The Caesar Translation
Patty heaved a sigh of relief when she found herself back again at
school. With the exception of the one afternoon at Jean Bannerman's, she
had not enjoyed her holidays. A month spent in Muriel's society had been
of little pleasure; indeed, almost every day it had needed constant
effort to keep her temper, and to submit patiently to her cousin's
whims. Muriel, taking advantage of Patty's forbearance, had ordered her
companion about, and treated her in such a haughty and disdainful
manner, that the latter had sometimes felt her position nearly
unbearable. At The Priory at least she could be independent; she could
select her own friends, with whom she might mix on equal terms, and
could secure a standing of her own, apart from Muriel's scornful
patronage. It was delightful to once more meet Enid, Avis, and Winnie,
and to make plans for various cherished schemes to be carried out during
the term; even May, Ella, and Doris proved more friendly, and chatted
quite pleasantly with her in their bedroom about their experiences:
while Cissie Gardiner and Maggie Woodhall greeted her with enthusiasm.
"I've had such a lovely time!" said Cissie. "My brother Cyril was home
from Sandhurst, and he took me to the Military Tournament. I think
there's nothing in the world equal to cavalry. I mean to be an army
sister when I grow up. We saw a staff of nurses do field drill, and
carry a wounded officer to a Red Cross tent. (He wasn't really wounded,
of course, but he pretended to be.) They looked just too sweet in their
uniforms. Grey always suits me, doesn't it? I wish there'd be another
war in South Africa, so that I might volunteer to go out."
"You won't be grown up for four years, dearest, and then perhaps you'll
be tired of soldiers, and like poets again," said Maggie, putting her
arm affectionately round her friend's waist. "Did you have nice holidays
too, Patty?"
"Yes, thank you," replied Patty, as truthfully as she could.
She had decided that it was wiser not to tell any of her friends how
unhappy she had been at Thorncroft. For Uncle Sidney's sake she would be
as loyal as she could to Muriel, so, suppressing all mention of the many
disagreeable episodes of her visit, she merely described the parties
and the afternoon at the pantomime with as much detail as possible,
leaving it to be inferred that she had enjoyed herself. The spring term
was generally regarded at The Priory as a time of particularly close
study and increased work. In the autumn there were lectures, concerts,
or other little dissipations to break the monotony of school life; the
summer term was arranged specially to allow extra time out-of-doors; but
from January to April the girls were expected to put their shoulders to
the wheel, and commit to memory such a number of pages in their
textbooks, that Avis declared it amounted to hard labour.
"The worst of it is," she complained, "that each teacher expects you to
give all your time to her particular subject. Miss Harper looks
reproachful if I can't say my history, and Miss Rowe scolds if I miss in
my grammar. Then Mademoiselle gives me yards of French poetry and two or
three irregular verbs to learn, and Miss Lincoln asks me why my essay is
so short. I could spend the whole of prep. over just one lesson, and
then not know it properly in the end. Unless I take my books to bed, I
can't possibly get through everything that's set me."
"You should do as I do," said Enid. "I learn the beginning of the
history portion almost by heart. Then I look very intelligent and
attentive, and when Miss Harper asks me a question, I rattle off a long
answer nearly word for word from the book, at such a tremendous rate
that she can scarcely follow me, and says, 'That will do, Enid'. It
makes her think I know the whole lesson, and she keeps questioning the
other girls who've hesitated and stumbled."
"She'll catch you some day," said Winnie. "Miss Harper's too clever to
be taken in by any such tricks. She's sure to ask you a question at the
end quite unexpectedly, and what will you do then?"
"Trust to luck," said Enid. "She'll perhaps think I've forgotten for
once. I manage my essays for Miss Lincoln rather well, too. When I can't
remember any facts I make up a line or two of appropriate poetry, and
put 'as the poet says'. It fills up splendidly. Miss Lincoln said once
she didn't recognize all my quotations, but she always gives me a high
mark!"
"You can't do that kind of thing with Mademoiselle," said Avis.
"No, I own it would be no use to try. When one has forty lines of French
poetry to recite, one's obliged to set to work and get it into one's
head. But I mean to manage better in the conversation class. My eldest
sister has just come home from Paris, and she's taught me the French for
'How is your throat?' and 'Do you feel a draught?' Mademoiselle always
has a cold, and wants the window shut. She'll think I'm so sympathetic,
and be sure to put 'excellent' in my report."
"I can manage French, and do pretty well in history and geography, but I
can't learn Latin," groaned Winnie. "I didn't mind so much when we only
did sentences, but now we've begun Caesar it's simply detestable. I'm an
absolute goose at translation."
"So am I," echoed Avis, mournfully. "I don't think Latin was ever meant
for girls. My brother did Caesar two years ago, and he's in Virgil now,
though he's a year younger than I am. It seems quite easy to him, but I
never know which verb goes with which substantive, or whether a thing is
a nominative or a genitive. I look out all the words in the dictionary,
and learn their meanings, but I can't make the least sense of them until
Miss Harper shows me how they fit into the sentences. Why isn't Latin
arranged like English? Everything seems turned the wrong way."
"I don't know," said Winnie. "I should think it must have been difficult
for a Roman baby to learn to talk. Miss Harper says it's good mental
exercise for us, and we must try to use our brains."
"Mine will wear out," said Avis. "They never were very strong, to begin
with. I always forget everything I have learnt the term before; I do
indeed. I knew the whole of 'Lycidas' by heart last year, and I can't
remember a line of it now. Miss Rowe says my head is like a sieve. You
ought to like Caesar, at any rate, Cissie, because it's all about
soldiers."
"I don't care for Roman soldiers," said Cissie; "at least, not in Caesar,
though I rather like them in stories. I love the one in _Puck of Pook's
Hill_, who had to set out for the great wall; he was a perfect dear. If
Rudyard Kipling could have written that wretched _De Bello Gallico_ it
would have been so different, and so much nicer."
"I should think it would!" said Enid laughing. "Much too nice for us.
They choose the driest books possible for schools. Patty, why don't you
grumble too? It's quite aggravating to see you looking so complacent."
"I grumble over mathematics, at any rate," said Patty.
"But not over Latin?"
"No, I rather like it."
"How can you like it?"
"I don't know why, but I do."
"There's nothing to like."
"Yes, there is; it's rather fun to try and turn the words into
sentences."
"You're not very good at French translation, and yet you always make
sense out of Caesar. I can't think how you manage it," said Avis.
"Ah, that's my secret!" answered Patty. "I shan't give it away, or else
perhaps you'd all do as well."
"Is it really a secret?" asked Beatrice Wynne, who had joined the group.
"Of course it is," said Patty mysteriously. "One of those things you
can't explain and wouldn't if you could."
"Oh, do tell me!" implored Beatrice.
"No!" said Patty, shaking her head solemnly. "A secret is a secret, and
you mustn't ask questions."
"I'll find out some day," returned Beatrice. "I love discovering
secrets."
"Don't be too sure of mine," said Patty. "You won't find it out,
because----"
But here she shook her head with the air of a sphinx, and, leaving her
sentence unfinished, took up her music-case and went to practise.
Now, Patty had only been having a little fun with Beatrice. She had
meant to say, "because there is no secret at all", and to have explained
what was really the fact, that she had helped her brother Basil so often
at home to prepare his Latin translation that the earlier part of _De
Bello Gallico_ was already familiar to her. Thinking, however, that it
would be possible to continue the joke, and that it would be amusing to
excite Beatrice's curiosity over nothing, she had preserved her mystery
for the present, intending to explain it on some future occasion. In
view of events which followed, it proved a most unfortunate occurrence,
and one which she afterwards bitterly regretted. Her innocent remark led
to conclusions quite unforeseen, and so disastrous that she would have
given much if her words had never been uttered; but once spoken they
were impossible to recall, and the mischief was done. Blind as yet to
what was to happen in the future, she spent half an hour at the piano,
and then went to the classroom to fetch a book which she had forgotten.
It was a pouring wet afternoon, and as it was quite impossible for the
girls to play their usual game of hockey, they were allowed to amuse
themselves as they liked until tea-time. As a rule the classroom was
empty between three and four o'clock, and Patty opened the door,
expecting to find the room unoccupied. To her astonishment, Muriel was
seated there, busily engaged in writing, and evidently copying something
from a book which she held on her knee. She started guiltily at her
cousin's entrance, as if she were being caught in some act which she did
not wish to be discovered, turned crimson, and, thrusting the book into
her desk, banged down the lid, and pretended to be tidying the contents
of her pencil-box. It was so unusual to find Muriel at work out of
school hours, that Patty could not help expressing her amazement.
"Why, what are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
"I might ask you the same," returned Muriel. "I suppose I have as good a
right to come to my desk when I want as anybody else has!"
"Why, of course," said Patty. "I was only surprised."
"Then I wish you would keep your surprise to yourself. I can't think why
you should always be following me about."
"Oh, Muriel, I wasn't! I only came to fetch my history."
"And I only came to do some of my lessons in quiet. The recreation room
is a perfect Babel."
"So it is," said Patty. "I thought I'd learn my dates quietly in here."
"Can't you learn them in prep.?" asked Muriel.
"Not so well. I want the extra time for my Latin. It's such a stiff
piece for to-morrow. Don't you think so?"
"I haven't looked at it yet," replied Muriel, in a rather strained
voice, and avoiding Patty's eye.
"Why, Muriel," cried the latter, who had come close to her cousin,
"what are you writing now? 'There remained one way through the
Sequani.'"
"I wish you'd mind your own business. I was only scribbling nonsense to
try my new pen," said Muriel angrily, tearing up her piece of paper. "Do
leave me alone!"
Patty sat down at her own desk, and, taking out her history book, was
soon deep in an effort to master the dates which Miss Harper had set for
the next day's lesson. Muriel went on for some little time arranging her
pencils and indiarubbers in a very discontented and annoyed manner.
"Look here, Patty, I wish you'd go!" she said at last.
"Go! Why?" asked Patty.
"Because you disturb me."
"But I wasn't saying it aloud."
"It doesn't matter. I can learn things much better when I'm quite
alone."
"You're never alone at prep."
"No, I wish I were. I could get through the work in half the time.
You're interrupting me now by talking."
"Then I won't talk," said Patty, taking up her book, which she had laid
down; "I won't say a single word."
"The very sight of anyone in the room is enough to stop me learning
properly. I haven't done a single thing since you came here."
Patty was on the point of saying, "It's your own fault, then;" but the
thought of Uncle Sidney stepped in, and she refrained.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked instead.
"To go and leave me in peace. You can learn your dates in a corner of
the lecture room or in the studio."
It was rather hard to be thus ordered away from the quiet place which
she had chosen, and Patty stood hesitating whether to comply or not,
when the question was settled by the ringing of the tea bell, and both
girls were obliged to hurry to the refectory. Patty did not think much
of this incident at the time, only setting it down to Muriel's caprice,
and being quite accustomed to her cousin's ill humours; but in the light
of after events it wore a different aspect. One morning at nine o'clock,
when Miss Rowe had taken the register, and the girls were in their
places waiting for school to begin, Miss Harper entered the room with an
extremely grave look on her face. Instead of commencing the lesson as
usual, she stood for a few moments without speaking, and her silence
filled her class with an uneasy apprehension that all was not right.
"Girls," she said at last, "something has happened which gives me more
pain than anything else I have experienced during the five years I have
taught at The Priory. Yesterday the monitress, when tidying the room,
found this book, which she very rightly brought at once to me. I regret
to tell you that it is a translation of Caesar's _De Bello Gallico_; in
fact, what is commonly known as a 'crib'. That any girl in my class
could so have lost her self-respect as to condescend to use it to
prepare her lesson, fills me with shame, as it shows such an absolute
lowering of the high standard of honour which we have always tried to
maintain. I ask each of you now, do you know who is the owner of this
book, or can you account for its presence here?"
There was no reply. Every girl looked at her neighbour, but nobody had
any information to volunteer. Muriel's eyes were fixed on her atlas; she
did not appear the least affected by Miss Harper's words, though a keen
observer might have noticed she was a little paler than usual. Patty's
heart beat quickly. Quite suddenly the horrible remembrance flashed
across her of the book which Muriel had replaced so quickly in the desk.
Muriel had certainly at the time been writing a translation of the Latin
lesson, though she had denied it flatly; and it was a curious
coincidence that she should have seemed so unreasonably angry with her
cousin for staying in the room. Was the book hers? Patty blushed hotly
at the very idea. What ought she to do? It was impossible to tell her
conjectures to Miss Harper in the presence of the whole class. If Muriel
were guilty, she would surely confess the matter herself. It could not
be necessary to turn informer and voice suspicions which, after all,
might prove to have been entirely groundless. Nevertheless, she felt
uncomfortable, and as Miss Harper's steady glance was fixed upon her she
could not meet the searching eyes, and dropped her own uneasily.
"I ask you again," said the teacher, with reproach in her voice, "does
any girl know anything of this occurrence? I promise I will inflict no
punishment if whoever is guilty will only honestly confess."
Once more her brown eyes scanned her class narrowly, and once more Patty
dared not look her straight in the face.
"Very well," said Miss Harper, "I shall not seek any further to find the
owner, though the initials P. and H. intertwined on the title page might
possibly give me a clue. The girl to whom it belongs will find her own
conscience her severest judge; she will surely feel, without further
remark from me, how contemptible is her conduct. I scarcely know what
to do with this book," she continued, holding up the translation as if
she did not like to touch it. "I will not take charge of it, as I
consider it unworthy to be in existence. This will show you best how I
regard it;" and, tearing its pages across and across, she flung it into
the fire. "Now, girls, open your Caesars, and we will begin the lesson."
[Illustration: "GIRLS," SHE CRIED, "SURELY YOU CAN'T SUSPECT ME OF
OWNING THAT WRETCHED CRIB"]
It was the most miserable Latin class which the girls ever remembered.
Each one was afraid to construe well, for fear she might be suspected of
having done her preparation with the aid of the translation. Miss Harper
made no comments, and gave neither praise for good work nor blame for
bad. She took the marks as usual, and at the end of the hour left the
room without referring again to the subject. I am afraid Miss Rowe, who
followed with geology, did not find her pupils particularly intelligent
that morning. She was obliged several times to correct them sharply for
wandering attention, and was annoyed at the many wrong answers to the
questions which she asked. The girls were unable to fix their thoughts
upon either glaciers or moraines; all were counting the minutes until
lunch-time, when they could rush from the room to discuss the burning
question of the ownership of the translation. As Patty walked down the
passage at eleven o'clock to the pantry, she noticed Vera Clifford
nudge Kitty Harrison and whisper something she could not hear. Most of
the girls were collected in a little group near the door, talking
eagerly, and some of them looked curiously at her as she passed.
"I don't believe it!" cried Enid's indignant voice. "It's quite untrue
and impossible!"
"You'll never persuade me, not if you try all day," said Winnie.
"She always gets such good marks for her Caesar," said Maggie Woodhall,
doubtfully.
"Well, she told me herself it was a secret how she did it," declared
Beatrice Wynne. "She said she couldn't explain it, and wouldn't if she
could, and if we knew we might all do it equally well. Could anything be
clearer than that?"
"And the initials were P. H., for Patty Hirst!" added Ella Johnson.
Patty, as she took her lunch, could not help overhearing what was said
by the group round the door. At first she did not quite understand the
drift of the conversation, but at Ella's remark a light suddenly dawned
upon her. Putting down her glass of milk, she turned abruptly to the
others.
"Girls," she cried, "surely you can't suspect me of owning that wretched
'crib'?"
"Then whose is it if it's not yours?" asked Beatrice Wynne.
"I don't know, any more than you. But one thing's certain, I've had
nothing to do with it. Why, I wouldn't have soiled my fingers by
touching it!"
"How about the initials?" enquired Ella Johnson, with a touch of sarcasm
in her voice.
"I don't know. It never occurred to me till this minute that you could
connect my name with them."
"It's a funny coincidence," sneered Vera Clifford.
"I suppose the book must have been brought to school by somebody," said
Kitty Harrison.
"It was not brought by me," said Patty. "I've no means of proving
anything, but I've always been called truthful at home, and I think my
word ought to hold good at The Priory too."
"Then whom does it belong to?" persisted Kitty. "Do you know anything at
all about it?"
"Nothing," answered Patty; but the horrible suspicion lurking in the
corner of her mind made her voice falter just a little, and some of the
girls drew their own conclusions.
"Look here," said Enid, "I'd as soon believe Miss Harper smuggled that
'crib' into school herself as think Patty did! She's absolutely
incapable of such a thing, and you all know it as well as I do. Why,
it's Patty who's always tried to make us be fair over our work! She
simply couldn't cheat. Hands up, all those who don't believe this
hateful story!"
Jean, Winnie, and Avis held up their hands at once, and so, to the
astonishment of most of her companions, did Muriel. Cissie Gardiner and
Maggie Woodhall followed suit, but the others looked doubtful.
"I suppose we must accept Patty's word," said Beatrice, rather stiffly.
"Still, it's a funny thing, and I wish it hadn't happened."
"Very funny, certainly, for the one who started the pledge," said Vera
Clifford, under her breath.
"We shall find it out some day," said Enid. "I'm determined Patty's name
shall be cleared. How any of you can be so idiotic as to connect her
with it, I can't imagine. Never mind, Patty dear! We know you better
than to believe such rubbish. Don't trouble your head about it, for it
simply isn't worth worrying over. Everyone with a spark of sense will
agree with me, and I'm sure Miss Harper will think the same."