And Flip went to bed that night to dream of soaring through the air on
her skis, watched by admiring throngs of girls; of executing perfect
Christianas and the delicate loops of telemarks; and when she woke up
in the morning her mind was still a happy jumble of snow conditions,
stems, and langlaufs.
Flip had thought as she slipped out the ski room door after breakfast
each morning that the girls would become curious about her hurried
breakfasts and ask what she was doing; but they were used to her
disappearances and absences and were too hungry and sleepy and hurried
in the cold dark of the mornings to pay much attention to anything
besides getting themselves out of their warm beds and then eating as
much hot chocolate and porridge and rolls and jam as possible.
Flip was out practicing intently one Saturday morning when she
noticed someone watching her. She looked up, fearful that she was
being discovered, but it was no one from the school. It was a man with
a dark, wild face, and the look in his eyes frightened her; but he
waved and grinned at her cheerfully and moved away. He wore climbing
boots and carried a stick and he struck off up the mountain, walking
very rapidly. She watched after him until he was lost in the trees,
wondering what a strange man was doing on the grounds of a girls'
school. Then she thought he might be a new gardener or perhaps someone
to help with flooding the hockey field for ice skating, though that was
not to be done till the Christmas holidays.
Oh, well, she thought, there's never anybody around who isn't meant to
be around, so I guess it's all right.
And she kept on working at the skiing until time to get the mail before
Call Over.
Most of the girls were already at the desk in the Hall when she
arrived, flushed from her early morning exercise; and Signorina, who
was on duty, was giving out the mail. Since she had begun noticing
other people besides herself, Flip had learned a lot from the mail.
Hardly a day went by that Jackie did not have a letter from her mother.
Erna always came rushing eagerly to the desk but seldom received
anything. Gloria frequently didn't even bother to come and if she had a
letter someone took it to her. Esmée had already begun to get letters
from boys and read them aloud to anyone who would listen. Solvei's
letters came as regularly as Jackie's, and Sally received hers every
Wednesday and Saturday.
"Philippa Hunter," Signorina called.
Flip took the letter from her father and opened it eagerly.
"My darling baby," he said, beginning the letter as he had not done
in years, "here I am in a hospital in Shanghai, but don't be worried
because it's nothing serious--jaundice--but it's a great nuisance
especially because the doctor says I won't possibly be able to get
to you for your Christmas holidays. Flippet, Flippet, don't be too
terribly disappointed and don't weep that sweet face into a pulp.
Eunice will be delighted to have you for your holidays, and she is
in Nice, and the weather will be wonderful, and I know she'll do
everything she can to make you happy. Your letters have sounded so much
more contented recently and I feel that you are growing up and that you
try to enjoy yourself without your yellow old father. I expect to be in
Germany and Switzerland shortly after New Year and I promise you that
_nothing_ will interfere with our Easter."
Flip's disappointment was so acute and overwhelming that she thought
for a moment she was going to be sick. She turned and ran until she
reached the bathroom and then she shut herself in and leaned against
the door and she felt all hollow inside herself, from the top of her
head down to her toes, and there was no room in this cold vacuum for
tears.
After a few moments she heard a knock. She clenched her fists and held
her breath but whoever it was did not go away, and the knock came
again. If it's Miss Tulip I'll kick her, she thought in fury.