Albums
"I want you to put something in my album, Patty," said Winnie Robinson
one afternoon, producing a dainty little volume reserved for souvenirs
of her friends. "You're clever at drawing, so please let it be a
picture, and if you can colour it, so much the better."
"I hope I shan't spoil your book," replied Patty, turning over the
leaves to look at the various artistic efforts and poetical quotations
with which about half the pages were filled.
"Of course you won't! I expect yours will be one of the nicest. I want
every girl in the class to either paint or write something, and then I
shall have a keepsake of the Upper Fourth. Maggie Woodhall drew this
pretty little dog, and Ella Johnson those roses, and Enid has promised
to make up a piece of poetry on purpose."
"It was only half a promise," declared Enid.
"Then you must write half a poem."
"Suppose the Muse deserts me?"
"Oh, rubbish! You can always make up verses. They seem to flow just as
if you turned on a tap."
"Have you an album, Patty?" enquired Avis.
"No," said Patty. "I never saw one like Winnie's before. It's something
quite new to me."
"Oh! then you must get one. They're the fashion just at present, and
every girl in the class has one."
"We're rather fond of fads at The Priory," explained Winnie. "We have a
rage for some particular thing, and are quite silly over it for a while,
until we grow tired of it, and take up something else. This is about the
fifth craze since I've been at the school. They never last long."
"The first was foreign stamps," said Enid. "Don't you remember how keen
we were about collecting them, and how we envied May Firth because she
had an uncle in Persia?"
"Maggie Woodhall got several stamps from Mexico," said Avis. "I think
her collection was one of the best."
"I was very enthusiastic about mine," said Enid. "I exchanged three new
lead pencils once for a Japanese stamp, and I asked Mother for an album
for my birthday present. It was a beauty, too. Then, in the holidays, I
went to stay with my godmother, and she had a whole pillow-case full of
old letters, mostly foreign ones. She let me tear the stamps off all the
envelopes, and I got at least twenty new kinds. I was delighted with
them; but when I came back to school the fashion had changed, everybody
was tired of stamps, and nobody cared to look at mine, so I gave the
book to my brother. The boys in his class were collecting, and he was
only too pleased to have it."
"I believe crests came next," said Avis reflectively. "Vera Clifford
introduced them, because she was so proud her family has one of its own.
She put it on the front page, and showed it to everybody."
"Yes, and she never forgave Doris Kennedy for making fun of it."
"What did Doris say?"
"Well, you see, the Clifford crest is a lion holding a shell, and the
motto is a Latin one which means, 'Do not touch!' Doris said the lion
was holding a purse, and the motto meant, 'What I've got I'll keep'. It
was a good hit at Vera, because she's very stingy, although she has
plenty of pocket money. She only gave twopence to the Waifs and Strays
Fund--it was less than anybody else in the class; and she'll hardly
ever lend her things, either, though she often borrows from other
girls."
"She used all my Indian ink last term, and never gave me any back when
she bought a new bottle," said Winnie. "She's certainly rather mean."
"The crests looked beautiful when they were pasted into albums," said
Avis. "Beatrice Wynne used to paint borders round hers in red, and blue,
and gold. Her book was like an old illuminated manuscript."
"It was a difficult craze, though, to keep up," said Winnie, "because we
couldn't most of us collect enough crests to fill a book. Post-marks
were much easier. We used to arrange them according to the different
counties they were in. Miss Harper encouraged that fad; she said it
taught us geography."
"So it did; but we made the most absurd mistakes sometimes. I remember
putting Abingdon down under Devonshire, and Ilkley under Lincolnshire. I
used to have to look the places up in the atlas. It was rather too like
lessons to be very popular, so we all took to drawing pigs instead."
"Drawing pigs!" exclaimed Patty.
"Yes, with your eyes shut. It's most amusing to have a pig book. You get
each of your friends to close her eyes tightly, and then draw a pig,
putting in its tail and its eye, and to sign her name to it afterwards.
You can't think what funny pictures people make. The eye's generally in
the middle of the pig's back, and the tail twirling away anywhere but in
the right place."
"All except Miss Harper's pig," said Winnie, "and that was because she
drew the eye first. It wasn't quite fair, because you're supposed to put
it in last of all; but of course none of us dared to tell her so. I have
it in my book still, signed E.J.H.; it's got the most impertinent snout,
and large peaked ears. I'm sure she must have been practising drawing
pigs before she did it."
"Ghost signatures were nearly as much fun," said Enid.
"What are those?" enquired Patty, to whom all these schoolgirl pastimes
were unknown.
"You have a special autograph book for them," explained Enid. "You
double a page in half, and write your name inside exactly on the crease
of the paper; then you fold the two halves together again without
blotting it and press hard. It smudges your signature into such a queer
shape. Everybody's comes out differently. One looks like a caterpillar,
and another like a butterfly, or perhaps a fish's backbone. Ella
Johnson's was the exact image of an oak tree."
"And Maud Greening's was like a pressed fern," said Winnie. "Do you
remember the fad we had for pressed flowers and skeleton leaves? We used
to keep them inside all our books."
"Yes, we soaked the leaves in water till they turned into skeletons. We
pressed the flowers in blotting paper, and they were often lovely."
"Some of the girls were quite sentimental over them. Cissie Gardiner had
a pansy picked from Wordsworth's garden at Grasmere, and a sprig of
rosemary that she said came from the grave of Keats. Her aunt brought it
to her from Rome, where he's buried. She pasted it on to a piece of
paper, and wrote underneath: 'Here's rosemary, that's for remembrance. I
pray you, love, remember.' She said Keats was her favourite poet. She
thought it was so romantic for him to die so young of a broken heart,
and she admired his portrait at the beginning of his poems, and if only
she could have lived a hundred years earlier, then perhaps she might
have known him."
"It was all Cissie's fault that we lost our collections," said Avis.
"What happened?" asked Patty, who found the reminiscences interesting.
"Well, we used to keep the leaves and flowers inside our books, and look
at them during class whenever we had an opportunity. One day, during
grammar, Cissie was sitting gazing at her piece of rosemary, and, I
suppose, thinking of Keats, for she didn't hear when she was asked a
question. Miss Rowe repeated it, and Cissie gave such a start that all
her treasures fell from her book on to the floor. Miss Rowe looked very
grim, and told her to pick them up, and ordered each girl to take every
single leaf and flower out of her book also. Then she made Cissie
collect them all, and fling the whole pile into the grate. Poor Cissie
was in tears. She tried hard to save her sprig of rosemary: she begged
Miss Rowe to let her keep it, and said she'd put it away in her drawer,
and never bring it to class again; but Miss Rowe said she wouldn't
encourage such nonsense, and the best place for it was the fire."
"It was just like Miss Rowe," said Enid; "she always uses what my father
calls 'drastic measures'. Cissie's tired of Keats now. She's made a hero
of General Gordon instead, and has his portrait hanging up in her
bedroom, with a piece of palm over it. She says she should like to marry
a soldier some day, only she'd be so afraid of his getting killed."
"Cissie's a goose," said Winnie; "she can think of nothing but soldiers
since her brother went to Sandhurst. She even drew one in my album, and
it's not particularly well done. Patty, are you going to paint anything
for me, or are you not? I'll leave the book with you for a week, and at
the end of that time I shall expect to see something nice."
Patty was rather clever at drawing. She could copy very exactly, and
even make original sketches sometimes. Mr. Summers, the art master,
thought well of her work, and had praised her study of a group of apples
more highly than those of the other girls. It was quite a consolation to
Patty to excel in something. She found the afternoon spent in the studio
the pleasantest in the whole week, and wished the drawing lessons came
oftener. She was not without a secret hope that some of her work might
be considered good enough to secure a place in the small exhibition of
Arts and Crafts which was held yearly at the school, and to which only
very creditable efforts were admitted. The neat drawings with which she
illustrated her botany schedules were the admiration of her classmates,
though they did not always meet with the appreciation from Miss Harper
which they deserved. On one occasion Patty had taken immense trouble to
copy a harebell as an example of the order _Campanulaceae_. She had
shaded it carefully in Indian ink, with very fine cross hatchings, and
hoped it might win an extra mark, or at any rate a word of approbation.
Disappointment, however, was in store for her. Miss Harper handed back
the book with the remark:
"If you would spend less time on drawings, and more on the
subject-matter of your exercises, Patty Hirst, I should be better
satisfied with your work."
"It's so difficult to remember all those long, hard botanical terms,"
Patty complained afterwards to Jean. "I love the flowers, and I like to
paint them and learn their English names, but I don't care in the least
if their stamens are hypogynous or their cotyledons induplicate! I think
it spoils them to pull them to pieces. They look so much prettier just
as they're growing!"
The painting of a spray of honeysuckle which Patty did for Winnie was so
beautifully done, that it was greatly envied by the other girls, all of
whom begged for contributions to their own albums, and kept the little
artist quite busy on half-holidays, or in any other leisure moments
which she could spare. It was such a pleasant occupation that Patty did
not grudge the time spent over it, and she was magnanimous enough to
forget old grievances and to allow even Vera Clifford, Maud Greening,
and Kitty Harrison to have specimens of her work, though Enid said they
did not deserve it.
"They wouldn't any of them sit next to you when we were playing games
last night," she declared, "and they were quite rude, and left you out
altogether in the proverb questions. I think it is very cool of them to
ask you. As for Muriel, I wonder she can bear to look at the lovely
poppies you painted in her book, when she treats you so horridly."
It was Patty's birthday on the 24th of October, and for fully a week
before that event she could not help noticing an unusual amount of
mystery in the conduct of her friends. Several of them would be talking
together with the greatest animation, and would drop suddenly into
silence on her arrival. Enid twice began a sentence and stopped in the
middle at a warning glance from Jean; and once, when Patty came
unexpectedly into the classroom, there was a scuffle, the lid of
Winnie's desk was banged down violently, and Winnie herself, together
with Avis Wentworth and Cissie Gardiner, looked extremely conscious, as
though they had been almost caught in some act which they wished to keep
a secret. Patty wondered mildly why Enid seemed so anxious to ascertain
whether she preferred red or blue, and whether she did not think a
bright colour was always nicer than black; and she could not understand
why her friend should one day be poring over a catalogue from the
Stores, nor why she shut it up in such a hurry, remarking rather
pointedly that Miss Lincoln had lent it to her.
"It's a queer book to choose!" laughed Patty. "I thought you were
halfway through 'A Chaplet of Pearls'? I shouldn't think it's very
amusing to read lists of groceries and household linen."
"On the contrary, I find it most interesting," replied Enid. "I never
knew before how much shopping one could do at the Stores. They seem to
have a department for everything."
On the morning of the birthday most of the members of the Fourth Class
hurried away after breakfast with conspicuous haste. Patty stayed for a
few minutes in the refectory to talk to some of the fifth class girls,
and was in the middle of a conversation with Olive Hardman and Bella
Ashworth, when Jean entered in search of her.
"Come, Patty," she said, "you're wanted in the classroom."
"Why, it's too early. It's only twenty-five minutes to nine," said
Patty.
"Never mind. The girls are all there waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for you."
"Why for me?" asked Patty, in much surprise.
"Come along and you'll find the reason," replied Jean, taking her arm
and leading her down the passage without further delay.
Considerably mystified at Jean's impatient hurry, Patty was still more
astonished to discover the whole of both the Upper Fourth and the lower
division collected round the fire in the schoolroom, and evidently
anticipating her arrival with much eagerness.
"Here she is!" cried Jean. "Now, Enid, you can begin."
"We want to wish you very many happy returns of the day, Patty," said
Enid, who seemed to be acting as mouthpiece for the rest. "And we hope
you'll accept this birthday present; it's from us all."
"Thank you so much," said Patty, taking the offered parcel and beginning
to untie the string. "I never expected that any of you would remember my
birthday. Why, how lovely! Oh, it is good of you! The very thing in all
the world I'd rather have than anything else."
The object which lay under the many folds of tissue paper was an album.
It was bound in bright-blue morocco with gilt edges, and had smooth
pages inside for writing, interleaved with pages of drawing paper for
water colours. At the beginning was neatly printed:
PATTY HIRST
With love from the Fourth Class.
It was certainly a very appropriate present for the girls to have made,
and one which Patty appreciated immensely. She had greatly longed to
possess an album of her own, but had not liked to ask her mother to buy
her one, and the beauty of this handsome gift far surpassed all her
dreams.
"You'd done such lovely paintings in our books, that we felt we wanted
to put something in yours," said Avis, "though I'm afraid our
productions won't be very nice. I can't draw a stroke, and my writing's
not at all elegant. I think you'd better not ask me."
In spite of Avis's protestations, Patty naturally asked her and the rest
of the class for contributions, and the twenty-one souvenirs which
resulted went a long way towards filling her volume. They varied much,
both in quality and quantity, from Maggie Woodhall's fine pen-and-ink
drawing to May Firth's washy little attempt at a landscape, or the short
poetical quotation signed "Beatrice Wynne". Cissie Gardiner, always of a
romantic turn of mind, copied "Has sorrow thy young days shaded?" from
Moore's _Irish Melodies_, in her neatest handwriting. Naughty Winnie,
who liked to make fun of Cissie, added a version of her own on the
opposite page, which greatly destroyed the sentiment of the first, and
provoked much laughter in the class. It ran thus:--
"Has sorrow thy young days shaded?
Are schoolbooks and inkpots thy fate?
Too soon is thy fair face faded
By working at Euclid so late.
Doth French thy bright spirit wither,
Or Grammar thy happiness sear?
Then, child of misfortune, come hither,
I'll weep with thee tear for tear."
"It's too bad!" said Cissie. "It spoils my verses; and Moore's my
favourite poet just now. I like him far better than Keats; I think his
pieces about soldiers and glory are simply splendid."
All the girls exerted themselves so much on Patty's behalf, that her
album seemed to bring out an amount of talent lying dormant in the class
which nobody had suspected before. Inspired by Winnie's original lines,
several of the others set to work to make up verses, and the results
were so satisfactory, that the authors felt themselves quite budding
poetesses. Ethel Maitland, a quiet girl in the lower division,
astonished everybody by the following composition, which was the more
unexpected as nobody had ever considered her in the least clever.
TO PATTY
I thank the chance that doth afford
Th' occasion fair and happy,
Upon this page to thus record
My gratitude to Patty.
Within my album she hath wrought
A picture of red roses,
All painted with most cunning skill,
The prettiest of posies.
Had I but talent, in return
A masterpiece I'd draw her,
But failing that, I pen these lines
Which now I place before her.
"It's not very good," declared Ethel. "It was so hard to make it scan
properly. I know 'happy' and 'Patty' don't really rhyme, but what else
could I put? The last line's rather tame, but then again I couldn't find
a rhyme for 'draw her'. I thought at first of putting 'And hope they
will not bore her', or 'To show how I adore her', but perhaps it's
better as it is."
Patty, who had no talent for poetry, was immensely impressed by these
lines. She showed them to everybody in the class, and Ethel's work was
much admired until it was entirely eclipsed by a contribution from Jean
Bannerman. Jean had drawn a funny picture of a kitten with a pile of
books under its arm. She had copied it from a magazine, but the verse
which she wrote under it was her own composition. She called it:
AN ENTHUSIAST
Her head well stored with copious knowledge,
Miss Fluffy Purrem goes to College,
Secure that never yet she's failed.
Her subjects will not be _cur_tailed:
On _cat_acombs she'll wax ecstatic,
Yet much objects to be _dog_matic.
She's great on ornithology,
And also on astrology;
She lets the Dog Star go astray,
But revels in the _Milky Way_.
She claims the _Manx_ to be a nation,
And holds strong views about cre(a)mation;
At _Mew_nham they declare she's sure
A first-class try_puss_ to secure.
This delighted the girls, because the kitten's face really looked a
little like Patty's, which was round too, and what Jean described as
"purry",--"that's to say, looking pleased at everything, as if she were
purring," she explained.
Enid had reserved her efforts until the last, and her page in the album
was considered the very best of all. It was headed by a picture which
was a curious notion of her own. When glanced at casually it might be
taken for a sketch of a crocodile, but when examined closely it showed
that the body was made up of girls walking along two and two, the
smaller ones tapering down in height, and vanishing in the distance to
form the tail. Though the details were not particularly well drawn, the
whole effect was wonderfully good, and as "crocodiling" was the popular
term at The Priory for walking two and two, the idea was most
appropriate. Enid described it in the accompanying verses:
THE BALLAD OF THE SWEET CROCODILE
Oh! haven't you heard of the sweet crocodile?
It lives in the mud on the banks of the Nile.
'Neath the tropical sunshine it sits with a smile,
And feeds on the niggers who live by the Nile.
Oh, the sweet crocodile! The sweet crocodile!
It lives in the mud on the banks of the Nile.
But if you must live in this cold British isle,
It's not often you'll meet with the sweet crocodile.
The specimens here are as far as they're few,
And we treasure them carefully up in the Zoo.
Oh, the sweet crocodile! The sweet crocodile!
It doesn't thrive well in this cold British isle.
Yet if about Morton you'll walk for a mile,
You may see an uncommonly sweet crocodile.
It looks very neat, with its trim little feet,
And the people all smile when the creature they meet.
Oh, the sweet crocodile! The sweet crocodile!
It walks about Morton for many a mile.
But if you'll examine this sweet crocodile,
You'll see it's composed all of girls in a file.
And there's one, who's called Patty, with such a sweet smile,
That the people all rave on this sweet crocodile.
Oh! this Patty of mine, with the extra sweet smile,
She's a gem in the tail of the sweet crocodile.
This proved by far the most popular of all the contributions to Patty's
album, and as numerous girls from other classes asked to look at the
crocodile picture, the book was in danger of too much wear and tear, and
at Miss Harper's suggestion it was placed temporarily in the school
museum, so that everybody might have a chance of seeing it, yet it
should be safe from careless hands. Enid was, of course, asked after
this to compose so many poems for so many various albums, that had she
consented her collected effusions might have filled a volume; but she
steadfastly declined.
"I made this up specially for Patty, and on purpose to try and make her
album a little different from anybody else's," she declared. "If I wrote
verses and drew pictures for you all, there'd be nothing particularly
out of the common about this. I don't intend to do a single thing for
one of you, so please don't ask me again, for I shall only go on saying
'No'."