PREPARING FOR THE DISPLAY
Dr. Hurst did not call again at the little house in the garden, and
the triumvirate came out of quarantine in due course, very little subdued
by their eight days' imprisonment, and more on the alert than ever for
any piece of excitement that might come their way. The junior playroom,
having passed an exceedingly dull and uneventful week during their
absence, welcomed their return with joy; and it was perhaps fortunate
for the internal affairs of Wootton Beeches that there was going to be
a gymnastic display to absorb the energies of its wilder spirits. As the
days rolled on and the end of the term drew nearer and nearer, the
conversation on both sides of the curtain became almost entirely limited
to the one topic of the Canon's prize; and those who were not among the
chosen competitors for it spent the best part of their time in watching
the others practise in the big gymnasium, and in disputing hotly the
various chances of the claimants. Miss Finlayson had settled that the
six morocco-bound volumes offered by her uncle should be divided into
two prizes, one for the senior and one for the junior division of the
school; and while it was generally agreed that Margaret Hulme would carry
off the first, the discussion in the junior playroom as to the winner of
the second was endless. Most of the girls were agreed that Charlotte
Bigley and the three members of the triumvirate shared equal chances, on
the whole, of being successful; and a great deal would depend, it was
said, on the exercises chosen for competition. For, until a week before
the great day, nobody knew what the exact programme was to be. 'It's
one of Finny's dodges,' Charlotte Bigley declared, 'because she wants
us to be good all round, and not to grind at one or two things just for
the sake of the prize. It's like the prize-giving in the Christmas
term; we never know what the prizes are going to be for, till after the
exams. are over.'
So the excitement was great when Miss Burleigh walked into the gymnasium
on the Saturday before the display, and called for silence so that she
might read out the order of the competition. Even the younger children
forced themselves into a kind of uneasy order, as Hurly-Burly unfolded
her sheet of foolscap paper; for the next few minutes would practically
decide, they thought, who was to be the lucky one among the juniors.
'First of all,' announced the games-mistress, 'the whole gymnastic class
will open the display by an exhibition of step-marching.' This was
received with average interest, for it sounded like one of the ordinary
gymnastic lessons, and had nothing to do with the competition. Miss
Burleigh waited for the murmur of comments to subside, and went on.
'Then the thirty-two girls chosen to compete for the prize will separate
into two divisions; and the senior division, led by Margaret Hulme, will
perform the following exercises:--'
Miss Burleigh paused again, but there were no comments this time.
'First, wand exercises by the whole senior division; then a display on the
horizontal bar, to be followed by one on the vaulting-horse,--competitors
to choose between the bar and the horse,--and the whole to conclude
with high jump. After tea, I will show you the exercises chosen for
competition, and will help you to divide yourselves into sections.'
The buzz of remarks from the senior division lasted almost long enough
to shake the loyalty of the younger children to the head girl; and they
cast many reproachful glances towards the further end of the gymnasium,
where Margaret formed the centre of an eager, chattering group. Then
Hurly-Burly took pity on them and called for silence again, and the
juniors had their chance at last.
'The junior division, led by Charlotte Bigley, will go through the
following exercises:--' began Miss Burleigh. She did not mean to pause
here, but a storm of remonstrance from the junior division drowned her
next words.
'Did you _ever_!' cried the shrill voice of Angela Wilkins, who, with Jean
and Barbara, sat perched on the top of the vaulting-horse.
'Why doesn't Jean lead?' added Babs, indignantly.
'I say, please don't! I'm not nearly so good as you are,' contradicted
Jean, in a faint tone that lacked conviction.
'Can't you be quiet, you three?' grumbled Mary Wells, who had a prejudice
against the triumvirate, founded on many injuries. 'As if anybody could
lead better than Charlotte! The impudence of _some_ kids----'
'Hush-sh!' interposed the audience generally, and Miss Burleigh struggled
on.
'First, Indian clubs for the whole section. After that----'
'Jean--for certain!' interrupted Barbara, nodding. 'She bangs every one
at clubs!'
'There you go again!' said the injured voice of Mary Wells. 'Everybody
knows that Charlotte----'
'Oh, stop it!' said Charlotte herself; and temporary peace was restored.
'After that,' continued Hurly-Burly, rapidly, 'a display on the horizontal
ladder, to be followed by one on the rings. Competitors to choose
between----'
'I bag rings!' screamed Angela, at the top of her voice.
'No, you don't!' said Mary Wells, in her stolid, aggravating way. 'You've
just got to wait till it's settled for you, so there! We all know why
you're so anxious not to do the ladder; why, you can't even manage a
simple travel----'
'How can you, Mary Wells?' asked Angela, solemnly. 'You know I can bear
anything but an untruth; and to say that _I_----'
'Sh-sh!' said Miss Burleigh, vigorously, and she was again allowed a
few seconds of silence. 'The junior division will then conclude with
rope-climbing.'
Hardly were the words out of her mouth than her listeners fell to
disputing again.
'Rope-climbing--Barbara!' asserted Jean.
'What are you talking about?' cried Mary, with contempt. 'Barbara is
simply not _in_ it with Charlotte; and what's more, you know she isn't,
Jean Murray.'
'Oh, the wicked stories some people can tell,' sighed Angela. 'Have you
seen Barbara Berkeley swarm up the----'
'Please, please don't,' implored Babs. 'Can't you see that Hurly-Burly
wants to say something else?'
Being the champion in question, she could not very well side with Jean,
as she usually did. Her appeal had some effect on the disputants, and
Miss Burleigh, remembering it was a half-holiday, shrugged her shoulders
good-naturedly and took advantage of the pause to proceed.
'The display will take place at five o'clock on Thursday,' she proclaimed;
'supper will be at seven, and after supper, the Canon, who is coming
from the North on purpose, will give away the prizes to the two
successful competitors----'
'That's Margaret and Charlotte Bigley,' interrupted Mary, noisily; and
Hurly-Burly gave it up and fled, with her hands over her ears, just
as Angela, with a yell of defiance, lost her balance and plunged down
head-first from her perch on the vaulting-horse.
'No, no! Margaret and Jean!' she gasped out breathlessly, as she scrambled
up again from the floor and brushed the dust from her hands and knees.
Jean sprang to her feet on the top of the vaulting-horse, and danced up
and down in her excitement.
'Margaret and the Babe!' she shrieked, waving her arms wildly round her
head.
But Barbara had slipped down after Angela, though not quite so
precipitately, and had retired from the contest to a particular corner
of the gymnasium, where the hot-water pipes projected sufficiently to
form what might with imagination be considered a seat. It required
some ingenuity, perhaps, to preserve any sort of balance on the edge of
a row of hot-water pipes; but that was nothing to a small person who
could never sit down tamely on a chair like other people, but always
preferred the slanting surface of a desk, or something equally
unaccommodating. So Babs felt the hot-water pipes with her grubby
little hands, to make sure they were just the right heat to be sat
upon, and then squeezed herself on to them contentedly, curled her legs
away underneath, and in a few seconds was supremely unconscious of what
was going on at the other end of the gymnasium. Jean Murray might yell
herself hoarse in her defence, for all she knew or cared; for at that
moment her mind was occupied with a far more important question.
It was Angela who first grew tired of waging war with Mary Wells without
the valuable support of Barbara Berkeley. Angela could shriek with the
shrillest, when once some one had told her what to shriek; but there
was a solid calmness about Mary that carried more conviction with it,
and Barbara's wit was the only thing to make any impression upon that.
Besides, if Angela shrieked 'Margaret and Jean,' and Jean shrieked
'Margaret and the Babe,' who was there left but the Babe to shriek
for Angela herself? So in a very short time Angela Wilkins also left
the contest, and found her way to the place where the hot-water pipes
projected into a perch for the youngest girl in the school.
'Hullo, Babe! What's up?' she inquired.
Barbara looked at her vaguely. Some one in a scarlet gymnasium frock
certainly stood in front of her, but it had nothing whatever to do with
what she was worrying over in her mind; so, at first, she did not take
any notice.
'Aren't you coming to practise rings?' pursued Angela, who had seen
Barbara look like this before, and knew from experience that in time
the child would rouse herself sufficiently to answer her.
'Rings?' repeated Babs, vacantly.
'Oh, come on!' said Angela, impatiently. 'How you do moon about the place,
to be sure! Don't you want to win the Canon's prize?'
Barbara's expression changed swiftly, and she frowned. 'Get away,' she
growled, with unusual fierceness; and Angela stared and withdrew.
'Barbara Berkeley is in an awful fury,' she announced, when she got back
to Jean.
'What about?' asked Jean.
'Oh, not _about_ anything,' answered Angela, shrugging her shoulders.
'When the Babe is in a fury, it's never _about_ anything, is it? It's
inside her, or something,' she added, seeking in her mind for some
explanation of the strange moods that made Barbara Berkeley a puzzle
to every one.
'Inside her!' echoed Mary Wells, scornfully. 'What you two can see in that
child I never can make out. Fancy making friends with any one who loses
her temper _inside_!'
'Well, it's better than losing it _outside_ and upsetting everybody by
howling like a baby, because you can't find your pencil-box, isn't it,
stupid?' cried Jean.
Mary blushed painfully at the personal reference, and hastily changed
the conversation. 'Barbara Berkeley is a spoilt little kid,' she retorted.
'She's the most sullen, ill-tempered, obstinate little----' The words
stayed at the tip of her tongue, for the unconscious subject of them had
suddenly joined the group round Mary, and was staring at her in her most
solemn and disconcerting manner.
Mary Wells felt foolish. There was something about the youngest girl
in the school, when she looked like that, that would make any one feel
foolish. But Babs had evidently not heard a word she had been saying.
'Come on,' she said, hooking her arm into Jean's; 'I want to ask you
something.'
The two wandered away together down the long gymnasium.
'Look here,' began Barbara, impetuously, as soon as they were out of
hearing of the others. 'Are you keen on winning that prize?'
Jean drew a long breath. She wanted to take that prize back with her to
the little home in Edinburgh, where she had been adored and spoiled for
twelve whole years, more than she had ever wanted anything in the world;
and she did not know how to answer Barbara's unexpected question.
'Why?' she asked, at length.
Barbara took hold of a rope and waved it backwards and forwards to
give herself courage. 'Because,' she blurted out, 'I want to get it
too,--_awfully_, and so does Angela, and--and we can't all get it, can we?'
'No,' said Jean, looking at her curiously. She had thought she really was
beginning to understand the Babe; and here she was, showing herself in a
more puzzling light than ever.
'You see,' Barbara went on, swarming up the rope a couple of feet and
making her next remark to the black hook in the beam above, 'I'd like
awfully to win it, because I don't want the boys to think I've got too
much like a girl to do things now; and because it's so--so splendid to
feel you _can_ do things.'
She slid down the rope again, and Jean saw how her eyes were glowing and
shining, and she felt a little more puzzled than before.
'Then, Angela wants to get it because she's always bottom in everything
else,' continued Barbara. 'That's not much of a reason, I think,
especially when she hasn't got any brothers--only millions of sisters,
who don't count; but still, she'll be awfully disappointed if she doesn't
get it, won't she?'
'Yes,' said Jean.
Babs curled the rope round her waist, and swung herself gently to and fro.
The movement seemed to aid her reflections. 'Why do _you_ want to get it,
Jean?' she asked softly.
It was never easy to induce Jean to talk about herself; but if any one
could do it, Barbara was the person. And, this time, she succeeded.
Jean drew another long breath, and clenched her fists.
'Because I want to be first,' she said slowly. 'I want to be first in
_everything_. I'd sooner be bottom than second! Of course you'll think
I'm a conceited pig,' she added, almost fiercely, 'but I can't help
that; I don't expect you to understand.' Then she muttered in a lower
tone,--'Nobody ever does, excepting only mother and father.'
Barbara's eyes were fixed on her face, and there was a warmth in their
blackness that Jean had only seen there once, and that was when she was
writing to her father in America.
'Good old Jean!' she murmured. 'It's awfully hard to understand; but I'll
try--_truthfully_. And I'd like you to get the prize--I would, really.
I didn't want you to have it before; but I do now, Jean, old girl!'
'I ought to want _you_ to have it, but I don't,' sighed Jean, trying
vainly not to be behindhand in unselfishness; 'I just want it myself,
so it's no good pretending I don't.'
There was silence between them for an instant; and from the other end of
the gymnasium drifted the monotonous war-cries of Mary Wells and Angela
Wilkins.
'Margaret and Charlotte Bigley!' shouted one.
'Margaret and Jean Murray!' added the other.
The enthusiasm was too infectious to be resisted. With a wild scream
of glee, Jean and Babs raced the whole length of the room and flung
themselves into the fray, without a thought of the opposite sentiments
they had just been expressing to each other.
'Margaret and the Babe!' yelled Jean, brandishing an Indian club.
'Margaret and Angela!' came from the panting Barbara, just behind her.
Nothing but the entrance of Finny would have calmed the noisy tumult; but
when they saw her standing on the platform, looking down at them with
her best Saturday smile on her face, the clamour ended in a burst of
laughter; and five or six of the more eager of them invaded the platform,
and danced round her appealingly.
'Do, do say who's going to win,' begged Barbara, catching hold of her
sleeve.
'It's Margaret and the Babe, isn't it?' cried Jean.
'No!' shrilled Angela. 'You mean Margaret and----'
'Charlotte Bigley!' gasped Mary Wells, squeezing herself into the front
rank.
Miss Finlayson put out her arms and encircled as many of them as she
could, and spun them round the platform with her.
'Dear, dear little girls!' she exclaimed, when she was out of breath and
could dance no more. 'Do you know what the Canon ought to have done, if
he wanted to please _me_?'
'What? What?' cried a dozen voices.
'He ought to have offered thirty-two prizes, and then I should not have
been afraid of any of my children feeling disappointed,' answered Miss
Finlayson, nodding at them wisely; and, somehow, it seemed to Jean as if
the head-mistress's eyes rested longest of all upon her.