An Upheaval
With a certain amount of help from Miss Joyce Lesbia contrived to make a
really very nice stencil design of water-lilies. It was submitted to
Miss Tatham, who gave her approval and permission for it to be
transferred to the walls of VA. It was a proud occasion for Lesbia when
Tuesday afternoon saw her installed in her own form room with stencil,
paints, and brushes, actually beginning the delightful task of
decoration. The room was vacant only on that one afternoon in the week,
and Miss Tatham would not allow her to stay and work after school hours,
so her plan must proceed piecemeal with about a couple of yards painted
at a stretch. It gave an added interest to spread out the enjoyment from
week to week, though the wall looked horribly unfinished with a
half-completed design. She had been a little doubtful as to how the form
would receive her handiwork, and whether they would consider it an
improvement or an eyesore. Fortunately, they liked it, and told her to
hurry up and get along with it as fast as she could. The girls whose
desks adjoined the finished portion even crowed over those who sat near
bare walls. Miss Pratt--practical, hard-headed, inartistic Miss
Pratt--after carefully ascertaining that the work did not trespass upon
Lesbia's preparation hours, condescended to approve, though she added
grimly that she would like to see an equal amount of care and attention
put into the Latin exercises and the Algebra classes. Every rose has its
thorn, and Miss Pratt's praises were never without a sting.
Meantime the exponents of song-drama had waxed wildly enthusiastic over
the preparation of _The King of Tara_, which they intended to produce
before the school at Christmas. They had already held one or two
practices with the orchestra, and were much thrilled to hear how well
their choruses sounded in conjunction with the instruments.
"We've just been learning the music so far, but we're to begin the
acting next week," purred Marion to Lesbia, "and when we get the dresses
it will be absolutely tip-top. I wish you were in it."
"So do I," said Lesbia half wistfully, "but Miss Tatham won't let us
swop; besides I've got to finish the lotus pattern. It'll take me till
very nearly the end of the term. I have to do it so carefully. If I try
to hurry I don't get the edges neat. It's my nightmare that some day
I'll let the stencil slip and make a smudge on the wall."
"Aren't you getting tired of everlasting waterlilies?"
"No--not the teeniest, weeniest bit!"
Though the girls were perhaps keenest upon what Miss Tatham termed the
"emotional" side of her new department of self-expression, they
nevertheless found something to attract them on the "mental" side. The
Antiquities Section, for which Lesbia had put down her name, held out
fascinating attractions. As a part of its activities the girls were to
form a "Scheduling party" to visit any interesting old buildings in the
city, to write full particulars of them in notebooks, and if possible to
add photographs and drawings. Under the escort of Miss Chatham,
companies of a dozen at a time made expeditions of inspection, and were
as a rule kindly received by curators and caretakers, and were shown
over extra rooms and premises that were not generally open to the
public. The girls scribbled their notes on the spot, then wrote them out
carefully afterwards in exercise books. There was rivalry as to who
should produce the best book. Lesbia made an artistic cover for hers,
out of dull-green paper, with a pen-and-ink drawing of the picturesque
Bolingbroke Arms Inn, and the title "Antiquities of Kingfield" printed
in old English characters. She wrote the text neatly, pasted in photos
which she had taken, and cut out any pictures she could find in the
local papers to supplement them as illustrations. It was whispered in
the school that when the books were finished they were to be shown to
the Kingfield Archaeological Society, who had hinted at giving prizes for
the best efforts.
It was amazing when the girls really began to study their city how much
information came to light. The very names of the streets revealed
ancient history. Long, long ago the ownership of the town had been
divided between the Earl of Dudley and the monks of the Abbey, and lord
and abbot waged continual war over the boundaries of their respective
properties. It was significant to notice in one quarter of the city such
names as Earl Street, Castle Gate, Dudley Gate, Tower Lane, Castle Moat,
Earl's Barn, The Butts, Falcon Mews, and Bull Ring, telling their tale
of mediaeval castle, where archery, hawking, and bull-baiting were
favourite pursuits, and in the other quarter ecclesiastical names,
Abbot's Orchard, Pilgrims' Inn, Greyfriars' Yard, Monks End, Whitefriars
Street, and Priory Gardens, all showing that they had formerly been part
of the church lands. The girls each bought a street map of Kingfield,
and marked with coloured chalks the old boundaries of earl and abbot,
and the course of the city wall, large pieces of which were still left
standing in spite of Oliver Cromwell's cannon. Carrie Turner covered
herself with immortal glory for the ancient wall actually ran through
her father's garden, and she invited the members of her scheduling
section and Miss Chatham not only to come and inspect it, but actually
to have tea upon the top of it. It was nine feet wide, so there was
quite room to accommodate a table and some chairs and stools. The girls,
in a flutter of delight, mounted by a ladder, and sat aloft drinking tea
and eating cakes, with a fine view over neighbouring gables and gardens,
and a romantic feeling that they ought to be garbed in coif and wimple,
and watching the prowess of their knights who fought in tournament in
the lists below.
The antiquarian section really caught "mediaeval fever", and visited the
Free Reference Library to consult books which would tell them the
ancient history of Kingfield. They copied out the most interesting
stories into their notebooks, and anybody who could borrow an
out-of-print guide-book, and collect any fresh legends to add to the
list, scored considerably.
Another valuable and well-nigh inexhaustible source of information was
discovered by the girls in their friends at home. Grandfathers and
grandmothers recalled tales of their childhood, and would relate how, as
youngsters of ten, they had hurried past Greyfriars Gate in the
twilight, because the ghost of a wicked abbot was supposed to haunt the
vicinity, and you might see his grey robes gliding among the shadows
when the sun set. Some of them remembered when Miller's Pond, now quite
a suburban piece of water, was known as Dragon's Pool, and had been a
romantic spot half-smothered in willows, with a legend of a dragon who
lived there and would come to the castle walls to demand victims.
"Legend hunting is almost like treasure seeking," declared Lesbia. "You
never know what you may find."
Lesbia was very happy at school this term, in spite of skirmishes with
Miss Pratt over Latin and Algebra, her two worst subjects. She felt she
was taking an active part in the school life, and contributing her quota
in a very substantial measure to the benefit of VA, whose walls looked
already much improved. The hockey season had begun also, and though she
had not yet won special distinction in the playing-field, she had
occasionally wrung a word or two of encouragement from Rose Stirling,
the Games Captain, sufficient to elate her for the moment, and make her
keener at next practice. She loved those Wednesday afternoons when she
donned her short blue skirt and scarlet blouse and pads, and went with
her team to the big field rented by the school. The autumn nip in the
air made exercise pleasant, and the love of sport, inherent in everyone
of even diluted British blood, brought all her Anglo-Saxon tendencies to
the fore.
As the mediaeval dwellers in Kingfield must have fought in the lists, and
shot arrows at the butts, and wrestled, or cudgelled with quarter-staffs
in the meadows, so their descendants enjoyed themselves in the
playing-fields, demonstrating the modern theory that girls need physical
training as much as boys, and can play a game with equal keenness and
observance of rules.
October, with its whirling leaves and bursts of fitful sunshine, had
worn itself away and given place to November mists. Hallow-e'en had come
and gone, and the half-term holiday was over. Already everybody was
beginning to think about Christmas and to make plans for the term-end
festivities. Lesbia, sitting at the supper table in Denham Terrace, gave
Paul and Minnie a highly-coloured account of the entertainment to which
they would be invited.
"You'll love it. It's to be the best thing we've ever given at Kingfield
High," she concluded.
For a moment there was an embarrassing silence. Minnie was looking at
Paul beseechingly. He cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we'd really better tell her now," he remarked.
"Tell me what?" asked Lesbia.
"Well, the fact of the matter is we shall none of us be here for
Christmas. By the time your song-drama--or whatever you call it--comes
off, we shall all be many thousands of miles away. We're going out to
Canada."
"To Canada!" gasped Lesbia, utterly overwhelmed. "All of us?"
"Yes, the whole family. I've accepted an appointment there, and we start
in a fortnight."
"Isn't it--isn't it very sudden?" faltered Lesbia.
"Paul knew some months ago, dear," said Minnie, "and our passages have
been booked quite a long time."
"And you never told me!" Lesbia's voice was most reproachful.
"We were afraid it would unsettle you at school if you knew you were
leaving. I spoke to Miss Tatham about telling you, and she quite agreed
with us."
"But do you mean I'm to leave Kingfield and the High School and
everything in a fortnight?" asked Lesbia, her eyes suddenly swimming
with tears.
"Come, cheer up!" said Paul. "You'll like Canada well enough when you
get there. Girls have rather a good time I believe."
Later on, when Lesbia was alone with Minnie, she heard fuller
particulars.
"Paul is very glad to get the appointment. It's so difficult to make any
headway in England nowadays. There seems more scope in a new country.
It'll be a good thing for the children too, when they begin to grow up.
England's overcrowded. They'll have better prospects in Canada."
"What's the place like? Are there great forests and lakes and rivers and
Red Indians?" asked Lesbia, calling to mind any stories she had read of
the Dominion.
"No, Belleville's not at all romantic. It's quite a new city, and it's
on the plains, not near any forests or rivers, I believe."
"O-o-h!" (disappointedly). "Are Nurse and Mrs. Carter going with us?"
"Nurse doesn't want to leave England. She's to be married next year. And
Mrs. Carter is too old to emigrate, and has two sons settled in
Kingfield. You and I can look after the children on the voyage, can't
we?"
"I suppose so!" gulped Lesbia.
She was appalled at the whole idea. Emigration to Canada sounded about
as cheerful as banishment to Siberia. To leave Kingfield, with its
quaint buildings and old associations, and the High School where she was
so happy, and to be whisked away over the sea to a bare new city and a
winter of snow and ice--oh, it was horrible! And only a fortnight in
which to get ready. They ought to have told her before. It was too bad
to keep her--a girl of nearly sixteen--in the dark, as if she were one
of the children. Minnie and Paul had had plenty of time to make their
preparations, but for herself everything would be a scurry. She would
not even be able to finish the decoration of VA. She carried the bad
news to school next morning. Marion received it with a perfect outburst
of indignation.
"What an atrocious shame! To think of springing it upon you in this
sudden fashion. Oh, it's too bad to take you away from the High School!
Where are you going to finish your education? Is there a school at this
place you're going to?"
"I don't know."
"You probably won't have time for school when you get there. Servants
are scarce in Canada and you'll have to turn to and help!"
"We're not taking nurse or anyone with us," volunteered Lesbia.
"Then _you'll_ be nursemaid on the voyage?"
"I suppose so."
"I like that!" flamed Marion. "Why can't they leave you behind in
Kingfield, to finish at the High?"
"Oh, I wish they would!"
"I wish they'd leave you with _us_," said Marion impulsively. "Mother'd
adore to have you--she likes you awfully--and as for me I'd dance a
jubilee. I've always wanted a sister, and we get on so well together,
don't we? Oh, it _would_ be sport!"
"It would indeed!" agreed Lesbia wistfully.
She ventured to mention the great idea to Minnie, who laughed, and then
looked suddenly hurt.
"Nonsense, Lesbia child," she said. "We're not going away and leaving
you behind. I'm sure the Morwoods don't want you as a legacy."
"Marion _said_ they did!"
"Girls like Marion talk a great deal of rubbish, so don't listen to
her. I've put a packing-case in your bedroom, and you may fill it with
books and any other things you like to take. It will go in the hold of
the vessel. Your clothes must be packed in the tin box and the cabin
trunk. We'll buy our fur coats when we get over. They'll be cheaper in
Canada than in England."
The Hilton household was naturally deep in preparations for the
forthcoming upheaval. Clothes, books, and a few special treasures were
to go with them, but they were leaving the furniture to be sold, and
would re-furnish when they found a house in Belleville. The children,
who now shared the open secret, ran about in much excitement, anxious to
start at once on what seemed to them a second summer holiday.
"We shall have an awful time looking after these three scaramouches on
board ship," groaned Lesbia, picking Steve out of the packing-case where
he had climbed, and rescuing various fragile articles from Julie's and
Bunty's prying little fingers.
The more she thought of the prospect the more her heart sank. She did
not wish to leave Kingfield at all, but if emigration were a necessity,
she would have preferred some beautiful place such as California, or the
hot springs district of New Zealand, or certain parts of Australia where
the climate was adorable and oranges and peaches hung in your garden.
There were of course many leave-takings before their departure. Lesbia
had to go one afternoon to say good-bye to the Pattersons. They were
distant cousins, and her only relations in Kingfield. They lived at the
opposite side of the city, and she did not see them very often. They had
not been consulted about Lesbia's future, and were ready to find fault
with her stepbrother's arrangement for her.
"Well, Lesbia! This will be a great change for you," began Mrs.
Patterson. "If I'd been asked I should have said 'leave you to finish
off at the High School'. It seems a pity to stop your education just
when you're getting on nicely."
"I wish they would leave me behind," said Lesbia. "I don't want to go at
all."
"We might easily have taken you in," continued Mrs. Patterson. "All
three of the boys are away at present. It would have been far better for
you. But our advice has never been asked. Paul Hilton goes his own way.
Yet really you're more our relation than his. I hope you'll be happy out
in Canada. You must write to us sometimes and tell us how you're getting
on. Your cousin, Mrs. Baynes, will be very surprised to hear the news.
Have you written to tell her? Or to your aunt Mrs. Newton? They really
ought to know. It hardly seems right you should go away in this sudden
fashion and leave all your kith and kin behind you. You must write
to-morrow, Lesbia, and tell them."
Lesbia assented apathetically. She was not very deeply interested in
Mrs. Baynes or Mrs. Newton. She had only met the former twice in her
life, and Mrs. Newton, her mother's aunt, was not a remarkably
attractive old lady. On the few occasions when she saw Lesbia she
invariably said she was just going to send her a present and would buy
her a book, but she never remembered to keep her promise and the parcel
had not yet arrived. Lesbia, who had waited for it since her sixth year,
was of the opinion that it never would come.
With school friends and relations bemoaning her departure it was rather
hard to take a hopeful view of the future. The only person who
encouraged her was Miss Pratt.
"Going to Canada," she commented. "You lucky girl! I wish I could go
myself. It's a splendidly go-ahead country. There's some chance for
people out there."
"That's what Paul and Minnie say," thought Lesbia, "but of course they
have each other and the children. I'm sure Miss Pratt would be welcome
to go in my place. I'd much rather stay in dear old England if I was
asked."