A Point of Honour
"Lizzie," announced Ulyth, sitting down on a stump in the glade, and
speaking slowly and emphatically, "The Woodlands isn't what it used to
be."
"So Stephanie was saying the other day," agreed Lizzie, taking a seat on
the stump by the side of her friend. "She thinks it's a different place
altogether."
"It is; though not exactly from Stephie's point of view. I don't care
the least scrap that there are no Vernons or Courtenays or Derringtons
here now. Stephie can lament them if she likes. I never knew them, so I
can't regret them. There's one thing I can't help noticing, though--the
tone has been going down."
"Do you think it has?" replied Lizzie thoughtfully. "Merle and Alice and
Mary are rather silly, certainly, but there's not much harm in them."
"I don't mean our form; it's the juniors. I've noticed it continually
lately."
"Now you come to speak of it, so have I. I don't quite know what it is,
but there's a something."
"There's a very decided something. It's come on quite lately, but it's
there. They're not behaving nicely at all. They've slacked all round,
and do nothing but snigger among themselves over jokes they won't tell."
"They're welcome to their own jokes as far as I'm concerned, the young
idiots!"
"Yes, if it's only just fun; but I'm afraid it's something more than
that--something they're ashamed of and really want to hide. I've seen
such shuffling and queer business going on when any of the monitresses
came in sight."
"Have you said anything to Catherine or Helen?"
"No, and I don't want to. It's very unfortunate, but they've really got
no tact. Catherine's so high-handed, and Helen's nearly as bad. They
snap the girls up for the least trifle. The result is the juniors have
got it into their tiresome young heads that monitresses are a species of
teacher. They weren't intended to be that at all. A monitress is just
one of ourselves, only with authority that we all allow. She ought to be
jolly with everybody."
"Um! You can hardly call Catherine jolly with the kids."
"That's just it. They resent it; they've gone their own way lately, and
it's been decidedly downhill. I'm persuaded they're playing some deep
and surreptitious game at present. I wish I knew what it was."
"Can't Rona tell you?"
"I wouldn't pump Rona for the world. It's most frightfully difficult for
her, a junior, to be room-mate with a senior. Her form always suspect
her of giving them away to the Upper School. Rona's had a hard enough
struggle to get any footing at all at The Woodlands, and I don't want to
make it any harder for her. If she once gets the reputation of
'tell-tale' she's done for. Since Stephanie made that fuss about juniors
coming into senior rooms I mayn't ask her into V B; so if she's
ostracized by her own form too she'll be neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor
good red herring. No; however I find out it mustn't be through Rona."
"Yes, I quite see your point. Now you speak of it, I believe those
juniors are up to something. There's a prodigious amount of whispering
and sniggering among them. 'What's the joke?' I said to Tootie Phillips
yesterday, and she flared out in the most truculent manner: 'That's our
own business, thank you!'"
"Tootie has been making herself most objectionable lately. She wants
sitting upon."
"Catherine will do that, never fear."
"No doubt, but it doesn't bring us any nearer finding out what those
juniors are after."
"They vanish mysteriously after tea sometimes. I vote we watch them, and
next time it happens we'll stalk them."
"Right-O! But not a word to anybody else, or it might get about and put
them on their guard."
"Trust me! I wouldn't even flicker an eyelid."
Now that Ulyth and Lizzie had compared notes on the subject of the
juniors, they became more convinced than ever of the fact that something
surreptitious was going on. Nods, hints, words which apparently bore a
hidden meaning, nudges, and signs were the order of the day. All
friendly advances on the part of seniors were repelled, the younger
girls keeping strictly to themselves. This was the more marked as there
had never been any very great division at The Woodlands between Upper
and Lower School, the whole of the little community sharing in most of
the general interests.
After tea there was a short interval before evening preparation began,
and during the summer term this was spent, if possible, out-of-doors by
everybody. One afternoon, only a few days after the conversation just
recorded, the girls had filed as usual from the dining-hall, and were
racing off for tennis, basket-ball, or a run by the stream. As Ulyth,
down on her knees in the darkest part of the hall cupboard, groped for
her mislaid tennis-shoes, two members of IV B came in for a moment to
fetch balls. They were in a hurry and they evidently did not perceive
her presence.
"Did you get the tip?" Irene Scott asked Ethel Jephson under her breath.
"By the lower pool immediately."
"All serene! Tootie told me herself."
"Pass it on then; though I think most know."
As they ran down the passage, Ulyth, relinquishing her hunt for the
missing shoes, rose to her feet.
"There's one here who didn't know," she chuckled. "This is a most
important piece of information. Immediately, by the lower pool, is it?
Well, I must go and find Lizzie. What are those precious juniors up to,
I wonder?"
Lizzie was taking her racket for a game of tennis, but she readily gave
up her place to Merle Denham at a hint from Ulyth.
"I told you they vanished after tea," she said, as the two girls
sauntered into the glen. "We'll track them this time. Don't on any
account look as if you were going anywhere. Sit down here and give them
a few minutes' grace, in case stragglers come up. They probably won't
begin punctually. I'll time it by my watch."
When five minutes had elapsed there was not a solitary junior to be seen
in the glade, and Ulyth and Lizzie, deeming themselves safe, set out in
the direction of the lower pool.
This was a part of the stream at the very verge of the grounds belonging
to The Woodlands; indeed, the greater portion of it lay in the land of a
neighbouring farmer, and to reach its pebbly bank meant a scramble round
some palings and under a projecting piece of rock.
Ulyth and Lizzie were too wary to follow the juniors by this path, but
scaled the palings at another point, and under cover of a thick copse of
gorse-bushes approached the pool from the side that lay in the farmer's
field. By most careful scouting they found a spot on the bank where they
could see and hear without being seen.
Below them, seated on the rocks by the edge of the water, were
practically almost the whole of the Lower School. They cuddled close,
with their arms round each other, and to judge from their repressed
giggles they appeared to be enjoying themselves. Tootie Phillips, a
long-legged, excitable girl of thirteen, mounted upon a boulder, was
addressing them with much fervour. Ulyth and Lizzie missed the beginning
of her remarks, but when they came within earshot they realized that she
was in the midst of a vigorous harangue against the seniors.
"Are we to be trodden down just because we're a little younger than they
are?" urged Tootie. "Why should they lord it over us, I should like to
know? They were juniors themselves only a year or two ago. I tell you
the worm will turn."
"It's turned pretty considerably," guffawed Cissie Newall.
"It knows which side its bread's buttered," cackled Irene Scott.
"Buttered! You mean sugared, don't you?"
At this sally the whole party broke into a shout of laughter.
"Good for you, Ciss!"
"Sugared! Ra--ther!"
"Shut up, you sillies! Someone will hear us," commanded Tootie. "I was
saying before, we're not going to be sat upon, either by teachers or
monitresses or seniors. We'll take our own way."
"A sugary way," chirped Ethel Jephson.
The girls hinnied again. There was evidently something underlying the
joke.
"When perfectly ridiculous rules are made, that never ought to have been
made," continued Tootie, "then we've a right to take the law into our
own hands and do as we please."
"Our pocket money's our own," grumbled a discontented spirit from the
back.
"Of course it is, and we ought to be able to do what we like with it."
"And so are our brooches, if we want to----"
"Sh--sh!"
"Shut up, stupid!"
"Well, we all know."
"No need to blare it out, if we do."
"I wasn't blaring."
"Violet Robertson, remember your oath," commanded Tootie. "If you let a
word of--we know what--leak out, you're sent to Coventry for the rest of
the term. Yes. Not a single one of us will speak one single word to you.
Not even your own room-mates. So there!"
"Well, you needn't make such a precious fuss. I'm sure I wasn't letting
out secrets," retorted Violet sulkily. "But I think there ought to be
some rate of value. My brooch was a far better one than Mollie's."
"Right you are, my hearty, and I'm going to speak about it. We mustn't
let ourselves be done, even by--you know who!"
"And she's sharp."
"She's getting too sharp. We must stop it, even if we have to break off
for a whole week."
"No, no!"
"Oh, not that anyhow!"
"Well, look here, if you're such sillies, you deserve----"
But at this most interesting point the loud clanging of the
preparation-bell put a stop to any further argument. With one accord the
girls jumped up, and fled back as fast as they could run in the
direction of the school. Ulyth and Lizzie, at the risk of being late for
evening call-over, gave the conspirators time to get well away before
they ventured to follow.
"What's the meaning of all this?" queried Lizzie, as they scouted
cautiously through the glade.
"I can't imagine. They're evidently doing something they oughtn't to,
the young wretches! But they're keeping it very dark."
"We shall have to watch them."
"We must indeed," sighed Ulyth. "Lizzie, I loathe eavesdropping and
anything that savours of underhand work, but what are we to do?
Something is going wrong among the juniors, and for the sake of the
school we've got to put it right if we possibly can. It's no use asking
them their sweet secret, for they wouldn't tell us; and I'm afraid
setting the monitresses on the track would only make things worse. If we
can find out what they're doing, then we shall know our ground. I'm a
Torch-bearer and you're a Fire-maker, and we must appeal to them to keep
their Camp-fire vows. But we can't do that till we've some idea of which
rule they're breaking. How can we say to them: 'I strongly suspect
you're not being trustworthy'? We've got to prove our words."
"Prove them we will. We'll dodge about till we catch them in the act,"
agreed Lizzie.
To both the girls it was uncongenial though necessary work. As seniors
and League officers they felt they owed a duty to the school, but that
it would be far wiser to appeal privately to the juniors' sense of
honour, and win them back to straight paths of their own free will, than
to carry the matter to head-quarters. For the present, patience and tact
must be their watchwords.
Several days went by, and nothing particular occurred. Either the
younger girls were on their guard or they had suspended their
activities. On Friday evening, however, as Ulyth was coming along the
passage from practising, she accidentally cannonaded into half a dozen
members of IV B who were standing near the boot cupboard. She evidently
surprised them, for one and all they hastily popped their hands into
their pockets. It was promptly done, but not so quickly as to prevent
Ulyth from seeing that they were eating something.
"It's all right," gasped Bertha Halliwell, with apparent unconcern, in
reply to Ulyth's apologies. "You nearly upset me, but I'm not
fractured."
"I wish you'd take care, though," grumbled Etta Jessop, surreptitiously
wiping a decidedly sticky mouth; "no one likes being tumbled over."
Ulyth passed on thoughtfully. What had they all been munching, and where
did they get it from? Private supplies of cakes and sweets were utterly
forbidden at The Woodlands. Their prohibition was one of the strictest
rules of the school, to break which would be to incur a very severe
penalty from Miss Teddington. Was this the explanation of Tootie's
rather enigmatical remarks down by the stream?
"If that's their precious secret, and they're just being greedy, I'm too
disgusted with them for words!" commented Lizzie, when informed of the
discovery.
Saturday and Monday passed with quite exemplary behaviour on the part of
the juniors. The keenest vigilance could discover nothing. But on
Tuesday Lizzie came across another clue. She had been monitress for the
afternoon in the drawing-class, and after the girls had left she stayed
behind to put away various articles that had been used and to tidy the
room.
As she worked along the desks where IV B had been sitting, collecting
stray pencils and pieces of india-rubber, she noticed a book lying on
the floor and picked it up. It was a French grammar, with "Etta Jessop"
written on the fly-leaf and had evidently been accidentally dropped. She
turned over the pages idly. In the middle was a scrap of paper torn from
an exercise-book, and on this was scribbled: "Where will she be
to-night?" while in a different hand, underneath, as if in answer to the
question, were the words: "Side gate at 8. Pass, 'John Barleycorn'."
This was most important. It was the first, indeed the only definite,
information they had to go upon. Lizzie replaced the slip of paper and
laid the book on the floor just where she had found it. Etta would no
doubt soon discover her loss, and come back to fetch it. In the meantime
this very valuable piece of news must be communicated to Ulyth.
The chums talked the matter over earnestly.
"Something's happening at the side gate at eight o'clock, and they've
got a password; that's clear," said Lizzie.
"Then I think it's our plain duty to go and investigate," returned
Ulyth. "If the worst comes to the worst we could report ourselves, and
tell Teddie why we went. She'd understand."
"I hope it won't need that," fluttered Lizzie nervously.
The girls were not allowed out of the house after preparation, so any
excursions into the garden were distinctly against the rules.
Feeling very culpable at thus breaking the law of the school, Ulyth and
Lizzie crept quietly from the cloak-room door soon after eight had
struck. It was not yet dark, but the sun had sunk behind the hills, and
the garden was in deep shadow. They passed the tennis-courts and the
rose parterre, and ran down the steps into the herbarium. Just at the
outskirts of the shrubbery a small figure was skulking among the bushes.
At the sound of footsteps it gave a low, peculiar whistle, then advanced
slightly from the shadow and stood at attention, as if in mute challenge
of the new-comers. Irene Scott, for it was she, was evidently on sentry
duty. No one with a knowledge of camp-life could mistake her attitude.
"We'll bluff it off," whispered Ulyth, and, taking Lizzie's arm, she
marched quietly past, murmuring: "John Barleycorn".
The effect of the password was electrical. Irene looked immensely
astonished. She had certainly not expected such knowledge on the part
of seniors.
"Are you in it too? Oh, goody!" she gasped; then very softly she called:
"All's well!" and, turning, dived back among the bushes.
Lizzie and Ulyth pushed on towards the side gate. It was open, and
inside, under the shelter of a big laurel, stood a woman with a basket.
She was a gipsy-looking person, with long ear-rings, and she wore a
red-and-yellow handkerchief tied round her neck. As the girls approached
she uncovered her basket with a knowing smile.
"I've brought plenty to-night, Missies," she said ingratiatingly.
"Cheesecakes and vanilla sandwiches and coco-nut drops and cream wafers.
What'll you please to have?"
"Are you selling them?" asked Ulyth in much amazement.
The woman glanced at her keenly.
"I've not seen you two before," she remarked. "Yes, dearie, I'm selling
them. They're wholesome cakes, and won't do you any harm. Try these
cream wafers."
"No, thanks! We don't want anything," stammered Lizzie.
"If you've spent all your money," persisted the hawker, "I'm always open
to take a trinket instead. There's a young lady been here just now, and
gave me this in place of a sixpence," showing a small brooch pinned into
her bodice. "Of course such things aren't worth much to me, but I'd do
it to oblige you."
At the sight of the little brooch Ulyth flushed hotly.
"We're not allowed to buy cakes and tarts," she replied. "I'm sure Miss
Bowes doesn't know that you come here to sell things. It's not your
fault, of course, but please don't come again. It's breaking the rules
of the school."
The woman covered up her basket in an instant.
"All right, Missie, all right," she said suavely. "I don't want to press
things on you. That's not my way. You won't catch me at this gate again,
I promise you. Good night!" and, slipping out into the lane, she was
gone directly.
Ulyth shut the door and bolted it.
"She mayn't come to this particular spot again," said Lizzie, "but
she'll find some other meeting-place, the cunning old thing. I could see
it in her eye. So this is their grand secret! What a remarkably
honourable and creditable one!"
"It's worse than I thought," groaned Ulyth. "They must have been going
on with this business for some time, Lizzie. Do you know, that brooch
was Rona's. I recognized it at once. It's one she brought from New
Zealand, with a Maori device on it."
"I thought better of Rona."
"So did I. She's improved so much I didn't think she'd slip back in this
way."
"I believe Tootie Phillips is the ring-leader."
"There's no doubt of it. From all we've seen, the juniors have got a
systematic traffic with this woman, and post scouts to keep watch while
she's about. You heard Irene call: 'All's well!'"
"They'll be feasting in their bedroom to-night."
"Rona won't dare, surely. Lizzie, I shouldn't have thought much of it if
they'd done it once just for a lark. We're all human, and juniors will
be juniors. But when it gets systematic, and they begin to sell their
brooches, that's a different matter."
"What are you going to do? Tackle the kids and tell them we've found
out, and they've got to stop it?"
"Will they really stop it just at our bidding? Or will it only put them
on their guard and make them carry the thing on with more caution?"
"Then give a hint to the monitresses?"
"I wonder if we ought. I wish Catherine and Helen were different."
"Well, what do you suggest?"
"There's only one other way. Mrs. Arnold is coming to The Woodlands on
Friday afternoon. Suppose we wait, catch her alone, and tell her all
about it. She's our 'Guardian of the Fire', and we ought to be able to
ask her things when we're in difficulties. She doesn't belong to the
school, so it isn't like telling a teacher or a monitress. We know we
can trust her absolutely."
"Right-O! But it seems a long time to have to wait."
"It can't be helped," said Ulyth, as they hurried back through the
garden.
She had decided, as she thought, for the best, though, as the result
proved, she had chosen a most unfortunate course.