SCOTCH HEATHER
Betty was true to her word. After school that day, Margaret Grant and
Olive Repton came up to her and asked her in a very pretty manner if she
would become a member of their Speciality Club.
"Of course," said Margaret, "you don't know anything about us or our
rules at present; but we think we should like you to join, so we are
here now to invite you to come to our next meeting, which will take
place on Thursday of next week, at eight o'clock precisely, in my
bedroom."
"I don't know where your bedroom is," said Betty.
"But I know where yours is!" exclaimed Olive; "so I will fetch you,
Betty, and bring you to Margaret's room. Oh, I am sure you will enjoy
it--we have such fun! Sometimes we give quite big entertainments--that
is, when we invite the other girls, which we do once or twice during the
term. By the way, that reminds me that you will be most useful in that
respect, for you and your sisters have the largest bedroom in the house.
You will, of course, lend us your room when your turn comes; but that is
a long way off."
"I am so glad you are coming!" said Margaret. "You are the sort of girl
we want in our club. And now, please, tell me about your life in
Scotland."
"I will with pleasure," replied Betty. She looked full up into
Margaret's face as she spoke.
Margaret was older than Betty, and taller; and there was something about
her which commanded universal respect.
"I don't mind telling you," said Betty--"nor you," she added as Olive's
dancing blue eyes met hers; "for a kind of intuition tells me that you
would both love my wild moors and my beautiful heather. Oh, I say, do
come, both of you, and see our three little plots of garden! There's
Sylvia's plot, and Hester's, and mine; and we have a plant of heather,
straight from Craigie Muir, in the midst of each. Our gardens are quite
bare except for that tiny plant. Do, _do_ come and see it!"
Margaret laughed.
Olive said, "Oh, what fun!" and the three began to walk quickly under
the trees in the direction of the Vivians' gardens.
As they passed under the great oak-trees Betty looked up, and her eyes
danced with fun. "Are you good at climbing trees?" she asked of
Margaret.
"I used to be when I was very, very young; but those days are over."
"There are a few very little girls in the lower school who still climb
one of the safest trees," remarked Olive.
Betty's eyes continued to dance. "You give me delightful news," she
said. "I am so truly glad none of you do anything so vulgar as to climb
trees."
"But why, Betty?" asked Margaret.
"I have my own reasons," replied Betty. "You can't expect me to tell you
everything right away, can you?"
"You must please yourself," said Margaret.
Olive looked at Betty in a puzzled manner; and the three girls were
silent, only that they quickened their steps, crunching down some broken
twigs as they walked.
By-and-by they reached the three bare patches of ground, which were
railed in in the simple manner which Mrs. Haddo had indicated, and in
the center of which stood the wooden post with the words, "THE VIVIANS'
PRIVATE GARDENS," painted on it.
"How very funny!" exclaimed Olive.
"Yes, it is rather funny," remarked Betty. "Did you ever in the whole
course of your existence see anything uglier than these three patches of
ground? There is nothing whatever planted in them except our darling
Scotch heather; and oh, by the way, I don't believe the precious little
plants are thriving! They are drooping like anything! Oh dear! oh dear!
I think I shall die if they die!" As she spoke she flung herself on the
ground, near the path.
"Of course you won't, Betty," said Margaret. "Besides, why should they
die? They only want watering."
"I'll run and fetch a canful of water," said Olive, who was extremely
good-natured.
Betty made no response. She was still lying on the ground, resting on
her elbows, while her hands tenderly touched the faded and drooping
bells of the wild heather. She had entered her own special plot. Olive
had disappeared to fetch the water, but Margaret still stood by Betty's
side.
"Do you think they'll do?" said Betty at last, glancing at her
companion.
Margaret noticed that her eyes were full of tears. "I don't think they
will," she said after a pause. "But I'll tell you what we must do,
Betty: we must get the right sort of soil for them--just the sandy soil
they want. We'll go and consult Birchall; he is the oldest gardener in
the place, and knows something about everything. For that matter, we are
sure to get the sort of sand we require on this piece of waste
ground--our 'forest primeval,' as Olive calls it."
"Oh dear!" said Betty, dashing away the tears from her eyes, "you are
funny when you talk of a thing like that"--she waved her hand in the
direction of the uncultivated land--"as a 'forest primeval.' It is the
poorest, shabbiest bit of waste land I ever saw in my life."
"Let's walk across it," said Margaret. "Olive can't be back for a minute
or two."
"Why should we walk across it?"
"I want to show you where some heather grows. It is certainly not rich,
nor deep in color, nor beautiful, like yours; but it has grown in that
particular spot for two or three years. I am quite sure that Birchall
will say that the soil round that heather is the right sort of earth to
plant your Scotch heather in."
"Well, come, and let's be very quick," said Betty.
The girls walked across the bit of common. Margaret pointed out the
heather, which was certainly scanty and poor.
Betty looked at it with scorn. "I think," she said after a pause, "I
don't want to consult Birchall." Then she added after another pause, "I
think, on the whole, I'd much rather have no heather than plants like
those. You are very kind, Margaret; but there are some things that can't
be transplanted, just as there are some hearts--that break--yes,
break--if you take them from home. That poor heather--once, doubtless,
it was very flourishing; it is evidently dying now of a sort of
consumption. Let's come back to our plots of ground, please, Margaret."
They did so, and were there greeted by Olive, who had a large can of
cold water standing by her side, and was eagerly talking to Sylvia and
Hester. Betty marched first into the center plot of ground.
"I've got lots of water," said Olive in a cheerful tone, "so we'll do
the watering at once. Sylvia and Hester say that they must have a third
each of this canful; but of course we can get a second can if we want
it."
"No!" said Betty.
Sylvia, who was gazing with lack-lustre eyes at the fading heather, now
started and looked full at her sister. Hester, who always clung to
Sylvia in moments of emotion, caught her sister's hand and held it very
tight.
"No," said Betty again; "I have made a discovery. Scotch heather does
not grow here in this airless sort of place. Sylvia and Hester, Margaret
was good enough to show me what she calls heather. There are a few
straggling plants just at the other side of that bit of common. I don't
want ours to die slowly. Our plants shall go at once. No, we don't water
them. Sylvia, go into your garden and pull up the plant; and, Hester,
you do likewise Go, girls; go at once!"
"But, Betty----" said Margaret.
"You had better not cross her now," said Sylvia.
Margaret started when Sylvia addressed her in this tone.
Betty's face was painfully white, except where two spots of color blazed
in each cheek. As her sisters stooped obediently to pull up their
heather, Betty bent and wrenched hers from the ground by which it was
surrounded, which ground was already dry and hard. "Let's make a
bonfire," she said. "I sometimes think," she added, "that in each little
bell of heather there lives the wee-est of all the fairies; and perhaps,
if we burn this poor, dear thing, the little, wee fairies may go back to
their ain countree."
"It all seems quite dreadful to me," said Margaret.
"It is right," replied Betty; "and I have a box of matches in my
pocket."
"Oh, have you?" exclaimed Olive. "If--if Mrs. Haddo knew----"
But Betty made no response. She set her sisters to collect some dry
leaves and bits of broken twigs; and presently the bonfire was erected
and kindled, and the poor heather from the north country had ceased to
exist.
"Now, you must see _our_ gardens," said Margaret, "for you must have
gardens, you know. Olive and I will show you the sort of things that
grow in the south, that flourish here, and look beautiful."
"I cannot see them now," replied Betty. She brushed past Margaret, and
walked rapidly across the common.
Sylvia's face turned very white, and she clutched Hetty's hand still
more tightly.
"What is she going to do? What is the matter?" said Margaret, turning to
the twins.
"She can't help it," said Sylvia; "she must do it. She is going to
howl."
"To do what?" said Margaret Grant.
"Howl. Did you never howl? Well, perhaps you never did. Anyhow, she must
get away as far as possible before she begins, and we had better go back
to the house. You wouldn't like the sound of Betty's howling."
"But are you going to let her howl, as you call it, alone?"
"Let her? We have no voice in the matter," replied Hester. "Betty always
does exactly what she likes. Let's go quickly; let's get away. It's the
best thing she can do. She's been keeping in that howling-fit for over a
week, and it must find vent. She'll be all right when you see her next.
But don't, on any account, ever again mention the heather that we
brought from Craigie Muir. She may get over its death some day, but not
yet."
"Your sister is a very strange girl," said Margaret.
"Every one says that," replied Sylvia. "Don't they, Het?"
"Yes; we're quite tired of hearing it," said Hetty. "But do let's come
quickly. Which is the farthest-off part of the grounds--the place where
we are quite certain not to hear?"
"You make me feel almost nervous," said Margaret. "But come along, if
you wish to."
The four girls walked rapidly. At last they found a little summer-house
which was built high up on the very top of a rising mound. From here you
could get a good view of the surrounding country; and very beautiful it
was--at least, for those whose eyes were trained to observe the rich
beauty of cultivated land, of flowing rivers, of forests, of carefully
kept trees. Very lonely indeed was the scene from Haddo Court
summer-house; for, in addition to every scrap of land being made to
yield its abundance, there were pretty cottages dotted here and
there--each cottage possessing its own gay flower-garden, and, in most
cases, its own happy little band of pretty boys and girls.
As soon as the four girls found themselves in the summer-house, Margaret
began to praise the view to Sylvia.
Sylvia looked round to right and to left. "_We_ don't admire that sort
of thing," she said. "Do we, Hetty?"
Hetty shook her head with vehemence. "Oh no, no," she said. Then, coming
a little closer to Margaret, she looked into her face and continued,
"Are you the sort of kind girl who will keep a secret?"
Margaret thought of the Speciality Club. But surely this poor little
secret belonging solely to the Vivians need not be related to any one
who was not in sympathy with them. "I never tell tales, if that is what
you mean," she said.
"Then that is all right," remarked Sylvia. "And are you the same sort of
girl, Olive? You look very kind."
"It wouldn't be hard to be kind to one like you," was Olive's response.
Whereupon Sylvia smiled, and Hetty came close to Olive and looked into
her face.
"Then we want you," continued Sylvia, "never, never to tell about the
burnt sacrifice of the Scotch heather, nor about the flight of the
fairies back to Scotland. It tortured Betty to have to do it; but she
thought it right, therefore it was done. There are some people,
however, who would not understand her; and we would much rather be able
to tell our own Betty that you will never speak of it, when she has come
back to herself and has got over her howling."
"Of course we'll never tell," said Olive; and Margaret nodded her head
without speaking.
"I think you are just awfully nice," said Sylvia. "We were so terrified
when we came to this school. We thought we'd have an awful time. We
still speak of it as a prison, you know. Do you speak of it to your
dearest friend as a prison?"
"Prison!" said Margaret. "There isn't a place in the world I love as I
love Haddo Court."
"Then you never, never lived in a dear little gray stone house on a wild
Scotch moor; and you never had a man like Donald Macfarlane to talk to,
nor a woman like Jean Macfarlane to make scones for you; and you never
had dogs like our dogs up there, nor a horse like David. I pity you from
my heart!"
"I never had any of those things," said Margaret; "but I shall like to
hear about them from you."
"And so shall I like to hear about them," said Olive.
"We will tell you, if Betty gives us leave," said one of the twins. "We
never do anything without Betty's leave. She is the person we look up
to, and obey, and follow. We'd follow her to the world's end; we'd die
for her, both of us, if it would do her any good."
Margaret took Sylvia's hand and began to smooth it softly. "I wish," she
said then in a slow voice, "that I had friends to love me as you love
your sister."
"Perhaps you aren't worthy," said Sylvia. "There is no one living like
Betty in all the world, and we feel about her as we do because she is
Betty."
"But, all the same," said Hester, frowning as she spoke, "our Betty has
got an enemy."
"An enemy, my dear child! What do you mean? You have just been praising
her so much! Did any one take a dislike to her up in that north
country?"
"It may have begun there," remarked Hetty; "but the sad and dreadful
thing is that the enemy is in this house. Sylvia and I don't mind your
knowing. We rather think you like her, but we don't. Her name is Fanny
Crawford."
"Oh, really, though, that is quite nonsense!" said Margaret, flushing
with annoyance. "Poor dear Fanny, there is not a better or sweeter girl
in the school!"
Sylvia laughed. "That is your point of view," she said. "She is our
enemy; she is not yours. Oh, hurrah! hurrah! I see Betty! She is coming
back, walking very slowly. She has got over the worst of the howls. We
must both go and meet her. Don't be anywhere about, please, either of
you. Keep quite in the shade, so that she won't see you; and the next
time you meet talk to her as though this had never happened."
The twins dashed out of sight. They certainly could run very fast.
When they had gone Margaret looked at Olive. "Well," she said, "that
sort of scene rather takes one's breath away. What do you think, Olive?"
"It was exceedingly trying," said Olive.
"All the same," said Margaret, "I feel roused up about those girls in
the most extraordinary manner. Didn't you notice, too, what Sylvia said
about poor Fanny? Isn't it horrid?"
"Of course it isn't true," was Olive's remark.
"We have made up our minds not to speak evil of any one in the school,"
said Margaret after a pause; "but I cannot help remembering that Fanny
did not wish Betty to become a Speciality. And don't you recall how
angry she was, and how she would not vote with the 'ayes,' and would
not give any reason, and although she was hostess she walked out of the
room?"
"It's very uncomfortable altogether," said Olive. "But I don't see that
we can do anything."
"Well, perhaps not yet," said Margaret; "but I may as well say at once,
Olive, that I mean to take up those girls. Until to-day I was only
interested in Betty, but now I am interested in all three; and if I can,
without making mischief, I must get to the bottom of what is making poor
little Betty so bitter, and what is upsetting the equanimity of our dear
old Fan, whom we have always loved so dearly."
Just at that moment Fanny Crawford herself and Susie Rushworth appeared,
walking together arm in arm. They saw Margaret and Olive, and came to
join them. Susie was in her usual high spirits, and Fanny looked quite
calm and collected. There was not even an allusion made to the Vivian
girls. Margaret was most thankful, for she certainly did not wish the
little episode she had witnessed to reach any one's ears but her own and
Olive's. Susie was talking eagerly about a great picnic which Mrs. Haddo
had arranged for the following Saturday. The whole school, both upper
and lower, were to go. Mr. Fairfax and his wife, most of the teachers,
and Mrs. Haddo herself would also accompany the girls. They were all
going to a place about twenty miles away; and Mrs. Haddo, who kept two
motor-cars of her own, had made arrangements for the hire of several
more, so that the party could quickly reach their place of rendezvous
and thus have a longer time there to enjoy themselves.
"She does things so well, doesn't she?" said Susie. "There never was her
like. Do you know, there was a sort of insurrection in the lower school
early this morning, for naughty sprites had whispered that all the small
children were to go in ordinary carriages and dogcarts and wagonettes.
Then came the news that Mrs. Haddo meant each girl in the school to
have an equal share of enjoyment; and, lo and behold! the cloud has
vanished, and the little ones are making even merrier than the older
girls."
"I wish I felt as amiable as I used to feel," said Fanny at that moment.
"Oh, but, Fan, why don't you?" asked Olive. "You ought to feel more and
more amiable every day--that is, if training means anything."
"Training is all very well," answered Fanny, "and you may think you are
all right; but when temptation comes----"
"Temptation!" said Margaret. "In my opinion, that is the worst of Haddo
Court: we are so shielded, and treated with such extreme kindness, that
temptation cannot come."
"Then you wish to be tested, do you, Margaret?" asked Fanny.
Margaret shivered slightly. "Sometimes I do wish it," she said.
"Oh, Margaret dear, don't!" said Olive. "You'll have heaps of troubles
in life, for my mother says that no one yet was exempt from them. There
never was a woman quite like my darling mother--except, indeed, Mrs.
Haddo. Mother has quite peculiar ideas with regard to bringing up girls.
She says the aim of her life is to give me a very happy childhood and
early youth. She thinks that such a life will make me all the stronger
to withstand temptation."
"Let us hope so, anyhow," said Fanny. Then she added, "Don't suppose I
am grumbling, although it has been a trial father going away--so very
far away--to India. But I think the real temptation comes to us in this
way: when we have to meet girls we can't tolerate."
"Now she's going to say something dreadful!" thought Olive to herself.
Margaret rose as though she would put an end to the colloquy.
Fanny was watching Margaret's face. "The girl I am specially thinking of
now," she said, "is Sibyl Ray."
"Oh!" said Margaret. She gave a sigh of such undoubted relief that Fanny
was certain she had guessed what her first thoughts were.
"And now I will tell you why I don't like Sibyl," Fanny continued. "I
have nothing whatever to say against her. I have never heard of her
doing anything underhand or what we might call low-down or ill-bred. At
the same time, I do dislike Sibyl, just for the simple reason that she
is _not_ well-bred, and she never will be."
"Oh! oh, give her her chance--do!" said Olive.
"I am not going to interfere with her," remarked Fanny; "but she can
never be a friend of mine. There are some girls who like her very well.
There's Martha West, who is constantly with her."
"I am quite sure," said Margaret, "that there isn't a better girl in the
school than Martha, and I have serious thoughts of asking her to become
a Speciality." As she spoke she fixed her very dark eyes on Fanny's
face.
"Do ask her; I shall be delighted," remarked Fanny. "Only, whatever you
do, don't ask her friend, Sibyl Ray."
"I have no present intention of doing so. Fanny, I don't want to be
nasty; but you are quite right about Sibyl. No one can say a word
against her; and yet she just is not well-bred."