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A POPULAR SCHOOLGIRL
by
ANGELA BRAZIL
Illustrated by Balliol Salmon
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1920, by
Frederick A. Stokes Company
All Rights Reserved
First published in the United States of America, 1921
[Illustration: UNDER THE LANTERNS _Chapter XX_]
CONTENTS
I. The End of the Holidays
II. Opening Day
III. Wynch-on-the-Wold
IV. Intruder Bess
V. The Fifth-form Fête
VI. The School Parliament
VII. Hockey
VIII. An Unpleasant Experience
IX. A Hostel Frolic
X. The Whispering Stones
XI. On Strike
XII. The Rainbow League
XIII. Quenrede Comes Out
XIV. The Peep-hole
XV. Brotherly Breezes
XVI. An Easter Pilgrimage
XVII. The Rivals
XVIII. Bess at Home
XIX. The Nun's Walk
XX. Under the Lanterns
XXI. The Abbey Recital
Illustrations
Under the Lanterns
"Let's Call ourselves the Foursome League"
A Friend in Need
"You look _nice_--you do, _really_, with your hair down"
"You may think you know everything, Bess Haselford, but you don't know
this!"
A Tall Figure, clothed in some White Garment, was gliding towards them
A POPULAR SCHOOLGIRL
CHAPTER I
The End of the Holidays
"Ingred! Ingred, old girl! I say, Ingred! Wherever have you taken
yourself off to?" shouted a boyish voice, as its owner, jumping an
obstructing gooseberry bush, tore around the corner of the house from
the kitchen garden on to the strip of rough lawn that faced the windows.
"Hullo! Cuckoo! Coo-ee! _In_-gred!"
"I'm here all the time, so you needn't bawl!" came in resigned tones
from under the shade of a large fuchsia. "You're enough to wake the
dead, Chumps! What is it you want now! It's too hot to go a walk till
after tea. I'm trying to get ten minutes peace and quiet!"
Hereward, otherwise "Chumps," put his feet together in the second
position, flung out his arms in what was intended to be a graceful
attitude, and made a mock bow worthy of the cinema stage.
"Have them by all means, Madam!" he replied in mincing accents. "Your
humble servant has no wish to disturb your ladyship's elegant repose. He
offers a thousand apologies for his unceremonious entrance into your
august presence, and implores you to condescend----_Ow! Stop it, you
brute!_"
Hereward's burst of eloquence was brought to an abrupt end by the
violent onslaught of a fox-terrier puppy which flung itself upon him and
began to worry his ankles with delighted yelps of appreciation.
"Stop it! Keep off, I tell you! I _won't_ be chewed to ribbons!" he
protested, dodging the attacks of the playful but all too sharp teeth,
and catching the little dog by the piece of tarred rope that formed its
collar. "Here, you'll get throttled in a minute if you don't mend your
manners."
"Give him to his auntie, bless his heart!" laughed Ingred, extending
welcoming arms to the fat specimen of puppyhood, and rolling him about
on her knee. "Oh, he _did_ make you dance! You looked so funny! There,
precious! Don't chump auntie's fingers. Go bye-byes now. Snuggle down on
auntie's dress, and----"
"If you've _quite_ finished talking idiotic nonsense to that little
beast," interrupted Hereward sarcastically, "you'll perhaps kindly
oblige me by mentioning whether you're coming or not!"
"Not coming anywhere--too hot!" grunted Ingred, resettling her cushion
under the fuchsia bush.
"Right you are! Please yourself and you'll please me! Though I should
have thought the run to Chatcombe----"
Ingred sprang to her feet, dropping the puppy unceremoniously.
"You don't mean to say Egbert's finished mending the motor bike? You
abominable boy! Why couldn't you tell me so before?"
"You never gave me the chance--just said off-hand you wouldn't go
anywhere. Yes, the engine's running like a daisy, and the sidecar's on,
and Egbert's fussing to be off. If you really change your mind and want
to go----"
But by this time Ingred was round the corner of the house; so, shaking a
philosophic head at the ways of girls in general, her brother gathered a
gooseberry or two en route, and followed her in the direction of the
stable-yard.
The Saxons were spending their summer holidays at a farm near the
seaside, and for the first time in four long years the whole family was
reunited. Mr. Saxon, Egbert, and Athelstane had only just been
demobilized, and had hardly yet settled down to civilian life. They had
joined the rest of the party at Lynstones before returning to their
native town of Grovebury. The six weeks by the sea seemed a kind of
oasis between the anxious period of the war that was past and gone, and
the new epoch that stretched ahead in the future. To Ingred they were
halcyon days. To have her father and brothers safely back, and for the
family to be together in the midst of such beautiful scenery, was
sufficient for utter enjoyment. She did not wish her mind to venture
outside the charmed circle of the holidays. Beyond, when she thought
about it all, lay a nebulous prospect, in the center of which school
loomed large.
On this particular hot August afternoon, Ingred welcomed an excursion in
the sidecar. She had not felt inclined to walk down the white path
under the blazing sun to the glaring beach, but it was another matter to
spin along the high road till, as the fairy tales put it, her hair
whistled in the wind. Egbert was anxious to set off, so Hereward took
his place on the luggage-carrier, and, after some back-firing, the three
started forth. It was a glorious run over moorland country, with
glimpses of the sea on the one hand, and craggy tors on the other, and
round them billowy masses of heather, broken here and there by runnels
of peat-stained water. If Egbert exceeded the speed-limit, he certainly
had the excuse of a clear road before him; there were no hedges to hide
advancing cars, neither was there any possibility of whisking round a
corner to find a hay-cart blocking the way. In the course of an hour
they had covered a considerable number of miles, and found themselves
whirling down the tremendous hill that led to the seaside town of
Chatcombe.
Arrived in the main street they left the motorcycle at a garage, and
strolled on to the promenade, joining the crowd of holiday-makers who
were sauntering along in the heat, or sitting on the benches watching
the children digging in the sand below. Much to Ingred's astonishment
she was suddenly hailed by her name, and, turning, found herself greeted
with enthusiasm by a schoolfellow.
"Ingred! What a surprise!"
"Avis! Who'd have thought of seeing you?"
"Are you staying here?"
"No, only over for the afternoon."
"We've rooms at Beach View over there. Come along and have some tea with
us, and your brothers too. Yes, indeed you must! Mother will be
delighted to see you all. I shan't let you say no!"
Borne away by her hospitable friend, Ingred presently found herself
sitting on a seat in the front garden of a tall boarding-house facing
the sea, and while Egbert and Hereward discussed motor-cycling with
Avis's father, the two girls enjoyed a confidential chat together.
"Only a few days now," sighed Avis, "then we've got to leave all this
and go home. How long are you staying at Lynstones, Ingred?"
"A fortnight more, but don't talk of going home. I want the holidays to
last forever!"
"So do I, but they won't. School begins on the twenty-first of
September. It will be rather sport to go to the new buildings at last,
won't it? By the by, now the war's over, and we've all got our own
again, I suppose you're going back to Rotherwood, aren't you?"
"I suppose so, when it's ready."
"But surely the Red Cross cleared out ages ago, and the whole place has
been done up? I saw the paperhangers there in June."
"Oh, yes!" Ingred's voice was a little strained.
"You'll be so glad to be living there again," continued Avis. "I always
envied you that lovely house. You must have hated lending it as a
hospital. I expect when you're back you'll be giving all sorts of
delightful parties, won't you? At least that's what the girls at school
were saying."
"It's rather early to make plans," temporized Ingred.
"Oh, of course! But Jess and Francie said you'd a gorgeous floor for
dancing. I do think a fancy-dress dance is about the best fun on earth.
The next time I get an invitation, I'm going as a Quaker maiden, in a
gray dress and the duckiest little white cap. Don't you think it would
suit me? With your dark hair you ought to be something Eastern. I can
just imagine you acting hostess in a shimmery sort of white-and-gold
costume. _Do_ promise to wear white-and-gold!"
"All right," laughed Ingred.
"It's so delightful that the war's over, and we can begin to have
parties again, like we used to do. Beatrice Jackson told me she should
never forget that Carnival dance she went to at Rotherwood five years
ago, and all the lanterns and fairy lamps. Some of the other girls talk
about it yet. Hullo, that's the gong! Come indoors, and we'll have tea."
Ingred was very quiet as she went back in the sidecar that evening,
though Hereward, sitting on the luggage-carrier, was in high spirits,
and fired off jokes at her the whole time. The fact was she was thinking
deeply. Certain problems, which she had hitherto cast carelessly away,
now obtruded themselves so definitely that they must at last be faced.
The process, albeit necessary, was not altogether a pleasant one.
To understand Ingred's perplexities we must give a brief account of the
fortunes of her family up to the time this story begins. Mr. Saxon was
an architect, who had made a good connection in the town of Grovebury.
Here he had designed and built for himself a very beautiful house, and
had liberally entertained his own and his children's friends. When war
broke out, he had been amongst the first to volunteer for his country's
service, and, as a further act of patriotism, he and his wife had
decided to offer the use of "Rotherwood" for a Red Cross Hospital. The
three boys were then at school, Egbert and Athelstane at Winchester, and
Hereward at a preparatory school; so, storing the furniture, Mrs. Saxon
moved into rooms with Quenrede and Ingred, who were attending the girls'
college in Grovebury as day boarders. For the whole period of the war
this arrangement had continued; Rotherwood was given over to the wounded
soldiers, and Mrs. Saxon herself worked as one of their most devoted
nurses.
In course of time Egbert and Athelstane had also joined the army, and
with three of her menkind at the front, their mother had been more than
ever glad to fill up at the hospital the hours when her girls were
absent from her at school. Then came the Armistice, and the blessed
knowledge that, though not yet home again, the dear ones were no longer
in danger. By April the Red Cross had finished its work in Grovebury;
the remaining patients regretfully departed, the wards were dismantled
of their beds, and Rotherwood was handed back to its rightful owners.
Naturally it needed much renovation and decorating before it was again
fit for a private residence, and paperers and painters had been busy
there for many weeks. They had only just removed the ladders by the
middle of July.
It was nearly August before Mr. Saxon, Egbert, and Athelstane were
finally demobilized, and they had gone straight to Lynstones to join the
rest of the family at the farmhouse rooms. What was to happen after the
delirious joy of the holiday was over, Ingred did not know. She had
several times mentioned to her mother the prospect of their return to
Rotherwood, but Mrs. Saxon had always evaded the subject, saying: "Wait
till Daddy comes back!" and the welcoming of their three heroes had
seemed a matter of such paramount importance that in comparison with it
even the question of their beloved Rotherwood might stand aside.
The Saxons were a particularly united family, tremendously proud of one
another, and interested in each other's doings. Their name bespoke their
old English origin, which (except in the case of Ingred) was further
vouched for by their blue eyes, fair skins, and flaxen hair. Egbert and
Athelstane were strapping young fellows of six feet, and
thirteen-year-old Hereward was taller already than Ingred. Quenrede,
immensely proud of her quaint Saxon name, and not at all pleased that
the family generally shortened it to Queenie, had just left school, and
had turned up her long fair pigtail, put on a grown-up and rather
condescending manner, powdered the tip of her classic little nose, and
was extremely particular about the cut of her skirts and the fit of her
suède shoes. It was a grievance to Quenrede that, as she expressed it,
she had "missed the war." She had longed to go out to France and drive
an ambulance, or to whirl over English roads on a motorcycle, buying up
hay for the Government, or to assist in training horses, or to help in
some other patriotic job of an equally interesting and exciting
character.
"It's _too_ bad that just when I'm old enough all the jolly things are
closed to women!" she groused. "If Mother had only let me leave school a
year ago, I'd at least have had three months' fun. Life's going to be
very slow now. There's nothing sporty to do at all!"
Ingred, the youngest but one, and fifteen on her last birthday, was the
only dark member of the fair Saxon family. At present she was not nearly
so good-looking as pretty Quenrede; her mouth was a trifle heavy and her
cheeks lacked color; but her eyes had depths that were not seen in her
sister's, and her thick brown hair fell far below her waist. She would
gladly have exchanged it for the lint-white locks of Hereward.
"Queenie was always chosen for a fairy at school plays," she grumbled,
"and they never would have me, though her dresses would have come in for
me so beautifully. I don't see why some fairies shouldn't have dark
hair! And it was just as bad when we acted _The Merchant of Venice_.
Miss Carter gave 'Portia' to Francie Hall, and made me take 'Jessica,'
and Francie was a perfect stick, and spoilt the whole thing! Next time,
I declare I'll bargain to wear a golden wig, and see what happens."
Ingred had been educated at Grovebury College since the morning when, a
fat little person of five, she had taken her place in the Kindergarten.
She and Quenrede had always been favorites in the school. In pre-war
days they had been allowed to give delightful parties at Rotherwood to
their form-mates, and though that had not been possible during the last
five years, everybody knew that their beautiful home had been lent to
the Red Cross, and admired their patriotism in thus giving it for the
service of the nation. From Avis's remarks that afternoon it was evident
that the girls at the college expected the Saxons to return immediately
to Rotherwood, and were looking forward to being invited to
entertainments there during the coming autumn and winter. Ingred had
contrived to parry her friend's interested questions, but she felt the
time had come when she must be prepared to give some definite answer to
those who inquired about their future plans. She managed to catch her
mother alone next morning for a quiet chat.
"Mumsie, dear," she began. "I've been wanting to ask you this--are we
going back to Rotherwood after the holidays?"
Mrs. Saxon folded up her sewing, put her thimble and scissors away in
her work-basket, and leaned her elbow on the arm of the garden seat as
if prepared for conversation.
"And I've been wanting to talk to you about this, Ingred. Shall you be
very disappointed when I tell you 'No'?"
"Oh, Muvvie!" Ingred's tone was agonized.
"It can't be helped, little woman! It can't indeed! I think you're old
enough now to understand if I explain. You know this war has hit a great
many people very hard. There has been a sort of general financial
see-saw; some have made large fortunes, but others have lost them. We
come in the latter list. When your father went out to France, he had to
leave his profession to take care of itself, and other architects have
stepped in and gained the commissions that used to come to his office.
It may take him a long while to pull his connection together again, and
the time of waiting will be one of much anxiety for him. Then, most of
our investments, which used to pay such good dividends, are worth hardly
anything now, and only bring us in a pittance compared with former
years. Instead of being rich people, we shall have to be very careful
indeed to make ends meet. To return to Rotherwood is utterly out of the
question, and with the price of everything doubled and trebled, and our
income in the inverse ratio, it is impossible to keep up so big an
establishment nowadays."
"Where are we going to live, then?" asked Ingred in a strangled voice.
"At the bungalow that Daddy built on the moors. Fortunately the tenant
was leaving, and we had not let it to any one else. In present
circumstances it will suit us very well. Athelstane is to be entered in
the medical school at Birkshaw; he can ride over every day on the
motor-bicycle. We had hoped to send him to study in London, but that's
only one of the many plans that have 'gane agley'."
"Are Hereward and I to go in to Grovebury every day?"
"Hereward can manage it all right, but I shall arrange for you to be a
weekly boarder at the new hostel. You can come home from Friday to
Monday. Now, don't cry about it, childie!" as a big tear splashed down
Ingred's dress. "After all, we've much to be thankful for. If we had
lost Father, or Egbert, or Athelstane out in France we might indeed
grieve. So long as we have each other we've got the best thing in life,
and we must all cling together as a family, and help one another on.
Cheer up!"
"It will be simply h--h--h--hateful to go back to school this term, and
not live at R--r--r--rotherwood!" sobbed Ingred.
Her mother patted the dark head that rested against her knee.
"Poor little woman! Remember it's just as hard for all the rest of us.
We've each got a burden to carry at present. Suppose we see who can be
pluckiest over it. We're fighting fortune now, instead of the Hun, and
we must show her a brave face. Won't you march with the family regiment,
and keep the colors flying?"
"I'll try," said Ingred, scrubbing her eyes with her
pocket-handkerchief.