The School Mascot
Although Katrine had come to Aireyholme primarily to study art, she did
not escape scot-free with respect to other lessons. Mrs. Franklin was a
martinet where work was concerned. She often remarked that she did not
approve of young people wasting their time, and she certainly
endeavoured to put her principles into practice. She taught the Sixth
Form herself. Some of the girls were preparing for their matriculation,
and received special private coaching from a professor who came twice a
week from Carford; but all, whether they were going in for the
examination or not, were taking the same general course. Katrine had
pursued her studies at Hartfield High School with very languid interest,
and had joyfully abandoned them in favour of the Art School. She was not
at all enthusiastic at being obliged to continue her ordinary education,
and, indeed, considered the classes in the light of a grievance. It was
humiliating to find herself behind the rest of the form in mathematics,
to stumble in the French translation, and make bad shots at botany;
particularly so before Viola Webster, who listened to her mistakes and
halting recitations with a superior smile, or an amused glance at Diana
Bennett.
"If we had had you at Aireyholme the last year or two, you would have
reached a much higher standard by now," said Mrs. Franklin. "You must do
your best to make up for lost time. An extra half-hour's preparation
every day would do you no harm. You might get up a little earlier in the
mornings."
Katrine, whose object was not so much to repair the gaps left in her
education by the Hartfield High School as to amble through the present
term with the least possible exertion of her brains, received the
suggestion coldly, and forbore to act upon it.
"It's all very well for the matric. girls to get up at six and swat, but
you won't find me trying it on!" she assured Gwethyn in private. "What
does it matter whether I can work a rubbishy problem, or patter off a
page of French poetry? I've got to take the classes, worse luck, but all
the Mrs. Franklins in the world shan't make me grind."
Between Katrine and the Principal there existed a kind of armed
neutrality. Mrs. Franklin persisted in regarding her as an ordinary
pupil, while Katrine considered that she had come to school on a totally
different footing. Neither would yield an inch. Mrs. Franklin was
masterful, but Katrine was gently stubborn. It is impossible to make a
girl work who is determined to idle. At art Katrine was prepared to
slave, and she had already begun to worship Miss Aubrey, but as a member
of the Sixth Form she was the champion slacker. The Principal by turns
tried severity, cajoling, and sarcasm.
"A most talented essay!" she remarked one day, handing back an untidy
manuscript. "One might regard it as a study in tautology. The word
'very' occurs seven times in a single page. It is scarcely usual for a
girl of seventeen to make twelve mistakes in spelling."
"I never could spell," answered Katrine serenely.
"Then it's time you learnt. Your writing also is sprawling and careless,
and you have no idea of punctuation. I wish you could have seen the
neat, beautifully expressed essays that Ermengarde used to write. They
were models of composition and tidiness."
A suppressed smile passed round the form. The subject of Ermengarde was
a perennial joke among the girls. Mrs. Franklin did not approve of
holding up present pupils as patterns, for fear of fostering their
vanity, so she generally quoted her daughter as an epitome of all the
virtues. It was common knowledge in the school that Ermengarde's
achievements had acquired an after-reputation which at the time they
certainly did not justify. So far from being a shining ornament of
Aireyholme, she had generally lagged in the wake of her form. She had
bitterly disappointed her mother by barely scraping through her
matriculation, and failing to win a scholarship for college. Poor
Ermengarde had no gift for study; she was not particularly talented in
any direction, and, shirking the various careers which Mrs. Franklin
urged upon her, had taken fate into her own hands by marrying a curate,
albeit he was impecunious, and "not at all clever, thank goodness!", as
she confided to her intimate friends. When matrimony had debarred
Ermengarde from any possibility of a college degree, her mother took it
for granted that she would have obtained honours if she had only tried
for them, and always spoke of her with regretful admiration as one who
had laid aside the laurels of the muses for the duster of domesticity.
"Saint Ermengarde", so the girls called her in mockery, lived therefore
as a kind of school tradition, and she would have been very much
surprised, indeed, had she known the extent to which her modest efforts
had been magnified.
Gwethyn, who had been placed in the Fifth Form, found her level more
quickly than did Katrine in the Sixth. Her high spirits and harum-scarum
ways commended her to most of her new companions. She had a racy method
of speech and a humorous habit of exaggeration that were rather amusing.
Fresh from V.B. at the Hartfield High School, she fell easily into the
work of the form, and if she did not particularly distinguish herself,
gave no special trouble. The spirited sketch which she made of Miss
Spencer, pince-nez on nose and book in hand, was considered "to the
life", and she was good-natured enough to make no less than five copies
of it, at the earnest request of Prissie Yorke, Susie Parker, Rose
Randall, Beatrix Bates, and Dona Matthews. Her drawings of imps and
goblins, with which she speedily decorated the fly-leaves of her new
text-books, were immensely admired. General feeling inclined to the
opinion that while Katrine gave herself airs, Gwethyn was the right
sort, and might be adopted, with due caution, into the heart of the
form. It would, of course, be unwise to make too much fuss of her in the
beginning; every new girl must go through her novitiate of snubbing,
but such a jolly, happy-go-lucky specimen as this would not be long in
settling into Aireyholme ways.
The new-comers had arrived on 21st April: they had therefore been a
little more than a week at the school when the 1st of May ushered in the
summer. May Day was kept with great ceremony at Heathwell. The old
festival, abandoned for more than a hundred years, had been revived
lately in the village, largely at the instance of Miss Aubrey, whose
artistic spirit revelled in such picturesque scenes. She had persuaded
Mr. Boswell, the local squire, to place a may-pole on a small green near
the market hall, and she had herself taught the children of the Council
school a number of charming folk dances. The schoolmaster and the vicar
both approved of the movement, and gave every facility and
encouragement, and the children themselves were highly enthusiastic.
This year it was proposed to have a more than usually elaborate
performance, and to take a collection in the streets in aid of the
Prince of Wales's Fund. May Day fortunately fell on a Saturday, so, as
the festival had been well advertised, it was hoped that visitors would
come over from Carford and other places in the neighbourhood. Though the
actual pageant was to be given by the Council school children, the girls
at Aireyholme rendered very valuable help. They made some of the
dresses, plaited garlands, stitched knots of coloured ribbons, and last,
but not least, were responsible for the collecting. Fifteen of the
seniors, wearing Union Jack badges on their hats, and broad bands of
tricolour ribbon tied under one arm and across the shoulder, were set
apart for the task, each carrying a wooden box labelled: "Prince of
Wales's Fund".
The festivities were to begin at three o'clock, to fit in with the times
of the local railway trains. The morning was a busy whirl of
preparation. Miss Aubrey, with the monitresses as special helpers,
flitted backwards and forwards between Aireyholme and the village,
making last arrangements and putting finishing touches. Katrine and
Gwethyn had never before had the opportunity of witnessing such a
spectacle, so they were full of excitement at the prospect. At half-past
two, Mrs. Franklin, mistresses, and girls sallied forth to the scene of
action, and secured an admirable position on the steps of the market
hall, whence they could have a good view of the proceedings.
It was a balmy, sunny day, and the lovely weather, combined with the
quaint programme, had tempted many visitors from various places in the
district. The trains arrived full, and Heathwell for once was
overflowing. Not only had people made use of the railway, but many had
come on bicycles, and motor-cars added to the crush. The local shops,
and even the cottages, had taken advantage of the occasion to sell
lemonade and ginger beer, and had hung out home-written signs announcing
their willingness to provide teas and store cycles. The village was _en
fete_, and the general atmosphere was one of jollity and enjoyment.
The children were waiting in the school play-ground, under the
superintendence of their teachers and Miss Aubrey. Precisely as the
church clock struck three, the procession started. It was led by the
band of the local corps of boy scouts, the drummer very proud indeed in
the possession of the orthodox leopard skin, which had been presented
only the week before by a local magnate. After the scouts came a number
of children, dressed in Kate Greenaway costumes, and carrying May
knots--sticks surmounted with wreaths of flowers and green leaves. A
band of little ones, representing fairies, heralded the approach of the
May Queen, who drove in great state in a tiny carriage drawn by a very
small Shetland pony, led by a page resplendent in ribbons and buckles.
The carriage was so covered with flowers that it well resembled the car
of Friga, the spring goddess of Scandinavian mythology, who gave her
name to Friday. No deity, classic or Teutonic, could have been prettier
than the flaxen-haired little maiden, who sat up stiffly, trying with
great dignity to support her regal honours. Her courtiers walked behind
her, and after came a band of morris dancers, jingling their bells as
they went. The pageant paraded down the High Street, made a circuit
round the market hall, and drew up round the may-pole on the strip of
green. A platform had been erected here, with a throne for the Queen, so
her little majesty was duly handed out of her carriage, and installed in
the post of honour. Amid ringing cheers the crown was placed on her
curly head, and the sceptre delivered to her, while small courtiers
bowed with a very excellent imitation of mediaeval grace.
"What an absolute darling the Queen is!" remarked Gwethyn, who, with
Katrine, was an ecstatic spectator.
"It's little Mary Gartley," replied Coralie Nelson. "They're the
best-looking family in the village--six children, and all have those
lovely flaxen curls. I never saw such beautiful hair. Look at that tiny
wee chap who's standing just by the pony. That's Hugh Gartley. Isn't he
an absolute cherub? We've had him for a model at the studio. We call him
'The School Mascot', because he's brought us such luck. Miss Aubrey's
picture of him has got into the Academy, and Gladwin Riley's sketch won
first prize in a magazine competition, and Hilda Smart's photo of him
also took a prize in a paper. He scored three successes for Aireyholme.
He's the sweetest little rascal. Even Mrs. Franklin can't resist patting
him on the head, and giving him biscuits."
"He's an absolute angel!" agreed the Marsdens enthusiastically.
When the coronation of the May Queen was duly accomplished, the sports
began. A band of dainty damsels, holding coloured ribbons, plaited and
unplaited the may-pole, much to the admiration of the crowd, who encored
the performance. The fairies gave a pretty exhibition, waving garlands
of flowers as they trod their fantastic measure; the morris dancers
capered their best, and the Boy Scouts' band did its utmost in providing
the music. It was a very charming scene; so quaint amid the old-world
setting of the picturesque village that the spectators clapped and
cheered with heartiest approval. The little actors, excited by the
applause, began to go beyond control, and to run about helter-skelter,
waving their garlands and shouting "hurrah!" The crowd also was breaking
up. A train was nearly due, and some of the visitors made a rush for the
station. A char-a-banc with three horses started from the "Bell and
Dragon". At that identical moment little Hugh Gartley, seeing some
attraction on the opposite pavement, threw discipline to the winds and
dashed suddenly across the road, in front of the very wheels of the
passing char-a-banc. Katrine happened to be watching him. With a leap
and a run she was down the steps of the market hall and in the street.
Before the child, or anyone else, realized his danger, she had snatched
him from the front of the horses, and had dragged him on to the
pavement. The driver pulled up in considerable alarm.
"It's not my fault," he protested. "Kids shouldn't bolt across like
that."
Finding there was no harm done, he drove on. The incident was over so
quickly that it was hardly noticed by the general public. Little Hugh
Gartley, much scared, clung crying to Katrine's hand. She took him in
her arms and comforted him with chocolates. He made friends readily, and
instead of rejoining the May dancers, insisted upon staying with her for
the rest of the performance. Katrine was fond of children, and enjoyed
petting the pretty little fellow. She kept him by her until the
procession passed on its return to the schoolhouse, then she made him
slip in amongst the other masqueraders.
The fifteen collectors had been busy all the afternoon handing round
their boxes, and anticipated quite a good harvest.
"I shouldn't be surprised if we'd taken seven or eight pounds; many
people put in silver," said Diana Bennett. "It will be grand when the
boxes are opened."
"You missed the excitement near the market hall," volunteered Coralie.
"Katrine Marsden rescued Hugh Gartley from being run over. She snatched
him back just in the nick of time."
"Oh, it was nothing!" protested Katrine.
"Indeed it was splendid presence of mind! He might have been killed if
you hadn't dashed down so promptly and snatched him."
Katrine's action in saving the school mascot was soon noised abroad
among the girls, and brought her a quite unexpected spell of popularity,
chiefly with the juniors and the Fifth Form, however. The Sixth, led by
the monitresses, still hung back, jealous of their privileges, and
unwilling to tolerate one who persisted in considering herself a
"parlour boarder", and, as they expressed it, "putting on side!" It was
really mostly Katrine's own fault: her previous acquaintance with school
life ought to have taught her wisdom; but seventeen is a crude age, and
not given to profiting by past experience. Some of the pin-pricks she
sustained were well deserved.
On the evening of May Day, being a Saturday as well as a special
festival, the monitresses decided to give a cocoa party in their study,
and invite the rest of the form.
"We got eight pounds, fifteen and twopence halfpenny in the collecting
boxes this afternoon," announced Viola, "and we ought to drink the
health of the Prince of Wales's Fund in cocoa. We'll have a little
rag-time fun, too, just among ourselves."
"All serene!" agreed Diana. "This child's always ready for sport. What
about biscuits?"
"We may send out for what we like. I interviewed the Great Panjandrum,
and she was affability itself."
"Good! Cocoanut fingers for me. And perhaps a few Savoys."
"Right-o! Make your list. Tomlinson is to go and fetch them."
"We shall have to borrow cups from the kitchen," said Dorrie, who had
been investigating inside the cupboard. "Since that last smash we're
rather low down in our china--only four cups left intact."
"Go and ask the cook for five more, then."
"Five? That'll only make nine."
"Quite enough."
"Aren't you going to invite Katrine Marsden?"
Viola pulled a long face.
"Is it necessary? She doesn't consider herself one of the Sixth."
"But she is, really. It seems rather marked to leave her out."
"Oh, well!" rather icily. "Ask her if you like, of course. I'm sure I
don't want to keep her out of things if she cares to join in."
Dorrie accordingly ran up to the studio, where Katrine was sitting
putting a few finishing touches to the study of tulips upon which she
had been engaged during the last week.
"We're having a cocoa party at eight in our study. Awfully pleased to
see you. Just our own form," announced Dorrie heartily.
"Thanks very much," returned Katrine casually, "but I really don't think
I shall have time to come. I want to finish these tulips."
"Isn't it getting too dark for painting?"
"Oh, no! The light's good for some time yet, and Miss Aubrey's probably
coming upstairs to go on with her still-life study. I love sitting with
her. She's most inspiring."
"Comme vous voulez, mademoiselle!" answered Dorrie, retiring in high
dudgeon to report to her fellow-monitresses. They were most indignant at
the slight.
"Cheek!"
"Turns up her nose at our invitation, does she?"
"She can please herself, I'm sure."
"She's no loss, at any rate."
"Look here!" said Dorrie. "I've got an idea. We'll pay her out for this.
She's counting on Miss Aubrey going to sit with her in the studio, and
having a delightful _tete a tete_. Let's ask Miss Aubrey to our cocoa
party."
"Splendiferous!"
"Girl alive, you're a genius! Go instanter!"
Dorrie hurried off to deliver her second invitation. It was more
graciously received than the first.
"Oh! I'm only too flattered! I shall be delighted to turn up. May I
bring a contribution to the feast?" beamed Miss Aubrey.
"Done Katrine Marsden for once!" chuckled Dorrie, communicating the good
tidings in the study. "She'll be fearfully sick when she finds her idol
has deserted her for us."
"I sincerely hope she will."
At eight o'clock an extremely jolly party assembled in the little room
underneath the studio, all prepared to abandon themselves to enjoyment,
to crack jokes, sing catches, ask riddles, or indulge in anything that
savoured of fun. There were not chairs for all, but nobody minded
sitting on the floor. Viola's spirit-lamp was on the table, and the
kettle steamed cheerily; tins of cocoa and condensed milk and packets of
biscuits were spread forth with the row of cups and saucers. Miss
Aubrey, throned in a basket-chair, with girls quarrelling for the
privilege of sitting near her, held a kind of impromptu court.
"It's been a ripping May Day. Everybody was saying how well you'd
engineered the whole thing," Viola assured her. "The folk dances were
just too sweet! Those Americans who came in that big car were in
raptures. They dropped half a sovereign into my box. They said the May
Queen was the prettiest child they'd ever seen."
"Mary Gartley is only second to Hugh," replied Miss Aubrey. "I hear the
little chap nearly got run over this afternoon, and Katrine Marsden
rescued him. Where is Katrine, by the by?"
For a moment an awkward silence reigned.
"She's in the studio. We invited her, but she wouldn't come,"
volunteered Dorrie at last.
"Oh!" said Miss Aubrey, with a gleam of comprehension.
Upstairs, Katrine was painting away rather half-heartedly. She wondered
why her beloved art-mistress did not arrive. It would be delightful to
have her all to herself, without those schoolgirls. The door burst open,
and Gwethyn came rushing tumultuously in.
"Kattie! The Fifth are giving a Mad Hatter's party! We're going to have
the most screaming fun! They've asked you, so do come, quick!"
"Oh, I don't care about it, child! I'm waiting here for Miss Aubrey."
"Miss Aubrey? Why, she's gone to the Sixth Form party! I saw her walking
into their study with a box of chocolates and a bag of something in her
hand. They're at it hard!"
A glimpse of Katrine's face at that moment might have soothed the
injured feelings of the monitresses. From below rose unmistakable sounds
of mirth to confirm Gwethyn's words.
"Aren't you coming? Do hurry up!" urged Gwethyn impatiently.
But to join in the festivities of the Fifth Form after declining those
of the Sixth was too great a come-down for Katrine's dignity.
"Run along, Baby! I don't care for nonsense parties. I'd rather stay and
paint," she replied, with an air of sang-froid that was perhaps slightly
overdone.
"Tantrums? Well, you're a jolly silly, that's all I can say; for we're
going to have ripping fun!" chirruped Gwethyn, shutting the door with a
slam.