The First Day of Term
It was an old-established custom at The Gables that the autumn term
should begin on a Tuesday afternoon. There were no lessons: the girls
simply gathered together in the gymnasium to listen to a short address
from Miss Kingsley, to be told in what forms they were placed for the
coming school year, and to be given new text-books, with passages to
prepare for the morrow, when serious work would begin at nine o'clock,
and the wheels of school life would start to turn in real earnest. This
first afternoon was regarded by most as somewhat in the nature of a
festival. It was pleasant to meet again and compare notes about the
holidays: the general change of forms lent an element of excitement,
even the new books were more or less interesting, and many minor details
gave variety to the occasion.
The gymnasium, whither all the girls were scuttling, was a
moderate-sized wooden building that had been erected, in pre-war days,
at the side of the house. It served for many purposes, and was
alternately drill-hall, concert-room, play-room, lecture-hall, art
gallery or ball-room as the case might be. This afternoon, with a fresh
coat of pink distemper, a big bowl of flowers upon the table, and the
sunshine coming through the skylight roof and shining on the
nicely-polished floor and rows of varnished forms, it looked both
business-like and attractive. The girls trooped in and took their seats.
There were a few elder ones, but the majority were between eight and
fourteen, with perhaps half a dozen kindergarten children on the front
bench. Miss Turner, standing near the piano, controlled any excess of
conversation, and reduced it to a subdued murmur. As Miss Kingsley,
brisk, smiling, and with a "Now we'll get to work!" air about her,
mounted the platform and stood to review her school, forty-two pupils
rose to their feet, and eighty-four eyes were fixed obediently upon her
face. She focused their attention for a moment, then nodding to Miss
Paget, who was seated at the piano, she announced:
"We will begin the new term as usual by singing the National Anthem."
Miss Paget struck a few chords, and then the familiar strains of "God
Save the King" rang through the room. It made a good commencement, for
new girls and even the kindergarten babies could sing it, and thus take
their part at once with the school. Forty-two voices, some fresh and
clear, and some more or less out of tune, joined heartily in the anthem,
and the girls sat down with the consciousness of having made a united
effort. Following her precedent of twelve years, Miss Kingsley had
something to say to her pupils before she made the ordinary
announcements of school arrangements.
"It's always nice to feel we're making a fresh start!" she began
cheerfully. "This is a new school year, and I want you all to join in
helping to make it the best we've ever had. If there are any girls here
who haven't done well before, now is the time for them to turn over a
new leaf and show us that they can work. At this crisis in the world's
affairs we don't want to bring up 'slackers'. Your fathers, uncles,
brothers, cousins have answered their country's call and gone to defend
Britain's honour, and you have been proud to see them go. The women of
the Empire have played their part as nobly as the men, and it is these
brave and splendid women whom you must try to imitate. Do you think they
would have been able to give the help they have given to their country
unless they had prepared their characters for it beforehand? I'm sure
not. It's in the classroom that we train ourselves for what we may do
afterwards. Every girl who tries her best in the little world of school
is learning her part for the big world afterwards. We hope it is going
to be a beautiful world when the war is over, but it can only be so if
we remember the sacrifices that have been made, and determine to be
worthy of those who gave up everything for us. 'A nation never rises
higher than its women.' So you, who are going to be some of its women,
must see to it that you raise and not lower the standard. It's a happy,
hopeful thought to feel that you're helping to push the world on; and
how splendid if we can think that The Gables is a centre from which real
helpfulness may radiate! Let us all join in trying to make it so. I'm
going to tell you now about some things we shall be busy with this term,
and I hope you will throw all your energies into them, and try your
utmost to make them a success."
Miss Kingsley passed in rapid review the general scheme of work for the
term for both seniors and juniors. It was a full programme, and included
a wide range of subjects, from lectures on Greek antiquities to Swedish
drill and rhythmic dancing. She was modern in her methods, and wished to
cultivate every side of a child's nature till she was old enough to
choose her own speciality. Lists of the various forms followed, and then
Miss Kingsley turned to what, in the estimation of some of the girls at
least, was the most important announcement of the afternoon.
"All members of the Sixth are appointed monitresses, and Lorraine
Forrester is head of the school."
A wave of excitement surged instantly through the room. Lorraine! They
had not in the least expected her to be chosen. So far she had seemed a
rather retiring sort of girl who had not taken a very active part in
school affairs. Last term, when war waged hot and strong between Lottie
Carson and Helen Stanley, two of the monitresses, Lorraine had committed
herself to neither party, though her form was divided to such an extent
of partisanship that Dorothy Skipton and Vivien Forrester nearly had a
fight one day on the landing. Lorraine! The matter required thought. The
school was so surprised that it could not decide how to take the
announcement, and it was with a look of uncertainty on their faces that
the girls, dismissed at last by Miss Kingsley, filed into their
classrooms to receive their new books and be told their preparation for
next day. This necessary business finished, they were free to don hats
and coats and go home. In the cloak-room the pent-up conversation
bubbled over.
"Well, what d'you think of it?" exploded Dorothy.
Patsie, sitting on the boot-rack, pulling on her shoes, made a round
mouth and whistled.
"It's generally the unexpected that happens," she moralized. "Lorraine's
a lucker! Cheer up, old Dollie! Don't look so glum! Bother! I've broken
my shoe-lace. What a grizzly nuisance! Lorraine's not such a bad sort,
after all!"
"I don't say she is--but to be head of the school!"
"Better than Vivien, anyway!" grunted Patsie, busy knotting her broken
shoe-lace.
"I agree with you there--_she'd_ have turned the place upside down. Here
she comes, in a tantrum by the look of her."
Vivien, judging by the way she slammed down her new books, was certainly
not pleased with the turn affairs had taken. Though she and Dorothy were
generally on terms of flint and steel, she sought her now to air what
she considered a common grievance.
"I couldn't have believed it of Miss Kingsley!" she began. "Why
Lorraine, of all people in the world? She's two months younger than I
am, and her marks weren't as good as yours in the exam, if it hadn't
been for that absurd essay that counted extra. How she's ever going to
manage to run the societies, I can't imagine! I'm sorry for the school!"
Dorothy was adjusting her attractive hat in front of the mirror. She put
in the pins carefully before replying.
"It's a rotten business!" she sighed.
"Disgusting! To have Lorraine set over us, while you and I are just
ordinary common monitresses, the same as Audrey Roberts or Nellie
Appleby. I'm fed up with it! It's going to be a hateful term; I shan't
take an interest in anything! I wish I'd asked Father to send me to a
boarding-school. I'm sick of The Gables!"
Patsie, whose shoe-lace was now triumphantly mended, chuckled softly.
"Poor old Gables!" she remarked. "I don't know that you'd find a 'better
hole' so easily. It's a very decent kind of school. _I_ intend to have
some fun here this term, if _you_ don't. When's that rhythmic dancing
that Kingie talked about going to begin? I saw some in London, and I'm
just wild to do it. This is how it goes!"
And Patsie, flinging out her arms and swaying from side to side, made a
series of most extraordinary gyrations. Vivien and Dorothy burst out
laughing.
"If _that's_ what you call rhythmic dancing, give me the good
old-fashioned sort!" hinnied Vivien. "You look about as graceful as an
elephant!"
"And as jerky as a wound-up waxwork!" declared Dorothy
uncomplimentarily.
"Well, of course, the movements are done to music; they look quite
different when you've got a sort of classic Greek dress on, and
somebody's playing a study by Chaminade or Debussy."
"It would need very good music indeed to make _those_ antics look
anything! I fancy you'll shine more at hockey, Patsie. I wonder what's
going to happen to the team. I can't fancy Lorraine taking Lily
Anderson's place. It'll be a let-down all round this term with
Lorraine----"
"Sh, 'sh! Here's Lorraine herself!"
"Then I'm off! Come along, Dorothy!"
Vivien rammed her hat on anyhow, seized her pile of new books, and
bolted from the cloak-room almost as her cousin entered. Patsie,
following more leisurely, stopped en route to give the new head girl a
hearty smack on the back.
"Cheero, Lorraine!" she remarked. "Just at the moment you look like
Atlas shouldering the heavens. Haven't you got over the shock of the
announcement yet? Did Kingie spring it on you all at once? Or had she
prepared you beforehand for your laurels?"
"As a matter of fact, she sent for me yesterday and told me," smiled
Lorraine.
"And I suppose, like Julius Cæsar, you waved away the crown? Or was it
Oliver Cromwell, by the by? My history's always shaky!"
"Well, I felt inclined to have a few dozen fits, certainly!"
"I don't say it's exactly a cushy post, but you're a lucker all the
same! Old Dolly and the Duchess would have liked to butt in, I can tell
you. They're absolutely green, the pair of them!"
Lorraine's face clouded.
"I was afraid Vivien would be disappointed. She thought--and so did
I--indeed everybody thought----"
"Then they thought wrong, and a good thing too!" pronounced Patsie.
"Take my advice, Lorraine, and don't stand any nonsense with Vivien.
Kingie's the right to make anybody head girl she wants, and I'm glad
she's chosen you. If the Duchess and old Dollie can't lose in a sporting
way, they're blighters. You hold your own, and I'll back you up. You'll
have most of the school on your side. Ta-ta, and cheer up, old sport!"
Patsie, jolly, good-natured and slangy, swung out of the cloak-room
with what she called a "khaki stride". Lorraine looked after her and
laughed. No one took Patsie seriously, but it was pleasant to feel that
she was an ally, even though she might not prove a very stout prop to
lean upon. That she would need all available help in her new task,
Lorraine was well aware. It would be difficult to follow in the
footsteps of so capable and energetic a head girl as Lily Anderson; the
irrepressible intermediates were likely to prove a handful, and in the
ranks of the Sixth itself she foresaw trouble brewing. It was a
decidedly thoughtful Lorraine who walked down the school garden, out
through the gate, and along the cliff road that led to the western
portion of the town. She had reached the wall below the windmill when
Monica, her eleven-year old sister, came panting after her.
"Lorraine! Do wait! Why did you go off without me? I hunted for you
everywhere, till Ida James told me you'd gone. What a blighter you are
to leave me!"
"Sorry, Cuckoo! But you see I thought _you'd_ gone, so there we are!"
said Lorraine, smiling indulgently at the impetuous little figure that
overtook her and seized her arm. "I'd have waited if I'd known."
"I forgive you!" accorded Monica graciously. "Only to-day of all days,
of course I wanted to walk home with you. D'you know, Tibbiekins, I'm
proud of you! Aren't you bucked? Well, you ought to be. I never got such
a surprise in my life as when 'Lorraine Forrester' was read out 'head of
the school'! Betty Farmer pinched me so hard that I nearly yelled. But I
say, Tibbie, it's a stunt! Didn't you get nerve shock when you heard
your name?"
"I knew yesterday what was coming," admitted Lorraine.
"Was that why you went to see Miss Kingsley? And you never told me a
word! Well, I think you are the limit!"
"Miss Kingsley made me promise on my honour not to tell a single soul."
"I couldn't have helped telling. Think of having that secret all the
evening, and not giving me the least teeny weeny atom of a hint, even! I
wonder you could keep it in! The girls are pleased--most of them. Betty
says you're a sport, and Mabel King says she feels she's going to
worship you, and Nora Hyland said I was a lucker to have you for a
sister. Of course a few of them had plumped for Vivien, and let off
steam, but they'll soon get over it. Vivien looked like a thunder cloud.
She won't forgive you in a hurry! You may look out for squalls in her
quarter. Hallo, here's Rosemary come to meet us. I must tell her the
news. She knows already? Why, you said it was a secret! Well, you are
mean to have told Rosemary and not _me_! I'm not friends with you any
more, so there!"
Lorraine answered her sweet-faced elder sister's look of enquiry with a
nod of comprehension.
"Yes, it's all _un fait accompli_," she replied, "and on the whole I
think the school has borne it beautifully. Come along, Cuckoo, don't
pout! Rosemary must have some secrets I can't tell to the family baby.
Remember, you score in other ways. It's luck to be born youngest."
The three girls turned in at a gate and walked up a flower-bordered
drive to a comfortable ivy-covered house. "Pendlehurst" was a modern
house, and in Lorraine's opinion not at all romantic, but, with the
exception of herself, the Forrester family was not particularly given to
romance. Her father, in choosing a residence, had paid more attention to
drains, number of bedrooms and hot-water facilities than to artistic
beauty or æsthetic associations. He was a practical man with a bent
towards mathematics, and counted the cubic space necessary for the
requirements of seven children to be the matter of most importance. He
had an old-established practice as a solicitor in the town, and had
lived all his life at Porthkeverne. Of the large family of children only
the three youngest remained at home. Richard and Donald were at the
front, in the thick of the fighting; Rodney was in training for the Air
Force, while Rosemary, anxious also to flutter from the nest and try her
wings in the world, was to go to London to study singing at a College of
Music. Her term began a little later than Lorraine's, so the two girls
had still a few days left to spend together. They ran upstairs now to
their joint bedroom, where packing was in progress. A big box stood
under the window with a bottom layer of harmony-books and music tightly
arranged. To Rosemary it meant the fulfilment of a long-cherished dream.
As she looked at it, her imagination skipped three or four years and
showed her a golden vision of herself--in a pale pink satin dress with a
pearl necklace--standing on a concert platform and bowing repeatedly to
the storm of applause which had greeted her song.
"I can't tell you how hard I'm going to work," she confided. "I shall
just practise and practise and practise. I know that wretched theory
will rather stump me, but I'll wrestle with it. There'll be such a
musical atmosphere about the place, it can't help inspiring one."
"The hostel will be fun, too," said Lorraine, going down on her knees to
inspect the dainty afternoon tea service that was being rolled up for
safety in soft articles of clothing. "I can just picture you in your
room, making a cup of cocoa before you go to bed."
"And having in a few friends. It'll be the time of my life! I always
wanted to go to boarding school, but this will be even better, because
in a way I shall be my own mistress. I never thought I'd work Dad round
to it. I've been in a sort of quiver ever since he said 'yes'. Who's
there?" (as a loud series of rappings resounded on the door). "Oh, I
can't have you children in here just now! Go away!"
"We _must_ come in!" urged Monica, following up her words by a forcible
entrance. "There! there! Don't get excited! You'll _welcome_ us when you
know what we've come for! Chips and I have brought you a present. We
thought you'd like to pack it now."
Mervyn, otherwise "Chips", an overgrown boy of thirteen, was embracing a
large parcel, which he plumped on the floor and unfolded. It contained a
fretwork basket, stained brown and still rather sticky with varnish. The
corners fitted indifferently, and the handle was slightly askew.
"We've made it between us!" said Mervyn proudly. "It'll either do for a
work-basket, or you could plant ferns in it and have it in your window."
"You didn't guess the least little atom what we were doing, did you?"
asked Monica anxiously.
"Not a scrap!" said Rosemary, gallantly accepting the embarrassing
offering with the enthusiasm it demanded. "You're dears to have made it
for me. I can keep all sorts of things in it: cocoa and condensed milk,
and bits of string, and everything I'm likely to lose. Thanks ever so!
Isn't it a little sticky to pack yet?"
"Not _very_!" said Mervyn, applying a finger as practical demonstration:
"I'm glad you like it. It's our first really big bit of work with those
fret saws. Now, Cuckoo, if you want to come, there'll be just time to
develop those films before tea."
When the children had gone, Rosemary lifted up the rather crooked
basket, looked at it critically, and laughed.
"I'm sure it was a labour of love," she commented. "Of course, I shall
have to take it with me, though it will be a nuisance to pack. And
they're so proud of it! I hope my own first efforts at the College of
Music won't be considered equally crude by the authorities!"
"Or mine at The Gables! We're each starting on new lines this term.
What heaps and loads we shall have to talk about at Christmas!"