Water Plantain
Dorothy returned to Avondale resolved to work doubly hard. There was
certainly plenty to be done if she did not wish to fall behind in her
Form. She had missed many of the lessons, and to recover the ground that
she had lost meant studying the textbooks by herself, and trying to
assimilate endless pages of arrears.
"Yet I must," she thought. "If I leave out the least scrap, that's sure
to be the very piece I shall get in the exam. I'm going over every
single line--though it's cruel translating Virgil and learning Racine in
such big doses. Never mind, Dorothy Greenfield, you've got to do it. I
shan't let you off, however much you hate it."
Faithful to her determination, Dorothy set the alarum in her bedroom for
a quarter to six, and had nearly an hour and a half's study each morning
before Martha called her at 7.15. It was very tempting sometimes to turn
over and go to sleep again; but she soon began to grow quite used to her
early rising, and it seemed almost a shame to stay in bed when the sun
was up, and the thrush was singing cheerily in the elder bush outside.
[Illustration: A NURSING EXPERIENCE]
The aim that Dorothy had in view was so ambitious that she hardly dared
confess it even to herself. Every year a prize was given at Avondale
called the William Scott Memorial. It was thus named after the founder
of the College, who had left a sum of money in his will for the purpose.
It was awarded annually to the girl in any form who obtained the highest
percentage of marks in the examinations. Though it was generally gained
by members of the Sixth, it did not of necessity fall to them; every
girl had an equal opportunity, for it went entirely by their relative
scores, the object being to distinguish the pupil who had worked the
best, irrespective of age.
"I believe it fell once to the Second; but the Sixth have had it for
four years now," thought Dorothy. "Time for a new departure. I don't
suppose I've the slightest ghost of a chance, but it's worth trying. I
shan't mention my hopes to anybody, though--not even to Aunt
Barbara--they're so remote."
Her increased efforts could not fail to win notice, however, at the
College.
"Dorothy Greenfield, you're just swatting!" said Mavie Morris one day.
"I don't believe you'd a fault in your last German exercise, and you
recited all that Virgil without one single slip. What's come over you?"
"Nothing," replied Dorothy, turning a little red. "You talk as if I'd
been committing a crime."
"So you have. You're raising the general average of the standard, and
that's not fair to the rest of the Form. When Pittie sees you with three
'excellents' to your name, she thinks I ought to do the same."
"Why can't you?"
"Why? You ask me why? Do you think I'm going to muddle my brains more
than I can help, just in the middle of the tennis season? You little
know Mavie Morris. No, Dorothy, I've a distinct grievance against you.
There you are now--actually surreptitiously squinting at a book while
I'm talking to you!"
"It's not a lesson book, at any rate; it's from the library," retorted
Dorothy.
"Let me look at it. You humbug, it's a Manual of Botany! I call that
lessons, in all conscience."
"Well, it has jolly coloured illustrations," said Dorothy, trying to
plead extenuating circumstances. "I want to hunt out the names of some
specimens I've found. We have heaps of wild flowers growing in the lanes
at Hurford."
"Whitewashed, but not exonerated! Your manual smacks too much of school
for my taste. Why don't you take a leaf from me and practise tennis?"
"No luck for such a bad server as I am."
"Well, I didn't say you'd win the championship. I've no chance myself
against Val and Margaret. Here's Alison; she'll reason with you. She
isn't on the rising balance of the Form any more than I am myself.
Alison, tell Dorothy to quit this everlasting studying. Don't you agree
with me that it makes it far harder for us slackers?"
Alison laughed good-naturedly. She never troubled much about her own
lessons, for her mother was generally so anxious regarding her health,
and so afraid of her overworking herself, that an hour's preparation
sufficed for her home work--and, indeed, if she took more, Mrs. Clarke
would threaten to complain to Miss Tempest.
"Yes, Dorothy's turning into quite an old bookworm," she replied. "She
even insisted on looking over her Latin in the train this morning. I
can't stand that, because I always like to talk. I don't get too much of
Dorothy's company."
It was still a grievance to Alison that her mother would not sanction
any closer intimacy with her friend. She had hoped, after the visit to
Ringborough, that matters would be on a different footing, and that she
would be allowed to introduce Dorothy at home and invite her frequently.
She could not understand why, for no apparently adequate reason, she
must be debarred from her society. The fact that she was discouraged
from being on too familiar terms had the effect of making her even more
enthusiastic in her affection. There was a strong vein of obstinacy in
her disposition, and if she once took up an idea she was apt to keep to
it.
"Uncle David likes Dorothy," she argued. "He told Mother not to be
ridiculous. I heard him say so. Perhaps in time I shall get my own way."
Mrs. Clarke, anxious not to thwart her darling more than was necessary,
had many times proposed that some other classmate from Avondale should
be asked to Lindenlea. But Alison had flatly refused.
"I can't possibly have Grace Russell or Ruth Harmon without inviting
Dorothy. She'd think it most peculiar and unkind. No, Mother dearest, if
I mayn't have her I'd rather not ask anybody at all."
"But you ought to have young companions, Birdie," protested Mrs. Clarke
fretfully. "Your uncle was speaking to me on that very subject before he
went to Scotland; and he is your guardian, so he is partly responsible
for you. I believe I shall have to send you to a boarding school after
all."
"No, no; I should be miserable, and so would you without me. I'd hate to
leave the Coll. Don't worry, Motherkins, Uncle David shan't lecture you.
Naughty fellow! I won't be friends with him if he hints at boarding
school again."
"I shall certainly talk it over with him when he returns from Lochaber,"
said Mrs. Clarke.
"When is he coming back? Is he really going to take a house near here,
Mother?"
"I don't know. He may possibly settle in the South, in which case I
should certainly decide to remove, and to go and live near him."
"Oh, please no! I don't want to leave Latchworth or the Coll.,"
protested Alison.
Alison was indeed absolutely happy at Avondale. For a day school the
arrangements were perfect, and there were many features of the course
there which suited her tastes. She liked the Ambulance Guild and the
Tennis Club, and both the gymnasium and the laboratory were large and
specially well equipped, far more so than in most boarding schools. This
term, also, Miss Carter, the science mistress, had begun a very
interesting series of Nature Study lessons, which included birds and
insects, and made a special point of botany; and Alison, who adored
flowers, threw herself into it heart and soul. It was the one subject
over which she really gave herself much trouble. She collected specimens
and pressed them, identified them from the big volumes of "Sowerby" in
the library at Lindenlea, mounted them on sheets of cardboard, and
printed their names neatly underneath.
"I shall have something to send to the Arts and Crafts Exhibition," she
said, "though I'm no good at anything else."
"No good! Fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Dorothy.
"True, my dear! Have you ever seen me top at an exam., or even second?
Why, I only get 'excellent' once in a blue moon, and then I'm so
astonished, I think it must be a mistake! I'm not picked out to play at
school concerts, or recite, or act, or show off in any way. Oh, don't
think I'm complaining! I don't crave for notoriety. There's nothing I
detest worse than having to perform in public. But pressed flowers are
different. I can do them in private at home, and let them be seen
without exhibiting myself. I wish I could find a few more specimens. I
believe I've picked everything that's to be had at Latchworth."
"Miss Carter promised she'd take us a botanizing ramble some afternoon,"
said Dorothy.
"So she did. We must keep her to her word. Let us try to catch her now
in the corridor, and see if we can get her to name a definite day. Ask
Mavie and Grace to come too. They're the keenest next to us."
The little group of enthusiasts waylaid the mistress as she came out of
the library, and, reminding her of the projected expedition, nailed her
to the point.
"Very well, we will decide on next Saturday afternoon, provided, of
course, that it's a fine day," replied Miss Carter.
"And the place?" asked Alison.
"I think we can't do better than Beechfield. We could walk along the
embankment to Longacre, and take the train back from there. We ought to
find plenty of flowers on the way."
"And we might stop and have tea somewhere," suggested Alison, who was
determined to make an outing of it.
"Yes, so we might. There's an inn by the river about half-way to
Longacre, and several cottages that cater for visitors."
"We can start quite early, I suppose?"
"I'll look up the railway guide, and pin a programme on the notice board
to-morrow."
"There, you see!" said Alison, as the deputation returned in triumph,
"there's nothing like sticking to a thing. I believe in people keeping
promises when they make them."
"We shall have a ripping afternoon. Miss Carter is ever so jolly."
"And I expect she'll be jollier still when she's 'off duty'."
Notwithstanding the tempting nature of the programme, only ten put down
their names for the botanizing expedition. In summer there were many
diversions for Saturday's holiday--the tennis season was in full swing,
and the girls had attractions at their own homes that outweighed a
country ramble.
"It's far nicer without too many," declared Alison. "I've been school
excursions before, at Leamstead, and it's generally so hard to get
everybody to come along. Half the party is always lagging behind, and
then a dozen come running up and want all the explanations over again,
just when the mistress has finished describing something. You waste an
immense amount of time in collecting people. I mean to stick to Miss
Carter like glue the whole afternoon."
"Absorbing information like a piece of blotting-paper!" laughed Mavie.
"Quite a new character for you, Alison Clarke."
"Don't mock. You're as keen on going as I am myself."
The ten Nature students met Miss Carter at Coleminster station at
half-past two on the Saturday, and started off for Beechfield, which was
on a different line from Hurford and Latchworth. Neither Dorothy nor
Alison knew the place, so to them at least it had the charm of novelty.
"I've often walked over the fields to Longacre," said Grace Russell,
"but I don't mind going again. It will seem fresh if we're looking for
flowers. I like an object when I'm out."
"And I like the fun of being out, object or no object," said Mavie. "I
honestly confess I'm looking forward to tea-time."
"You shameless materialist!" said Miss Carter. "You shan't have a single
cup unless you can name a dozen flowers. I shall put you through an
examination first."
"I'll be attentive--with tea as my goal."
There was no doubt about it--Miss Carter was jolly. She talked and joked
as merrily as the girls themselves, climbed stiles with agility, and,
much to her pupils' amusement, exhibited an abject terror of cows.
"It was born in me, and I can't conquer it," she declared. "I suppose
it's partly because I'm town-bred. The very sight of their horns puts me
in a panic."
"I'll walk along first and shoo them away with my umbrella," said
Dorothy, laughing.
"What heroism! I really envy your courage. To me the pleasures of botany
are sadly spoilt by cows; there is invariably one in the meadow where I
want to pick my best specimens."
In spite of her real or pretended fears, Miss Carter ventured to take
the path which led over the fields to Longacre. It was a pretty walk,
partly through a park shaded with beautiful trees, and partly along an
embankment which formed the remains of an ancient fortification against
the Danes. The hay was still uncut, so the fields were full of flowers,
and without unduly trespassing into the long grass the girls were able
to pick many specimens. Alison kept to her intention of sticking to Miss
Carter, and scarcely left her side; she enjoyed the explanations, and
passed them on to Mavie, who was collecting her dozen plants with
ostentatious zeal. Dorothy was told off as policeman to bring up
stragglers.
"We shall never get there at all if you can't keep together and come
along," said Miss Carter. "I can see a little peep of the river, and one
chimney of the inn over there in the distance. Don't you feel inclined
for tea?"
"Rather!" agreed the girls, making a spurt.
The inn was one of those small, wayside places common in rural
districts. It catered for anglers and tourists, and had a pretty,
flowery garden, set with wooden benches and tables ready for picnic
parties. It was a suitable spot for a halt; everyone felt warm with the
walk, and disposed to welcome the sight of cups and saucers.
"How sweet it is here!" said Alison to Dorothy. "Something smells
perfectly delicious--I don't know what."
"I think it must be honeysuckle down by the river."
"Then let us go and see. It's rather early for honeysuckle; I haven't
found any out yet. It might perhaps be a sweetbrier. Tea isn't quite
ready, so we shall have plenty of time."
The two girls strolled out of the garden and down a short lane that led
to the river. It was beautiful there--the grassy banks were white with
tall, lacy, umbelliferous plants, and groups of willows drooped their
picturesque, shimmering boughs over the water.
"Look at the old weir," said Alison. "I believe there used to be a mill
here once, only it isn't working now. Dorothy, what's that growing in
the river? Isn't it water plantain?"
"It looks uncommonly like it."
"I must have a piece--I positively must! How can we get some? Do you
think we could walk along the edge of the weir and reach it? It's only a
few yards off."
"I dare say we might, if we could hold on to those willows."
"Let us try. Give me your hand."
"It's rather slippery," said Dorothy, as she essayed to follow.
Catching on to the branches of a willow, the two girls stepped
cautiously along the uncovered stones at the edge of the weir towards
the spot where the water plantain was growing so temptingly.
"There's a splendid piece almost within reach," said Alison. "Stick
tight to my hand, Dorothy, and I'll bend over. I'm within an inch of
it."
"Be careful!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Don't pull!"
But her warning came too late. Alison, in her effort to grasp the
plantain, put her weight on her friend, and to support the strain
Dorothy leaned backwards. Alison, snatching a piece of the flower,
suddenly released the tension; the pair swayed for an instant,
overbalanced, and then slipped, shrieking, down the sloping side of the
weir.