Practical Geography
Miss Birks often congratulated herself on the fact that the smallness of
her school allowed her to give a proportionately large amount of
individual attention to her pupils. There was no possibility at the
Dower House for even the laziest girl to shirk lessons and shield her
ignorance behind the general bulk of information possessed by the Form.
Backward girls, dull girls, delicate girls--all had their special claims
considered and their fair chances accorded. There was no question of
"passing in a crowd". Each pupil stood or fell on the merits of her own
work, and every item of her progress was noted with as much care as if
she were the sole charge of the establishment. Miss Birks had many
theories of education, some gleaned from national conferences of
teachers, and others of her own evolving, all on the latest of modern
lines. One of her pet theories was the practical application, whenever
possible, of every lesson learnt. According to the season the girls
botanized, geologized, collected caterpillars and chrysalides, or hunted
for marine specimens on the shore, vying with each other in a friendly
rivalry as to which could secure the best contributions for the school
museum.
There was no subject, however, in Miss Birks's estimation which led
itself more readily to practical illustration than geography. Every
variety of physical feature was examined in the original situation, so
that watersheds, tributaries, table-lands, currents, and comparative
elevations became solid facts instead of mere book statements, and each
girl was taught to make her own map of the district.
"I believe we've examined everything except an iceberg and a volcano,"
declared Betty Scott one day, "and I verily believe Miss Birks is on the
look-out for both--hoped an iceberg might be washed ashore during those
few cold days we had in January, and you know she told us Beacon Hill
was the remains of an extinct volcano. I expect she wished it might
burst out suddenly again, like Vesuvius, just to show us how it did it!"
"Wouldn't we squeal and run if we heard rumblings and saw jets of steam
coming up?" commented Evie Bennett. "I don't think many of us would stay
to do scientific work, and take specimens of the lava."
"Where are we going this afternoon?" asked Elyned Hughes.
"Mapping, Miss Birks said. We're to make for the old windmill, and then
draw a radius of six miles, from Kergoff to Avonporth. Hurry up, you
others! It's after two, and Miss Harding's waiting on the terrace. What
a set of slow-coaches you are!"
It was the turn of VB to have a practical geography demonstration, and
they started, therefore, under the guidance of the second mistress, to
survey the physical features of a certain portion of the neighbourhood,
and record them in a map. Each girl was furnished by Miss Birks with a
paper of questions, intended to be a guide to her observations:
1.--Using the windmill as a centre, what direction do the roads
take?
2.--What villages or farms must be noted?
3.--What rivers or streams, and their courses?
4.--What lakes or ponds?
5.--The general outline of the coast?
6.--Are there hills or mountains?
7.--What historical monuments should be marked with a cross?
Armed with their instructions, pocket compasses, and note-books, the
girls set off in cheerful spirits. They dearly loved these country
rambles, and heartily approved of this particular method of education.
It was a beautiful bright afternoon towards the middle of February, one
of those glorious days that seem to anticipate the spring, and to make
one forget that winter exists at all. The sky was cloudless and blue,
not with the serene blue of summer, but with that fainter, almost
greenish shade so noticeable in the early months of the year, and
growing pearly-white where it touched the horizon. There was a joyous
feeling of returning life in the air; a thrush, perhaps remembering that
it was St. Valentine's Eve, carolled with full rich voice in the bare
thorn tree, small birds chased each other among the bushes, and great
flocks of rooks were feeding up and down the ploughed fields. In
sheltered corners an early wild flower or two had forestalled the
season, and the girls picked an occasional celandine star or primrose
bud, and even a few cherished violets. The catkins on the hazels were
shaking down showers of golden pollen, and the sallows were covered with
silky, silvery tufts of palm; the low sycamores in the hedge showed rosy
buds almost ready to burst, and shoots of bramble or sprays of
newly-opened honeysuckle leaves formed green patches here and there on
the old walls.
The girls walked at a brisk, swinging pace, in no particular order, so
long as they kept together, and with licence to stop to examine
specimens within reasonable limits of time. Miss Harding, who was
herself a fairly good naturalist, might be consulted at any moment, and
all unknown or doubtful objects, if portable, were popped in a basket
and taken back to be identified by the supreme authority, Miss Birks.
Though they fully appreciated the warren as a playground, it was
delightful to have a wider field for their activities, and the
opportunity of making some fresh find or some interesting discovery to
report at head-quarters. Miss Birks kept a Nature Diary hung on the wall
of the big schoolroom, and there was keen competition as to which should
be the first to supply the various items that made up its weekly
chronicle. It was even on record that Rhoda Wilkins once ran a whole
mile at top speed in order to steal a march on Emily Northwood, and
claim for VA the proud honour of announcing the first bird's nest of the
year.
The special point for which the girls were bound this afternoon was a
ruined windmill that stood on a small eminence, and formed rather a
landmark in the district. From here an excellent view might be obtained
of both the outline of the coast and the course of the little river that
ambled down from the hills and poured itself into the sea by the tiny
village of Kergoff. No fitter spot could have been chosen for a general
survey, and as the girls reached the platform on which the building
stood, and ranged themselves under its picturesque ragged sails, they
pulled out their note-books and got to business.
It was a glorious panorama that lay below them--brown heathery common
and rugged cliff, steep crags against which the growing tide was softly
lapping, a babbling little river that wound a noisy course between
boulders and over rounded, age-worn stones, tumbling in leaps from the
hills, dancing through the meadows, and flowing with a strong, steady
swirl through the whitewashed hamlet ere it widened out to join the
harbour. And beyond all there was the sea--the shimmering, glittering
sea--rolling quietly in with slow, heavy swell, and dashing with a dull
boom against the lighthouse rocks, bearing far off on its bosom a chance
vessel southward bound, and floating one by one the little craft that
had been beached in the anchorage, till they strained at their cables,
and bobbed gaily on the rising water. Only one or two of the girls
perhaps realized the intense beauty and poetry of the scene; most were
busy noting the natural features, and calculating possible distances,
marking here a farm or there a hill crest, and trying to reproduce in
some creditable fashion the eccentric windings of the river.
"That little crag below us just blocks the view of the road," said
Deirdre. "I can't get the bend in at all. Do you mind, Miss Harding, if
some of us go to the bottom of the hill and trace it out?"
"Certainly, if you like," replied the mistress. "I'm tired, so I shall
wait for you here. It won't take you longer than ten minutes."
"Oh, dear, no! We'll race down. I say, who'll come?"
Dulcie, Betty, Annie, Barbara, and Gerda were among the energetically
disposed, but Evie, Romola, and Elyned preferred to wait with Miss
Harding.
"We'll copy yours when you come back," they announced shamelessly.
"Oh, we'll see about that! Ta-ta!" cried the others, as they started at
a fair pace down the hill.
The road was certainly the most winding of any they had attempted to
trace that afternoon. It twisted like a cork-screw between high banks,
then hiding beneath a steep crag plunged suddenly through a small fir
wood, and crossed the river by a stone bridge. The girls had descended
at a jog trot, trying to take their bearings as they went. Owing to the
great height of the banks it was impossible to see what was below,
therefore it was only when they had passed the wood that they noticed
for the first time an old grey house on the farther side of the bridge.
It was built so close to the stream that its long veranda actually
overhung the water, which swept swirling against the lower wall of the
building. Many years must have passed since it last held a tenant, for
creepers stretched long tendrils over the broken windows, and grass grew
green in the gutters. The dilapidated gate, the weed-grown garden, the
weather-worn, paintless woodwork, the damp-stained walls, the damaged
roof, all gave it an air of almost indescribable melancholy, so utterly
abandoned, deserted, and entirely neglected did it appear.
"Hallo! Why, this must be 'Forster's Folly'!" exclaimed Barbara. "I'd no
idea we were so close to it. We couldn't see even the chimneys from the
windmill."
"What an extraordinary name for an even more extraordinary house!" said
Deirdre. "Who in the name of all that's weird was 'Forster'? And why is
this rat's-hall-looking place called his folly?"
"He was a lawyer in the neighbourhood, I believe, and, like some
lawyers, just a little bit too sharp. It was when the railway was going
to be made. He heard it was coming this way, and he calculated it would
just have to cut across this piece of land, so he bought the field and
built this house on it in a tremendous hurry, because he thought he
could claim big compensation from the railway company; and then after
all they took the line round by Avonporth instead, five miles away, and
didn't want to buy his precious house, so he'd had all the trouble and
expense for nothing."
"Served him right!" grunted the girls.
"They say he was furious," continued Barbara. "He was so disgusted that
he never even painted the woodwork or laid out the garden properly. He
tried to let it, but nobody wanted it; so he was obliged to come and
live in it himself for economy's sake. He was an old bachelor, and he
and a sour old housekeeper were here for a year or two, and then he died
very suddenly, and rather mysteriously. His relations came and took away
the furniture, but they haven't been able to sell the house, it's in
such a queer, out-of-the-way place. Then everybody in the neighbourhood
said it was haunted, and not a soul would go near it for love or money."
"It looks haunted," said Dulcie with a shiver. "Just the kind of
lonely-moated-grange place where you'd expect to see a 'woman in white'
at the window."
"Never saw anything so spooky in my life before," agreed Deirdre.
"Did you say it used to belong to Mr. Forster, the lawyer?" asked Gerda.
"The one who had business at St. Gonstan?"
"I don't know where he had business, but it was certainly Mr. Forster,
the lawyer. I don't suppose there'd be more than one."
"When did he die?"
"About five years ago, I fancy. Why do you want to know?"
"Oh, nothing! It doesn't matter in the least," returned Gerda, shrinking
into her shell again.
"It's the weirdest, queerest place I've ever seen," said Deirdre. "Do
let's go a little nearer. Ugh! What would you take to spend a night
here alone?"
"Nothing in the wide world you could offer me," protested Betty.
"I'd go stark, staring mad!" affirmed Annie.
"Hallo!" squealed Dulcie suddenly. "What's become of Gerda? She's
sneaked off!"
"Why, there she is, peeping through one of the broken windows!"
"Oh, I say! I must have a squint too, to see if there's really a ghost!"
fluttered Annie.
"You goose! You wouldn't see ghosts by daylight!"
"Well, I don't care anyhow. I'm going to peep. Cuckoo, Gerda! What can
you see inside?"
When Annie Pridwell led the way, it followed of necessity that the
others went after her, so they scurried to catch her up, and all ran in
a body over the bridge and into the nettle-grown garden. Gerda was still
perched on the window-sill of one of the lower rooms, and she turned to
her schoolfellows with a strange light in her eyes and a look of
unwonted excitement on her face.
"I put my hand through the broken pane and pulled back the catch," she
volunteered. "We've only to push the window up and we could go inside."
"Oh! Dare we?"
"Suppose the ghost caught us?"
"Oh, I say! Do let us go!"
"It would be such gorgeous sport!"
"I'm game, if you all are."
As usual it was Annie Pridwell who led the adventure. Pushing up the
window, she climbed over the sill and dropped inside, then turning round
offered a hand to Gerda, who sprang eagerly after her. It was imperative
for Deirdre, Dulcie, Betty, and Barbara to follow; they were not going
to be outdone in courage, and they felt that at any rate there was
safety in numbers. There was nothing very terrible about the
dining-room, in which they found themselves, it only looked miserable
and forlorn, with the damp paper hanging in strips from the walls, and
heaps of straw left by the remover's men strewn about the floor.
"We'll go and explore the rest of the house," said Annie, with a
half-nervous chuckle. "Come along, anybody who's game!"
Nobody wished to remain behind alone, so they went all together, holding
each other's arms, squealing, or gasping, or giggling, as occasion
prompted. They peeped into the empty drawing-room and the silent
kitchen, where the grate was red with rust; hurried past a dark hall
cupboard, and found themselves at the foot of the staircase.
"Oh, I daren't go up; I simply daren't!" bleated Barbara piteously.
"Suppose the ghost lives up there?" suggested Betty.
"My good girl, no self-respecting spook likes to make an exhibition of
itself," returned Annie. "The sight of six of us would scare it away. I
don't mean to say I'd go alone, but now we're all here it's different."
"We've been more than Miss Harding's ten minutes," vacillated Deirdre.
"Oh, bother! One doesn't often get the chance to explore. Come along,
you sillies, what are you frightened at?"
So together they mounted the stairs and took a hasty survey of the upper
story. Here the remover's men had evidently done their work even more
carelessly than down below, for though the furniture had been taken
away, enough rubbish had been left to provide a rummage sale. All kinds
of old articles not worth removing were lying where they had been thrown
down on the bedroom floor--old curtains, old shoes, scraps of mouldy
carpet, the laths of venetian blinds, broken lamp shades, empty bottles,
torn magazines, cracked pottery, worn-out brushes, and decrepit straw
palliasses.
"Did you ever see such an extraordinary conglomeration of queer things?"
said Annie. "I wonder they didn't tidy the house up before they went. No
wonder nobody would take it! And look, girls! They've actually left a
whole bathful of old letters! Somebody has begun to tear them up, and
not finished. They ought to have burnt them. Just look at this piece! It
has a lovely crest on it."
"Oh, has it? Give it to me; I'm collecting crests," cried Deirdre,
commandeering the scrap of paper. "It's a jolly one, too. I say, are
there any more? Move out, Annie, and let me see!"
"Look here," remonstrated Barbara; "I don't think we ought to go
rummaging amongst old letters. It doesn't seem quite--quite honourable,
does it? They are not ours, Annie. I wish you'd stop! No, Gerda, don't
look at them, please! Oh, I say, I wish you'd all come away! Let's go.
Miss Harding will think we're drowned in the river, or something; and at
any rate she'll scold us no end for being so long. Do you know the
time?"
There was certainly force in Barbara's remarks. Their ten minutes' leave
had exceeded half an hour, and Miss Harding would undoubtedly require a
substantial reason for their delay.
"Oh, goody! It's four o'clock!" chirruped Betty. "I'd no idea it was so
late! We don't want to get into a row with Miss Birks. I believe I hear
Romola shouting in the road. They've come to look for us!"
"We'd best scoot, then," said Annie, and flinging back the letters into
the bath, she turned with the rest and clattered downstairs.
Miss Harding, grave, annoyed, and justly indignant, was waiting for them
on the bridge. She received them with the scolding they merited.
"Where have you been, you naughty, naughty girls? You're not to be
trusted a minute out of my sight! I gave you permission to go straight
to the bottom of the hill and back, and here you've been away more than
half an hour! What were you doing in that garden? You had no right
there! Come along this instant and walk before me, two and two. Miss
Birks will have to hear about this. A nice report to take back of your
afternoon's work at map drawing!"
Map drawing! They had forgotten all about the maps. The girls looked at
one another, conscience-stricken; and Deirdre, with an awful pang,
realized that she had left her note-book on the mantelpiece of the
dining-room. She had been disposed to titter before, but she felt now
that the affair was no joking matter.
"Miss Harding mustn't know we've been inside the house," she whispered
to Gerda, with whom in the hurry of the moment she had paired off.
"No one's likely to tell her, and she couldn't see us come out of the
window from where she was standing," returned Gerda.
"We shall get into trouble enough as it is. I didn't think Miss Harding
would have cut up so rough about it. I say, just think of leaving those
old letters all lying about! I got one--at least it's a scrap of
one--with a lovely crest, a boar's head and a lot of stars--all in
gold."
"What!" gasped Gerda. "Did you say you found that on a letter?"
"Well, it's a piece of a letter, anyway."
"Oh, do let me see it!"
"Is Miss Harding looking? Well, here it is. Be careful! She's got her
eye on us! Oh, give it me back, quick!"
Gerda had turned the scrap of paper over and was glancing at the writing
on the other side. She reddened with annoyance as Deirdre snatched back
her treasure.
"Let me see it again!" she pleaded.
"No, no; it's safe in my pocket! Better not run any risks."
"You might give it to me. I'm collecting crests."
"A likely idea! Do you think, if I wanted to part with it, I'd present
it to you? No, I mean to keep it myself, thanks."
"I'd buy it, if you like."
"I don't sell my things."
"Not if I offered something nice?"
"Not for anything you'd offer me," returned Deirdre, whose temper was in
a touchy condition, and her spirit of opposition thoroughly aroused. "We
don't haggle over our things at the Dower House, whatever you may do in
Germany."
Gerda said no more at the time, but at night in their bedroom she
returned once more to the subject.
"You won't get it if you bother me to the end of the term," declared
Deirdre, locking up the bone of contention in her jewel-case and putting
the key in her pocket.
"What do you want it for so particularly, Gerda?" asked Dulcie sharply.
"Oh, nothing! Only a fancy of my own," replied Gerda, reddening with one
of her sudden fits of blushing, as she turned to the dressing-table and
began to comb her flaxen hair.