal for evermore. I expect it will go down
in the prospectuses! You'll get coached up for a scholarship next,
you'll see."
"I still can't quite, quite believe it--it's too absolutely,
perfectly, deliriously scrumpshus!" bleated Gwen hysterically.
"Dad's big pocket handkerchief won't be wanted after all to dry your
tears," laughed Lesbia. "Oh, there's Dad coming up the road now--go
and meet him, Gwen, and tell him your own self!"
The next prize-giving at Rodenhurst was a more than usually special
occasion, for not only had four girls matriculated, but five had
passed the Senior Oxford, two of them in the Honours Division. Gwen's
medal was acknowledged the triumph of the school, and both pupils and
mistresses spoke of her as likely to win more laurels in the future.
"She's one of the best workers we have," said Miss Roscoe to the
Mayor, who was acting chairman; "a very clever girl. I believe she has
a career before her."
As Gwen went up to receive her prizes and certificate the girls
clapped and clapped till, not content even with the noise they were
making, they broke into ringing cheers. Half-dizzy with emotion, Gwen
returned to her place--these were the very same schoolfellows who,
only one short year ago, had allowed her to walk down the hall without
a sign of recognition or appreciation. From being the outcast of her
Form she had risen to the height of popularity.
"I always said, childie, that if you only bided your time and worked
your very hardest, the girls would be proud of you in the end!"
declared Father when the celebrations were over and the Gascoynes had
returned to the Parsonage.
"Oh, it was ripping to hear them all clapping and cheering, Gwen! And
after last year, too--it's like a miracle!" exclaimed Lesbia
rapturously.
"Yes, that's just what it is--a miracle," said Gwen, thinking of the
motto that hung on her bedroom wall.
* * * * *
BY ANGELA BRAZIL
"Angela Brazil has proved her undoubted talent for writing a
story of schoolgirls for other schoolgirls to
read."--Bookman.
A Patriotic Schoolgirl.
"A capital story for girls--breezy, healthy, and full of
interest."--Ladies' Field.
For the School Colours.
"Angela Brazil knows what schoolgirls like to read and she
gives it to them."--Scottish Educational Journal.
The Madcap of the School.
"A capital school story, full of incident and fun, and
ending with a mystery."--Spectator.
The Luckiest Girl in the School.
"A thoroughly good girls' school story."--Truth.
The Jolliest Term on Record.
"A capital story for girls."--Record.
The Girls of St. Cyprian's: A Tale of School Life.
"St. Cyprian's is a remarkably real school, and Mildred
Lancaster is a delightful girl."--Saturday Review.
The Youngest Girl in the Fifth: A School Story.
"A very brightly-written story of schoolgirl
character."--Daily Mail.
The New Girl at St. Chad's: A Story of School Life.
"The story is one to attract every lassie of good
taste."--Globe.
For the Sake of the School.
"Schoolgirls will do well to try to secure a copy of this
delightful story, with which they will be
charmed."--Schoolmaster.
The School by the Sea.
"One always looks for works of merit from the pen of Miss
Angela Brazil. This book is no exception."--School Guardian.
The Leader of the Lower School: A Tale of School Life.
"Juniors will sympathize with the Lower School at
Briarcroft, and rejoice when the newcomer wages her
successful battle."--Times.
A Pair of Schoolgirls: A Story of School-days.
"The story is so realistic that it should appeal to all
girls."--Outlook.
A Fourth Form Friendship: A School Story.
"No girl could fail to be interested in this
book."--Educational News.
The Manor House School.
"One of the best stories for girls we have seen for a long
time."--Literary World.
The Nicest Girl in the School.
The Third Class at Miss Kaye's: A School Story.
The Fortunes of Philippa: A School Story.
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Youngest Girl in the Fifth, by Angela Brazil