A Scrape
Katrine and Gwethyn had been given a bedroom over the porch, a dear
little room with roses and jasmine clustering round the windows, and
with an excellent view of the tennis lawn. They arranged their
possessions there after tea, and when their photos, books, work-baskets,
and writing-cases had found suitable niches the place began to have
quite a home-like appearance.
"It's not so bad, considering it's school," commented Gwethyn; "I
believe I'm going to like one or two of those girls."
"I don't know whether I'm going to like Mrs. Franklin," objected
Katrine. "She's inclined to boss as if one were a kid. I hope Mother
made her quite understand that I'm past seventeen, and not an 'ordinary
schoolgirl'."
"You're younger than Viola Webster, though, or that other girl--what's
her name?--Dorrie Vernon," returned Gwethyn. "What have you got there?
Oh, Katrine! A box of hairpins! Now you promised Mumsie you wouldn't
turn up your hair!"
"I was only just going to try it sometimes, for fun. When a girl is as
tall as I am, it's ridiculous to see her with a plait flapping down her
back. I'm sure I look older than either Viola or Dorrie. Most people
would take me for eighteen." Katrine was staring anxiously at herself in
the glass. "I'm not going to be treated here like a junior. They needn't
begin it."
"Oh, you'll settle them all right, I dare say!" answered Gwethyn
abstractedly. She was calculating the capacities of the top drawer, and,
moreover, she was accustomed to these outbursts on the part of her
sister.
Katrine put the hairpins, not on the dressing-table, but in a handy spot
of her right-hand drawer, where she could easily get at them. It was
absurd of Gwethyn to make such a fuss, so she reflected. A girl of only
fifteen cannot possibly enter into the feelings of one who is nearly
grown up.
She preserved a rather distant manner at supper. It would not be
dignified to unbend all at once to strangers. Gwethyn, always too
hail-fellow-well-met with everybody, was talking to her next neighbour,
and evidently eliciting much information; an unrestrained chuckle on her
part caused Mrs. Franklin to cast a glance of surprise at that
particular portion of the table. By bedtime both the new-comers were
feeling serious; they would not for the world have confessed to
home-sickness, but Katrine observed that she hoped vessels bound for
Australia never blundered into German mines, and Gwethyn said she had
seen in one of the papers that there was an outbreak of enteric among
the troops in Egypt, and she wondered if it were in Hereward's regiment;
neither of which remarks was calculated to raise their spirits.
The beds had spring mattresses, and were quite as comfortable as those
at home. By all ordinary natural laws the girls, tired with their
journey, ought to have slept the slumbers of the just immediately their
heads touched their pillows. Instead of doing anything so sensible, they
lay talking until they were both so excited and so thoroughly wideawake
that sleep refused to be wooed. Hour after hour they tossed and turned,
counting imaginary sheep jumping over gates, repeating pieces of poetry,
and trying the hundred-and-one expedients that are supposed to be
infallible brain lullers, but all with no effect. Outside, owls were
hooting a continual dismal concert of "twoo-hoo-hoo!"
"I like owls from a natural history point of view," groaned Katrine,
"and I've no doubt they're only telling one another about fat mice and
sparrows; but I wish they'd be quiet and not talk! They're far more
disturbing than trams and taxis."
"Talk of the peace of the country! I should like to know where it is!"
agreed Gwethyn, turning her pillow for the fourteenth time. "There's a
cock crowing now, and a dog barking!"
"It's impossible to sleep a wink," declared Katrine, jumping out of bed
in desperation, and drawing aside the window curtain. "I believe it's
getting light."
There was a stirring of dawn in the air. All the world seemed wrapped in
a transparent grey veil, just thin enough for objects to loom dimly
through the dusk. She could see the heavy outlines of the trees at the
farther side of the lawn. A thrush was already giving a preliminary
note, and sparrows were beginning to twitter under the eaves.
"What's the use of stopping in bed when one can't sleep?" exclaimed
Katrine. "Let us dress, find our machines, and go for a spin."
"What! Go out now?"
"Why not? People are supposed to get up early in the country."
"All right! If you're game, I am."
The two girls had not been accustomed to much discipline at home, and
their notions of school rules were rudimentary. The idea of getting up
so early and going out to explore struck them both as delightfully
enterprising and adventurous. They made a hurried toilet, crept
cautiously downstairs, and found the passage at the back of the house,
where their bicycles had been temporarily placed the night before. It
was an easy matter to unbolt a side door, and make their way through the
garden and down the drive. Before the day was much older, they were
riding along the quiet dim road in that calm silence that precedes the
dawn. The air was most fresh and exhilarating. As their machines sped
through the grey morning mist, they felt almost as if they were on
aeroplanes, rushing among the clouds. At first all was dark and vague
and mysterious, but every minute the light was growing stronger, and
presently they could distinguish the gossamer, hung like a tangled magic
web upon the hedges, in dainty shimmering masses, as if the pixies had
been spinning and weaving in the night, and had not yet had time to
carry off the result of their labours.
"It's just like a fairy tale," said Gwethyn. "Do you remember the boy
who sat on the fox's tail, and they went on and on till his hair
whistled in the wind? Those rabbits ought to stop and talk, and tell us
about Brer Terrapin and the Tar Baby. I'm sure Uncle Remus is squatting
at the foot of that tree. We shall meet the goose-girl presently, I
expect."
"What a baby you are! But it is lovely, I agree with you. Oh, Gwethyn,
look at the sky over there! That's a fairy tale, if you like. Let's stop
and watch it."
It was indeed a glorious sight. The colour, which at first had been
pearly-grey, had changed to transparent opal; then, blushing with a
warmer hue, grew slowly to pink, amber, and violet. Great streamers of
rosy orange began to stretch like ethereal fingers upwards from the
horizon. The fields were in shadow, and a quiet stillness reigned, as if
the world paused, waiting in hope and expectancy for that fresh and ever
wonderful vision, the miracle of the returning dawn. Then the great
shimmering, glowing sun lifted himself up from among the mists in the
meadows, gaining in brilliance with every foot he ascended till the
light burst out, a flood of brightness, and all the landscape was
radiant. At that, Mother Earth seemed to bestir herself. With the new
day came the fresh pulse of life, and the reawakening of myriads of
nature's children. The first lark went soaring into the purply-blue
overhead; the chaffinches began to tweet in the elms; a white butterfly
fluttered over the hedge; and a marvellous busy throng of insect life
seemed suddenly astir and ahum. It was a different world from that of
an hour before--a living, breathing, working, rejoicing world; the
shadows and the mystery had fled, and left it as fair as if just
created.
"It was worth getting up for this!" said Katrine. "I've never seen such
a transformation scene in my life. I wish I could paint it. But what
colours could one use? Nothing but stained glass could give that
glowing, glorious, pinky violet!"
"I haven't the least idea where we are, or how far away from the
school," said Gwethyn. "We rode along quite 'on spec.', and we may have
come two miles or five, for anything I know. Yes, it has been lovely,
and I see you're still wrapt in a sort of rapturous dream, and up among
rosy clouds, but I've come down to earth, and I'm most unromantically
hungry. It seems years since we had supper last night. I wonder if we
couldn't find a farm, and buy some milk."
"Rose madder mixed with violet lake, and a touch of aureolin and Italian
pink might do it!" murmured Katrine.
"No, it wouldn't! They'd want current coin of the realm. Have you any
pennies left in your coat pocket?"
"You mundane creature! I was talking of the sunrise, and not of mere
milk. Yes, I have five pennies and a halfpenny, which ought to buy
enough to take a bath in."
"I don't want a bath, only a glassful. But it's a case of 'first catch
your farm'. I don't see the very ghost of a chimney anywhere, nothing
but fields and trees."
"Better go on till we find one, then," said Katrine, mounting her
machine again.
They rode at least half a mile without passing any human habitation;
then at last the welcome sight of a gate and barns greeted them.
"It looks like the back of a farm," decided Gwethyn. "Let us leave our
bikes here, and explore."
Up a short lane, and across a stack-yard, they penetrated into an
orchard. Here, under a maze of pink blossom, a girl of perhaps twelve or
thirteen, with a carriage whip in one hand and a bowl in the other, was
throwing grain to a large flock of poultry--ducks, geese, and hens--that
were collected round her.
"The goose-girl, by all that's wonderful! I told you it was a fairy-tale
morning!" whispered Gwethyn. "Now for it! I'll go and demand milk. How
ought one to greet a goose-girl?"
She stepped forward, but at that moment a large collie dog that had been
lying unnoticed at the foot of an apple tree, sprang up suddenly, and
faced her snarling.
"Good dog! Poor old fellow! Come here, then!" said Gwethyn in a
wheedling voice, hoping to propitiate it, for she was fond of dogs.
Instead of being pacified by her blandishments, however, it showed its
teeth savagely, and darting behind her, seized her by the skirt. Gwethyn
was not strong-minded. She shrieked as if she were being murdered.
"Help! Help!" yelled Katrine distractedly.
The goose-girl was already calling off the dog, and with a well-directed
lash of her long whip sent him howling away. She walked leisurely up to
the visitors.
"You're more frightened than hurt," she remarked, with a
half-contemptuous glance at Gwethyn. "What do you want here?"
"We came to ask if we could buy some milk," stammered Katrine. "I
suppose this is a farm?"
"No, it isn't a farm, and we don't sell milk."
The girl's tone was ungracious; her appearance also was the reverse of
attractive. Her sharp features and sallow complexion had an unwholesome
look, her hair was lank and lustreless, and the bright, dark eyes did
not hold a pleasant expression. She wore a blue gingham overall pinafore
that hid her dress.
"Where are you from? And what are you doing here so early?" she
continued, gazing curiously at Katrine and Gwethyn.
"We've bicycled from Aireyholme----" began Gwethyn.
"You're never the new girls? Oh, I say! Who gave you leave to go out?
Nobody? Well, I shouldn't care to be you when you get back, that's all!
Mrs. Franklin will have something to say!"
"Do you know her, then?" gasped Gwethyn.
"Know her? I should think I do--just a little! If you'll take my advice,
you'll ride back as quick as you can. Ta-ta! I must go and feed my
chickens now. Oh, you will catch it!"
She walked away, chuckling to herself as if she rather enjoyed the
prospect of their discomfiture; as she turned into the garden she looked
round, and laughed outright.
"What an odious girl! Who is she?" exclaimed Katrine indignantly. "She
never apologized for her hateful dog catching hold of you. What does
she mean by laughing at us? I should like to teach her manners."
"Perhaps we'd better be riding back," said Gwethyn uneasily. "They said
breakfast was at eight o'clock. I haven't an idea what the time is. I
wish we'd brought our watches."
They had cycled farther than they imagined, and in retracing their road
they took a wrong turning, consequently going several miles out of their
way. They were beginning to be rather tired by the time they reached
Aireyholme. The excitement and romance of the spring dawn had faded.
Life seemed quite ordinary and prosaic with the sun high in the heavens.
Perhaps they both felt a little doubtful of their reception, though
neither was prepared to admit it. As they wheeled their machines past
the lower schoolroom window, where the girls were at early morning
preparation, a dozen excited heads bobbed up to look at them. They took
the bicycles through the side door, and left them in the passage. In the
hall they met Coralie Nelson, going to practice, with a pile of music in
her hand.
"Hello! Is it you?" she exclaimed. "So you've turned up again, after
all! There's been a pretty hullabaloo, I can tell you! Were you trying
to run away?"
"Of course not," declared Katrine airily. "We were only taking a little
run on our bikes before breakfast. It was delicious riding so early."
"Was it, indeed! Well, you are the limit for coolness, I must say! You'd
better go and explain to Mrs. Franklin. She's in the study, and
particularly anxious to have the pleasure of seeing you. Hope you'll
have a pleasant interview!"
"Hope we shall, thanks!" returned Katrine, bluffing the matter off as
well as she could. "I can't see what there is to make such a fuss about!
We're not late for breakfast, I suppose?"
"Oh dear me, no! You're in excellent time!" Coralie's tone was
sarcastic. "Punctuality is considered a great virtue at Aireyholme.
Perhaps you may be congratulated upon it! I won't prophesy! On the whole
I wouldn't change into your shoes, though!"
"We don't want you to," retorted Gwethyn.
The two girls tapped at the study door, and entered with well-assumed
nonchalance. Katrine, in particular, was determined to show her
superiority to the conventions which might hedge in ordinary pupils. A
girl of seventeen, who had left school last Christmas, must not allow
herself to be treated as the rest of the rank and file. At the sight of
the Principal's calm, determined face, however, her courage began to
slip away. Somehow she did not feel quite so grown-up as she had
expected. Mrs. Franklin had not kept school for fifteen years for
nothing. Her keen, grey eyes could quell the most unruly spirit.
"Katrine and Gwethyn Marsden, what is the meaning of this?" she began
peremptorily. "Who gave you leave of absence before breakfast?"
"We saw no reason to ask," replied Katrine. "We couldn't sleep, so we
thought we'd get up early, and take a spin on our machines."
"Please to understand for the future that such escapades are strictly
forbidden. There are certain free hours during the day, and there are
definite school bounds, which one of the monitresses will explain to you
later on. No girl is allowed to exceed these limits without special
permission."
[Illustration: "'THE GOOSE GIRL, BY ALL THAT'S WONDERFUL!' WHISPERED
GWETHYN"]
"But I thought Mother said I wasn't to be in the ordinary school," urged
Katrine.
"Your mother has placed you in my charge," frowned Mrs. Franklin, "and
my decision upon every question must be final. While you are at
Aireyholme you will follow our usual rules. I make exceptions for
nobody. Don't let me have to remind you of this again."
The Principal's manner was authoritative; her large presence and
handsome Roman features seemed to give extra weight to her words. She
was evidently not accustomed to argue with her pupils. Katrine, with
those steely blue eyes fixed upon her, had the wisdom to desist from
further excuses. She left the room outwardly submissive, though inwardly
raging. At seventeen to be treated like a kindergarten infant, indeed!
Katrine's dignity was severely wounded. "I don't believe I'm going to
like this place," she remarked to Gwethyn as they went upstairs.
The rest of the morning until dinner-time seemed a confused whirl to the
Marsdens. Last night they had been let alone, but now they were
initiated into the many and manifold ways of the school. They were
placed respectively in the Sixth and Fifth Form; desks and lockers were
apportioned to them; they were given new books, and allotted certain
times for practising on the piano. At the eleven-o'clock interval they
made the more intimate acquaintance of at least half of their
school-fellows.
"Did you get into a scrape with Mother Franklin?" asked Coralie. "The
idea of your going gallivanting off on your own this morning! By the
by, your bikes have been put in the shed with the others. It's locked up
at night. We get special exeats sometimes to go long rides, so don't
look so doleful. Shall I tell you who some of the girls are? You know
Viola Webster, our captain, and Dorrie Vernon, our tennis champion? That
fair one, talking to them, is Diana Bennett. They're our monitresses.
Those inseparables are Jill Barton and Ivy Parkins. The one with two
pig-tails is Rose Randall; and those round-faced kids are Belgian
refugees--Yvonne and Melanie de Boeck. They're supposed to be improving
our French, but as a matter of fact they talk English--of a sort--most
of the time. That's Laura Browne playing tennis left-handed. I warn you
that she's sure to take you up hotly for a day or two, while you're new,
but she'll drop you again afterwards. Anyone else you'd like to ask
about? I'll act school directory!"
Coralie rattled on in a half good-natured, half quizzical fashion,
giving brief biographical sketches of her companions, introducing some,
and indicating others. Most of the girls were collected round the tennis
lawn watching the sets. A group of juniors seated on a bench attracted
Katrine's attention. Standing near them, though somewhat apart, was one
whose thin angular figure and sharp pale face seemed familiar; even
without the blue overall pinafore it was easy enough to recognize her.
Katrine nudged Gwethyn, and both simultaneously exclaimed: "The
goose-girl!"
"Who is that dreadful child?" asked Katrine. "We met her while we were
out this morning, and she wasn't civil. Her face is just the colour of
a fungus!"
Coralie laughed.
"Oh! that's Githa Hamilton. She's not exactly celebrated for her sweet
temper."
"So I should imagine. What was she doing out of bounds before seven
o'clock?"
"She's not a boarder. She lives with an uncle and aunt, and comes to
school on her bicycle. She's the only day-girl we have. I'd hate to be a
day-girl--you're out of everything."
"I shouldn't think such an extraordinary little toadstool would be in
anything, even if she were a boarder," commented Gwethyn, who had not
forgiven the savage assault of the collie, and the contemptuous "You're
more frightened than hurt!" of its mistress.
"You're about right there. Githa's no particular favourite, even in her
own form."
"If I'd straight lank hair like that, I'd friz it every night," declared
Gwethyn emphatically. "She's the plainest girl in the school! That's my
opinion of her!"