The William Scott Prize
Dorothy, who was little the worse for her dangerous experience, went
home on the morning following the accident, but it was several days
before Alison was able to be removed from the inn. She was not a strong
girl, and the fright and immersion combined had produced a state of
complete exhaustion. The quiet and rest which the doctor prescribed had,
however, their due effect, and by the end of a week she began to seem
her old self again. The surprise of the two girls when later they learnt
the news of their relationship can be imagined. Mrs. Clarke wrote to her
brother-in-law, making a full avowal of everything; and though at first
he found it hard to grant her the forgiveness she implored, his delight
at finding his daughter alive outweighed his anger at the long and cruel
course of deception that had been practised upon him. For the sake of
Alison, to whom he was much attached, he allowed himself to be
reconciled to his sister-in-law, and agreed to forget the past and let
bygones be bygones. Both he and Miss Sherbourne decided emphatically
that Mrs. Clarke's share in the story must be kept a strict secret among
themselves; it was most undesirable that either Dorothy or Alison should
know of the dishonourable part she had played. To both the girls and the
outside public it was enough to announce, without detailed explanations,
that the mystery of Dorothy's parentage had been solved. Martha, the
only other person who had guessed at the facts of the situation, could
be safely trusted to preserve silence.
"I shall not at present claim for my daughter the fortune which is
legally hers," said Mr. Clarke. "I do not need it, for I have been very
successful financially in India, and am now in comfortable circumstances
and able to retire from business. I could not see my brother's child in
poverty, so the trust money must still be devoted to Alison's benefit.
When Rosamond is twenty-one, and of age to decide such matters for
herself, I hope that she will agree to divide the legacy equally with
her cousin, and thus set right what was originally a most unjust will."
To Dorothy the discovery was both a delight and a pain. It removed the
stigma that she considered had formerly attached to her, and placed her
in the position of other girls as regarded name and family; but it had
certain drawbacks which must be faced. Though she welcomed her
newly-found father, she clung passionately to the one friend who had
hitherto made the sum of her life.
"Aunt Barbara has brought me up and done everything for me. I can't
leave her. I've promised to work for her and take care of her when I am
old enough," she said earnestly.
"I know, child. I know what we owe her. You and I will look after Aunt
Barbara together," replied Mr. Clarke.
Dorothy's news made a great sensation at the College. The romantic story
appealed to the girls, and congratulations poured in upon her. Even Hope
Lawson and Valentine Barnett waxed cordial.
"We've never had such an excitement at school before," declared Ruth
Harmon. "It's the most interesting thing I've ever come across in my
life."
"We don't know what to call you now," laughed Mavie Morris. "You're
Dorothy Greenfield, alias Rosamond Clarke. Which is it to be?"
"Dorothy Greenfield, please, till the end of the term. Next session my
new name can be entered on the College register, and I'll start in a
fresh character."
"Then in the meantime we'll call you Rosador, as a compromise."
There was very little of the term left now, for the examinations were to
begin the next week, and after those were over would come the annual
speech day, which always concluded the school year. Dorothy's studies
had naturally been somewhat upset by the recent course of events, but
she had made an extra spurt at her work, and did not feel herself ill
prepared. She rather liked examinations. She had a clear head and a good
memory, and a neat, concise method of setting forth her information.
"I think it's quite inspiring to see a pile of fresh sheets of foolscap
and a paper of questions," she declared.
"Yes, if you can answer the questions," returned Mavie. "It's a
different matter if one's stumped. I'm utterly against the competitive
system."
Dorothy laughed.
"State your reasons, Mavie," urged Ruth Harmon. "We'll set 'The
Competitive System' as a subject for the Debating Society."
"Well, to begin with, emulation is the wrong spirit in which to promote
work."
"A grand sentiment--but nothing would promote work in you, you dear old
lazybones, so it's no use arguing the point."
"Very well. If I'm content to absorb my knowledge in homeopathic doses,
why must I be worried into swallowing more than I can digest? If I were
running a school I'd allow the clever girls who wanted to go in for
exams, to take them, and let the others alone. I call it sheer cruelty
to put the ordinary rank and file on the rack. Next week will be
purgatory to me. You'll see me pining day by day, and gradually wasting
away."
In spite of Mavie's forebodings, she survived the ordeal of the
examination, and presented her usual appearance of robust health at the
end of the dreaded period.
"I've done badly, though," she protested. "I expect I've failed in at
least half my subjects. The maths. was detestable and the geometry
simply wicked. Rosador, you're looking very smug. I believe you liked
the papers."
"They weren't bad, as papers go," returned Dorothy. She did not care to
boast, but she was conscious that she had done well, and reached a mark
far above her average standard.
"Still, one never knows," she thought. "Exams. are uncertain things, and
heaps of other girls may have done better than I have. I just won't
think about the results."
Governors' Day, as it was popularly called, was always rather a grand
occasion at Avondale. The school was a famous one in the town, and
numbered among its pupils many who came from the best families in
Coleminster. The governors liked to assure the parents that the College
was keeping up its well-earned reputation for efficiency, and to give
some opportunity for a general exhibition of the work done during the
year. With this end in view, the programme was representative of all
branches of the curriculum. A show of drawings, paintings, and
handicrafts done by the art classes was on view in the studio; the
collections of pressed flowers and natural objects made in connection
with the Nature Study Union were put up round the walls of the museum;
and the Charity Basket garments contributed by the Ambulance Guild were
spread out in the Juniors' Common Room. There were to be recitations in
French and German, songs and instrumental music, speeches by the
governors, and the head mistress's report on the examination results and
the general progress of the whole school.
"I like the dear old Coll. when it's turned upside down like this," said
Ruth Harmon, who, with Dorothy, had been told off as a steward for the
occasion. "What a fearful cram! The people are simply pouring in. I
don't know how we're to find seats for everybody."
"It is amazing how many the room will hold," said Dorothy. "They're
bringing in more chairs, and people will have to sit very close together
on the benches."
Dorothy was looking charming that afternoon, with an unwonted colour in
her cheeks, and her fluffy brown hair tied back with a blue ribbon that
matched the tasteful dress her father had provided for her. All the old
angularity had slipped away from her lately, and a new graciousness and
sweetness had taken its place.
"Dorothy Greenfield is like a hard, tight bud that has suddenly opened
into a flower," commented Miss Carter, who was quick to notice the
improvement.
The lecture hall was filling rapidly with guests, and the stewards had
to be indefatigable in their exertions.
"I want to be here, there, and everywhere at once," said Ruth. "I wish I
were a conjurer, and could contrive two chairs out of one. Someone is
smiling at you near the door, Dorothy."
It was Percy Helm, who, with his father and mother and Eric, was making
his way through the crush. Dorothy went to meet them and find them
places.
"Gabrielle is on the platform with the chorus, and Norma is among her
own Form," she whispered.
"And where are you going to sit?" asked Percy.
"Oh, I'm a wandering Jew at present. I shall slip in somewhere at the
last."
Promptly at three o'clock the proceedings began, and Dorothy, her duties
over for the present, found a corner that had been reserved for her on
the platform. From her seat she had a very good view of the hall. How
pretty it looked, she thought, with its decorations of flags and
flowers, and its throng of interested faces! In the fifth row, not very
far away, she could see her father with Mrs. Clarke, and dear Aunt
Barbara. Dr. and Mrs. Longton were also present, and the Vicar of
Hurford and his wife. The Helms were beaming at her from the back row.
"All my best friends are here to-day," said Dorothy to herself.
The first part of the programme was musical; glees were sung by picked
members of the singing classes, and a few solos, both vocal and
instrumental, were given. Alison, who had been taking violin lessons,
played in a quartette and acquitted herself very creditably, in spite of
a sudden panic of bashfulness. She came and sat beside Dorothy as soon
as her part was finished.
"I'm so thankful it's over," she whispered. "I do so hate doing anything
in public. I could see Mother looking at me all the time; I believe she
was as nervous as myself. My hand shook so dreadfully at first, I could
hardly hold my bow."
"Never mind, it sounded quite right," replied Dorothy. "Everybody
applauded, especially Father."
"Yes, I saw Uncle David clapping hard. When are the exam. lists to be
read? Have you heard?"
"Not until after the interval, so Miss Pitman says. They're to come with
the speeches."
The recitations passed off well, Grace Russell, the only member of the
Upper Fourth who took part in them, distinguishing herself particularly.
"Grace is A1 at languages," commented Alison. "She gets that tripping
French accent most beautifully."
At four o'clock there was an interval, and the audience adjourned for
tea and to see the exhibits. Alison's collection of pressed flowers was
among those on view in the museum, and she bore off her particular
circle of friends to look at it.
"It's got 'Highly Commended'," she remarked gleefully. "Uncle David,
that's the very piece of rock rose you climbed up the cliff to pick for
me--don't you remember it? Miss Sherbourne, you sent me that catchfly
from Hurford. I got most of my flowers at Latchworth, and just a few
from Beechfield. Do you recognize this? It's the water plantain. The
innkeeper at Longacre brought me a big bunch of it just before I left.
Wasn't it kind of him? I keep it as a specimen, and as a memento of my
dipping as well."
Alison spoke brightly. She had not been told how serious her collapse
had been after her rescue from the river; and she little knew what an
important share the water plantain had played in bringing about the
happy reunion between her uncle and cousin.
"Dorothy has 'Commended' for her drawing from the cast," she continued,
dragging Uncle David to the other side of the room. "Isn't it good? It's
the head of Clytie up there, so you can see how like it is. And we've
both got 'Neatly Rendered' for our Guild garments. Yes, yes, Uncle; you
must come and see them, even if you don't know anything about sewing.
Mine's the flannel jacket, and Dorothy's is the child's nightdress. We
did every stitch of them ourselves."
"Did you bake the cake that has just disagreed with me at tea?" enquired
Mr. Clarke, with a twinkle in his eye.
"No, you naughty man! We don't have cookery classes. When we do, I'll
take care to bring something home, and insist upon your eating it, every
crumb. Now, we've shown you all our exhibits, and we must go downstairs
again and take our places. The speechifying is going to begin directly."
The second part of the programme represented the real business of the
afternoon. Alderman Herbert, the chairman of the committee of the
College, gave an opening address upon the general aims and objects of
the system of education pursued at the school; and this was followed by
Miss Tempest's report on the work done during the year. Then came the
examination lists. Dorothy listened eagerly. She had done well,
certainly; but until the final scores were read, it was impossible to
compare her results with those of the top girls in other Forms. She was
the best in the Upper Fourth, but probably one of the divisions of the
Sixth might be able to produce an even higher record.
At the end of the lists Miss Tempest paused.
"Before continuing," she said, "I should like to give a word of
explanation as to the terms upon which the William Scott Memorial is
awarded. It is a prize which was bequeathed by the founder of the
College to be given annually to whichever girl has gained the highest
percentage of marks in the examinations. This year the honour falls to
the Upper Fourth Form, where Dorothy Greenfield has gained 987 out of a
possible 1000."
Dorothy listened like one in a dream. She could scarcely believe the
evidence of her own ears. But it was true, for Alison was nudging her,
and the other girls were whispering to her to "go forward". Very shyly
she rose and walked to the front of the platform, where Alderman Herbert
was beckoning her.
"I think we may all congratulate the lucky winner of the William Scott
Memorial," he said, laying a kindly hand on Dorothy's shoulder. "Such
success can only be the result of hard work and sustained effort. The
Upper Fourth may well be proud of its record. I have much pleasure, my
dear, in presenting you with this watch, which has been chosen for the
prize."
As he spoke, he handed Dorothy a morocco case, and taking the beautiful
little blue-enamelled watch from its satin bed, he pinned it on to her
dress. The audience broke into a storm of applause. Dorothy had grown
popular lately among the girls, and many of their parents had heard of
the strange circumstances of her loss and finding. She received quite an
ovation as she stood, smiling and blushing, by the side of the chairman.
"I'm so delighted," exclaimed Alison, as Dorothy returned to her place.
"Let me look. Oh, what a ducky little watch! It's the prettiest I've
ever seen. But it isn't _that_ I care about so much--it's the honour of
winning. To think that our Form has got the Memorial! You dear, clever,
industrious busy bee! I can't tell you how proud I am you're my
relation."
"I'm glad my last appearance as Dorothy Greenfield has been a favourable
one," laughed Dorothy. "Next term I shall be on the school register as
Rosamond Clarke."
* * * * *
And here we must take leave of the cousins, for their story is all
told. Mr. Clarke has bought a charming house at Latchworth, and is very
busy furnishing it so that it may be ready for a certain occasion to
which he is looking forward greatly. He is tired of Indian life, and has
decided to settle down permanently in England. Dorothy is keenly
interested in her new home, and especially pleased that it is so near to
Lindenlea, and that she and Alison can still travel by train together to
the College. As for Aunt Barbara, before the summer is over Dorothy will
have learnt to call her by a dearer name still, and Holly Cottage will
be to let.
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation has been standardised. Changes have been made as follows:
Page 166
he had the good manners to conceal her _changed to_
she had the good manners to conceal her
Page 19
emissaries of Doris Earnshaw and Noelle Kennedy _changed to_
emissaries of Doris Earnshaw and Noelle Kennedy