A Mysterious Schoolfellow
It is all very well for a girl to be shy on her first night at school. A
certain amount of embarrassment is indeed considered almost "good form"
in a new-comer, indicative of her realization of the privileges which
she is about to enjoy, and the comparative unworthiness of any previous
establishment she may have attended. But when her uncommunicative
attitude is unduly prolonged, what was at first labelled mere becoming
bashfulness is termed stupidity, closeness, stuck-up conceit, or
intentional rudeness by her companions, who highly resent any repulse of
their offers of friendship. Gerda Thorwaldson, after nearly a fortnight
at the Dower House, seemed as much a stranger as on the evening when she
arrived. She was neither uncivil nor disobliging, but no efforts on the
part of her schoolmates were able to penetrate the thick barrier of her
reserve. She appeared most unwilling to enter into any particulars of
her former life, and beyond the fact that she had been educated chiefly
in Germany no information could be dragged from her.
"You've only to hint at her home, and she shuts up like an oyster,"
said Annie Pridwell aggrievedly. Annie had a natural love of biography.
She delighted in hearing her comrades' experiences, and was so well up
in everybody's private affairs that she could have written a "Who's Who"
of the school.
"You ought to know, Deirdre," she continued. "Doesn't she tell you
anything at all in your bedroom?"
"Hardly opens her mouth," replied Deirdre. "You wouldn't believe how
difficult it is to talk to her. She just says 'Yes' or 'No', and
occasionally asks a question, but she certainly tells us nothing about
herself."
"Never met with anyone so mum in my life," added Dulcie.
The question of Gerda's nationality still weighed upon Dulcie's spirits.
In her opinion a girl who could speak a foreign language with such
absolute fluency did not deserve to be called English, and she was
further disturbed by a hint which got abroad that the new girl had been
requisitioned to the school for the particular purpose of talking
German.
"If that's so, why has she been poked upon us?" she demanded
indignantly. "Why wasn't she put in a dormitory with somebody who'd
appreciate her better?--Marcia Richards, for instance, who says she
'envies our advantages'."
"Ask Miss Birks!"
"Oh, I dare say! But I don't like people who listen to everything and
say nothing. It gives one the idea they mean to sneak some day."
Though Gerda's attitude regarding her own affairs was uncommunicative,
she nevertheless appeared to take a profound interest in her present
surroundings. As Dulcie had noticed, she listened to everything, and no
detail, however small, seemed to escape her. She was anxious to learn
all she could concerning the old house, the neighbourhood, and the
families who resided near, and would ask an occasional question on the
subject, often blushing scarlet as she put her queries.
"Why, I should think you could draw a plan of the house!" said Dulcie
one day. "What does it matter whether the larder is underneath our
dormitory or not? You can't dive through the floor and purloin tarts!"
"No, of course not. I was only wondering," replied Gerda, shrinking into
her shell again.
Nevertheless, later on in the afternoon, Dulcie suddenly came across her
measuring the landing with a yard tape.
"What in the name of all that's wonderful are you doing?" exclaimed the
much-surprised damsel.
"Oh, nothing, nothing!" said Gerda, hastily rolling up her tape measure,
and slipping it into her pocket. "Only just an idea that came into my
head. I wanted to know the length of the passage, that was all!"
"What a most extraordinary thing to want to know! Really, Gerda, you're
the queerest girl I ever met. Is it having lived in Germany that makes
you so odd?"
"I suppose it must be," murmured Gerda, escaping as rapidly as possible
into the schoolroom.
I have said before that owing to the unique situation of the Dower House
the girls were allowed an amount of liberty in their play-hours which
could not so easily have been granted to them at other schools. They
wandered freely about the headland without a mistress, and so far had
never abused their privileges, either by getting into danger or staying
out beyond the specified time.
Though as a rule they rambled in trios, on the first of February the
whole of Form VB might have been seen walking together over the warren.
They had a motive for their excursion, for it was St. Perran's Day, and
St. Perran was the patron saint of the district. At the end of the
promontory there was a small spring dedicated to his memory, and
according to ancient legends, anybody who on his anniversary dropped a
pin into this well might learn her luck for the coming year. Formerly
all the lads and lasses from the villages of Pontperran, Porthmorvan,
and Perranwrack used to come to deck the well and try their fortunes,
but their annual visitation having degenerated into a rather riotous and
undesirable ceremony, Mrs. Trevellyan had put up extra trespass notices,
and given strict orders to her gamekeeper to exclude the public from the
headland.
Knowing of the ancient custom which had been practised from time
immemorial, it was of course only in schoolgirl nature to want to test
the powers of divination attributed to the old well. The Sixth Form,
who considered themselves almost grown up, treated the affair with
ridicule, and the members of VA, who copied their seniors slavishly,
likewise affected a supreme contempt for so childish a proceeding; but
VB, being still at an age when superstition holds an immense attraction,
trotted off _en bloc_ to pay their respects to St. Perran. Each, in
deference to the long-established tradition of the neighbourhood, bore a
garland of ferns and other greeneries, and each came armed with the
necessary pin that was to work the spell.
"Jessie Macpherson says we're a set of sillies," volunteered Betty
Scott. "But I don't care--I wouldn't miss St. Perran's Day for
anything."
"My wish came true last year," put in Barbara Marshall.
"Oh, I do hope I shall have some luck!" shivered Elyned Hughes.
The well in question lay in a slight hollow, a kind of narrow gully,
where in wet weather a small stream ambled between the rocks and ran
down to the sea. In the mild Cornish climate ferns were growing here
fresh and green, ignoring the presence of winter; and dog's-mercury,
strawberry-leaved cinquefoil, and other early plants were pushing up
strong leaves in preparation for the springtime. The famous well was
nothing but a shallow basin of rock, into which the little stream flowed
leisurely, and, having partially filled it, trickled away through a gap,
and became for a yard or two merged in a patch of swampy herbage.
Overhung with long fronds of lady-fern and tufts of hawkweed, it had a
picturesque aspect, and the water seemed to gurgle slowly and
mysteriously, as if it were trying in some unknown language to reveal a
secret.
The girls clustered round, and began in orthodox fashion to hang their
garlands on the leafless branches of a stunted tree that stretched
itself over the spring. They were in various moods, some giggling, some
half-awed, some silent, and some chattering.
"It isn't as high as it was last year, so I don't believe it will work
so well," said Evie Bennett. "St. Perran must be in a bad temper, and
hasn't looked after it properly. Tiresome old man, why can't he remember
his own day?"
"He's got to do double duty, poor old chap!" laughed Betty Scott. "You
forget he's the patron saint of the sailors as well, and is supposed to
be out at sea attracting the fish. Perhaps he just hadn't time this
morning, and thought the well would do."
"Let well alone, in fact," giggled Evie.
"Oh, shut her up for her bad pun! Dip her head in the water! Make her
try her luck first!"
"Pleased to accommodate you, I'm sure. Here's my pin," returned Evie.
"Now, if you're ready, I'll begin and consult the oracle."
St. Perran's ceremony had to be performed in due order, or it was
supposed to be of no effect. First of all, Evie solemnly dropped her pin
in the well, as a species of votive offering, while silently she
murmured a wish. Then placing a small piece of stick on the surface of
the water in the exact centre of the basin, she repeated the
time-honoured formula:
"Perran, Perran of the well,
What I've wished I may not tell,
'Tis but known to me and you,
Help me then to bring it true".
All eyes were fixed eagerly on the piece of stick, which was already
commencing to circle round in the water. If it found its way
successfully through the gap, and was washed down by the stream, it was
a sign that St. Perran had it safely and would attend to the matter; but
if it were stranded on the edge of the basin, the wish would remain
unfulfilled. Round and round went the tiny twig, bobbing and dancing in
the eddies; but, alas! the water was low this February, and instead of
sweeping the twig triumphantly through the aperture, it only washed it
to one side, and left it clinging to some overhanging fronds of fern
that dipped into the spring. Evie heaved a tragic sigh of
disappointment.
"I'm done for at any rate!" she groaned. "St. Perran won't have anything
to say to me this year. Oh, and it was such a lovely wish! I'll tell you
what it was, now it's not going to come off. I wished some aviator would
ask me to have a seat in his aeroplane, and take me right over to
America in it!"
The girls tittered.
"What a particularly likely wish to be fulfilled! No, my hearty, you
can't expect St. Perran to have anything to do with aeroplanes," said
Betty Scott. "The good old saint probably abhors all modern inventions.
I'm going to wish for something easy and probable."
"What?"
"Ah! wouldn't you like to know? I shan't tell you, even if I fail. Shall
I try next?"
Whatever Betty's easy and probable desire may have been, the result was
bad, and her stick, after several thrilling gyrations, tagged itself on
to Evie's under the cluster of fern. She bore her ill luck like a stoic.
"One can't have everything in this world," she philosophized. "Perhaps
I'll get it next year instead. Deirdre Sullivan, you deserve to lose
your own for sniggering! This trial ought to be taken solemnly. We'll
get St. Perran's temper up if we make fun of it."
"I thought he was out at sea, attracting the fishes!" said Deirdre.
"I'm not sure that Cornish saints can't be in two places at once, just
to show their superiority over Devonshire ones. Well, go on! Laugh if
you like! But don't expect St. Perran to take any interest in you!"
It certainly seemed as though the patron of the well had for once
forsaken his favourite haunt. Girl after girl wished her wish and
repeated her spell, but invariably to meet with the same ill fortune,
till a melancholy little clump of eight sticks testified to the general
failure.
"Have we all lost? No, Gerda Thorwaldson hasn't tried! Where's Gerda?
She's got to do the same as anybody else! Gerda Thorwaldson, where are
you?"
Gerda for the moment had been missing, but at the sound of her name she
scrambled down from the rocks above the well, looking rather red and
conscious.
"What were you doing up there?" asked Dulcie sharply. "It's your turn to
try the omen. Go along, quick; we shall have to be jogging back in half
a jiff."
Gerda paused for a moment, and with face full towards the sea muttered
her wish with moving lips; then turning to the tree, she carefully
counted the third bough from the bottom, and the third twig on the
bough. Breaking off her due portion, she twisted it round three times,
and holding it between the third fingers of either hand, dropped it into
the water, while she rapidly repeated the magic formula:
"Perran, Perran of the well,
What I've wished I may not tell,
'Tis but known to me and you,
Help me then to bring it true".
The girls watched rather half-heartedly. They were growing a little
tired of the performance. They fully expected the ninth stick to drift
the same way as its predecessors, but to everybody's astonishment it
made one rapid circle of the basin, and bobbed successfully through the
gap.
"It's gone! it's gone!" cried Betty Scott in wild excitement. "St.
Perran's working after all. Oh, why didn't he do it for me?"
"How funny it should be the only one!" said Elyned Hughes.
"I believe the water's running faster than it did before," commented
Romola Harvey. "Has the old saint turned on the tap?"
"Shall I get my wish?" said Gerda, who stood by with shining eyes.
"Of course you'll get it--certain sure. And jolly fortunate you are too.
You've won the luck of the whole Form. Don't I wish I were you, just!"
"You're evidently St. Perran's favourite!" laughed Annie Pridwell.
"Come along, it's nearly time for call-over. We'll be late if we don't
sprint," said Barbara Marshall, consulting her watch, and starting at a
run on the path that led back to the Dower House.
"It was a funny thing that our sticks should all 'stick', and Gerda's
just sail off as easily as you like," said Deirdre that evening, as,
with Dulcie, she gave an account of the occurrence to Phyllis Rowland, a
member of the Sixth. As one of the elect of the school, Phyllis would
not have condescended to consult the famous oracle, but she nevertheless
took a sneaking interest in the annual ceremony, and was anxious to know
how St. Perran's votaries had fared.
"Did you do it really properly?" she enquired. "An old woman at
Perranwrack once told me it wasn't any use at all if you forgot the
least thing."
"Why, we hung up our garlands and then wished, and said the rhyme, and
threw in our sticks."
"Oh, that isn't half enough. Where were you looking when you wished?
Facing the sea? Your stick should be chosen from the third twig on the
third branch, and it ought to be turned round three times, and held
between your third fingers. Did you do all that?"
The faces of Deirdre and Dulcie were a study.
"No, we didn't. But Gerda Thorwaldson did it--every bit. And the water
came down ever so much faster for her turn, too."
"Probably she went behind the well, and cleared the channel of the
stream. That's a well-known dodge to make the water flow quicker, and
help the saint to work."
"I certainly saw her climbing down the rocks," gasped Dulcie.
"Then she's a cleverer girl than I took her for, and deserves her luck,"
laughed Phyllis. "Look here, I can't stay wasting time any longer. I've
got my prep to do. Ta, ta! Don't let St. Perran blight your young lives.
Try him again next year."
Left alone, Deirdre and Dulcie subsided simultaneously on to a bench.
"It beats me altogether," said Dulcie, shaking her head. "How did she
manage to do it? How did she know? Who told her?"
"That's the puzzler," returned Deirdre. "Certainly not Phyllis, and I
don't believe anybody else ever heard of those extra dodges. Gerda's
only been a fortnight at the school, and says she's never been in
Cornwall in her life before, so how could she know? Yet she did it all
so pat."
"It's queer, to say the least of it."
"Do you know, Dulcie, I think there's something mysterious about Gerda.
I've noticed it ever since she came. She seems all the time to be trying
to hide something. She won't tell us a scrap about herself, and yet
she's always asking questions."
"What's she up to then?"
"That's what I want to find out. It's evidently something she doesn't
want people to know. She ought to be watched. I vote we keep an eye on
her."
"I really believe we ought to."
"But mind, you mustn't let her suspect we notice anything. That would
give the show away at once. Lie low's our motto."
"Right you are!" agreed Dulcie. "Mum's the word!"