The Mad Hatters
If Katrine was determined that her career at Aireyholme should be "Art
before all", Gwethyn's school motto might be described as "Fun at any
price". Her high spirits were continually at effervescing point, and she
was fast acquiring the reputation of "champion ragger" of the Fifth.
There were rollicking times in the form, jokes and chaff to an even
greater extent than had obtained before her advent. Half a dozen of the
girls had always been lively, but now, under Gwethyn's sway, their
escapades earned them the title of the "Mad Hatters". The influence
spread downwards and infected the juniors. Eight members of the Fourth
formed themselves into a league dubbed "The March Hares", and by the
wildness of their pranks sought to outdo their seniors. There was a
rivalry of jokes between them, and whichever scored the most points for
the time held the palm. Needless to say, their efforts were scarcely
appreciated at head-quarters. Things considered intensely diverting by
the form were viewed very differently by mistresses and monitresses, and
both Hatters and Hares were liable to find themselves in trouble.
I have mentioned that Katrine and Gwethyn slept in a little room over
the porch. The door was in the middle of a long passage leading to other
bedrooms, occupied by the Fourth and Fifth. The Aireyholme dormitory
discipline was tolerably strict, and usually the girls were a
well-conducted crew.
One morning some unlucky star caused Gwethyn to open her eyes before the
usual 6.30 bell, and aroused in her a spirit of mischief. Taking her
pillow, she stole along the passage to No. 9, and awoke Marian, Susie,
and Megan.
"Come along!" she proclaimed. "Let's find Dona and Beatrix, and go and
rout up the March Hares. There's time for a little artillery practice
before the bell rings. Bolsters are heavy ammunition, and pillows light.
You can take your choice! Anyone refusing to do battle will be
proclaimed coward. All the fallen will be buried with the honours of
war. Get up, you soft Sybarites!"
Finding their bedclothes on the floor, and severe tickling the penalty
of a love for slumber, the occupants of the various dormitories on the
landing turned out and followed their leader.
"Hares versus Hatters!" commanded Gwethyn. "You may duck and dodge, but
anyone fairly hit is to be considered fallen. The bedrooms are trenches.
Remember, mum's the word, though!"
The battle began, and waged fiercely. The missiles flew hither and
thither. Some of the girls were good shots, but others had the
proverbial feminine incapacity for a true aim. There were wildly
thrilling encounters, frantic chasings, and wholesale routs. In their
excitement the combatants completely forgot the necessity for silence;
they chuckled, groaned, hooted, and even squealed. Small wonder that,
long before the fight was fought to a finish, an avenging deity in a
dressing-gown appeared upon the scene and proclaimed a compulsory peace.
"Girls! Whatever are you doing?" demanded Viola. "You ought to be
thoroughly ashamed of yourselves. Go back to your rooms at once! You
know this kind of thing is not allowed."
The delinquents seized their missiles and beat a hurried retreat, while
Viola, who was wise in her generation, sounded the bell as a signal for
the rest of the school to rise and dress.
"They'll get into mischief again if I leave them larking about in their
rooms, and it won't do anybody any harm to be up a quarter of an hour
earlier for once," she decided. "But I'll see they put in the extra time
at preparation. The young wretches!"
The head girl was as good as her word. She kept a stern eye on the
sinners directly they appeared downstairs.
"The morning's a good time to work," she announced grimly. "If you're
fond of early rising, I'll call you all every day at six, and arrange
for prep. at half-past instead of at seven. No doubt you'd benefit by
it."
The jokers, who had not calculated upon an increased allowance of school
hours, sought their desks glumly. But there was a further trial in store
for them. When they were seated at breakfast, Mrs. Franklin took her
place at the table with an air of long-suffering and injured patience.
"Girls!" she began, in a martyred voice, "I have been most hurt, most
pained, at what occurred this morning. Anything more thoughtless and
inconsiderate I could not have imagined. I had passed a bad night, and I
was snatching a short sleep, when I was awakened by an uproar that is
without all precedent. When Ermengarde was here, such a thing never
occurred. There was a different spirit abroad in the school. Every girl,
even the youngest junior, was careful for my comfort, and would not have
dreamed of disturbing me. I fear now an entirely selfish feeling
prevails in the Fifth and Fourth Forms. I am grieved to see it. Our
traditions at Aireyholme have been very high. I beg the standard may
never be lowered."
No names were mentioned, but Hares and Hatters were conscious that the
eyes of the rest of the school were fixed upon them with scornful
reproach. They ate their breakfast in a state of dejection.
"I never dreamed Mrs. Franklin would take it that way!" mourned Rose
afterwards to her fellow-delinquents.
"Diana Bennett says we are a set of brutes," sighed Beatrix ruefully.
She admired Diana, and winced under her scorn.
"The others were wild at getting extra prep. this morning. They're ready
to take it out of us," remarked Susie.
"Look here," said Gwethyn, "I think the best way to settle the whole
business will be to go and apologize to Mrs. Franklin. Say we didn't
know she had a headache, and we're sorry. That ought to square things."
"Right-o! Then Diana may stop nagging."
At the eleven-o'clock interval a dozen girls reported themselves at the
Principal's study, and with Rose as spokeswoman, tendered an embarrassed
apology. Mrs. Franklin was not inclined to treat the matter too lightly;
she considered herself justly offended; but after listening with due
gravity, she solemnly and majestically forgave them.
"I suppose I cannot expect all to be as naturally thoughtful and
kind-hearted as Ermengarde," she added, "but I try to stand in the place
of a mother to you here, and I hope to meet with some response."
I am afraid Mrs. Franklin would have been grieved again if she had heard
the laughter that ensued when the girls were out of ear-shot of the
study. They were really sorry to have hurt her feelings, but the mention
of the impeccable Ermengarde was always a subject for mirth.
"I have it on absolute authority that Ermengarde once made another girl
an apple-pie bed!" tittered Susie. "It was Nell Stokes who told me. She
was at Aireyholme then, and slept in the same dormitory."
"What happened?"
"History doesn't relate. I should say Saint Ermie got disciplined and
did penance. She wasn't canonized then!"
Although Mrs. Franklin was apt to be a little pompous and over stately,
she was very good to the pupils on the whole, and they thoroughly
respected her. They sympathized deeply with her anxiety for news from
the war, where her two sons were serving their country. Many of the
girls had brothers or cousins in the Army, and each morning an
enthusiastic crowd collected to hear the items which Mrs. Franklin read
out to them. They were not allowed to look at the daily papers for
themselves, as Mrs. Franklin considered many of the details unsuitable
for their perusal; but she gave them a carefully-edited summary of the
course of events, with special particulars, if possible, of regiments in
which they were interested. The occasional letters received by girls
from relatives at the front were subjects for great rejoicing. They
compared notes keenly over the experiences related. Katrine and Gwethyn
scored considerably, for their brother Hereward was a fairly regular
correspondent, and gave vivid accounts of his campaigning. It was at
Gwethyn's suggestion that the school held what they called a "Heroes'
Exhibition". Every girl with a relative engaged in the war was requested
to lend his photograph, any chance snapshots she might have of him, any
newspaper cuttings narrating his achievements, and any of his regimental
buttons, if she were lucky enough to possess them. These contributions
were arranged on a table with an appropriate background of flags and
sprigs of laurel. A penny each was charged for admission, and catalogues
of the exhibits were sold at one halfpenny. As all the girls, the
mistresses, and three of the servants patronized the show, the sum of
five shillings and twopence halfpenny was cleared, and put in the
Belgian Relief Fund Box. Gwethyn had wished to add a competition with
votes for the handsomest hero, but Mrs. Franklin sternly vetoed the
idea.
"It would have been ever such fun, and the girls would have loved it!"
Gwethyn assured her chums in private, "but of course I see the reason.
Mrs. Franklin's sons may be very estimable, but they're both plain, and
of course Hereward's photo would have won the most votes; he's by far
the best-looking!"
"You utter goose! That wasn't the reason," snubbed Rose Randall.
"Besides which, if it comes to a question of looks, your brother isn't
in the running with my cousin Everard."
* * * * *
Gwethyn's fertile brain was continually at work. In spite of the madness
of some of her propositions, she was really an acquisition to the Fifth.
She could always be counted upon for new suggestions, and on wet days
she would invent games, get up charades, or engineer impromptu
entertainments with the ingenuity of a variety manager. One afternoon
the heavy rain prevented the girls from taking their usual outdoor
exercise between dinner and school. Very disconsolately they hung about,
grumbling at the downpour. Only the Sixth Form were privileged to use
the studio on such occasions; the younger ones, flung on their own
resources, killed time as best they could. The Fourth suffered more
particularly, as it was their afternoon for the tennis courts, and they
had had bad luck lately in the matter of weather on their special tennis
days.
"I declare, I'm sorry for those poor kids!" said Gwethyn. "This is the
third Wednesday their sets have been stopped. They are standing in the
corridor, looking like a funeral. Can't we liven them up somehow?"
"All serene! Let's ask them into our form room and play games," agreed
Rose. "Where are the rest of us? Jill, go and hunt up Susie and
Beatrix. It's far more fun when there are plenty. I say, you kiddies
there, come along and have some jinks! Pass the word on."
The juniors responded promptly to the invitation. They flocked into the
Fifth room, and settled themselves anywhere, on desks or floor.
"What's the game?" they asked hopefully.
"It's quite a new one," explained Gwethyn, who had had a hasty private
conference with some of her chums. "It's called 'The Oracle of Fortune'.
I'm to be blindfolded so that I can't see the least peep; then you're
all to march round me in a circle. When I tap with this stick, you stop,
and I point at somebody who comes forward."
"Oh, I know! French blind-man's-buff. That's nothing new!" exclaimed
Madge Carter.
"No, it's not French blind-man's-buff," returned Gwethyn, so crushingly
that Madge was sorry she had spoken. "I don't feel your faces while you
giggle--it's something quite different. I tell your characters. If
they're correct, you walk on. If I make a mistake, you may take my place
as oracle."
"Who's to judge if they're right?"
"The general opinion!" frowned Gwethyn.
"But suppose----"
"Oh, suppress that dormouse!" exclaimed some of the March Hares. "Where
is there a big handkerchief to bind your eyes? You mustn't have the
least little teeny weeny scrap of a peep-hole left. We'll take care of
that."
Bandaged to the entire satisfaction of all spectators, Gwethyn took her
place in the centre of the room, and the girls commenced to circle round
her. At a rap from her stick they halted. She pointed blindly to an
unknown figure, who stepped silently forward.
"List to the Oracle!" proclaimed Gwethyn dramatically. "Sweet temper,
kindness, and modesty here go hand in hand. Pass on, gentle maiden, thou
art worthy!"
Bertha Grant, a small and inoffensive junior, retired into the ring amid
the applause of the audience, and the march continued. At the next halt
Myrtle Goodwin, a particularly turbulent and mischievous member of the
Fourth, responded to the rap.
"Whom have we here?" murmured the Oracle. "Alas! my inner sense tells me
this is imp, not angel. Go and amend thy misdeeds. I feel the darkness
of thy shadow."
Again a round of clapping certified to the correctness of the character
given. The girls began to think the game rather fun. Laura Browne
happened to be the next chosen.
"Fair on the surface, but false below," was the verdict. "The professed
friend of everybody, but the chum of nobody. Full of promises, but shy
of performance."
"She can see! She must be able to see!" shouted the girls, much struck
by the aptness of the remarks.
"No, I can't. Not one hair-breadth. Look at my bandages for yourselves,"
declared Gwethyn emphatically (though she murmured "Done you, Laura
Browne!" under her breath). "Does anybody imagine I can see through two
silk handkerchiefs? I haven't Roentgen-ray eyes!"
The real fact was that Gwethyn and Rose had arranged beforehand a code
of signals. The characters were to be of three classes--good, moderate,
and bad. When the march stopped and a girl stepped forward, Rose was to
give her confederate the required information by means of a cough, a tap
on the floor, or a laugh. For certain of the girls, special signals of
identification had been arranged. Laura was one of these, and as luck
would have it, the lot had fallen to her early in the game.
"Go on and try me again," commanded Gwethyn. "Anyone who likes may
consult the gipsy."
At the next halt Rose signalled as usual, and the Oracle responded.
"Whom have we here? A junior remarkable for her charm of disposition, a
girl with many friends, a favourite in her form----"
Here Gwethyn was interrupted by an outburst of giggles.
"Wrong for once!"
"This doesn't fit!"
"The Oracle's not working!"
Gwethyn tore off the silk handkerchiefs that bandaged her eyes. She saw
at once what had happened. Amid the noise of the tramping she had
misinterpreted Rose's signal "junior bad" for "junior good". Instead of
addressing one of the pattern members of the Fourth, she had been
eulogizing Githa Hamilton. The poor little Toadstool stood with a very
curious expression in her dark eyes. Keen delight was just fading into
bitter disappointment. She looked round the circle of tittering girls.
Not one endorsed the good character, or had a kind word to say for
her--all were clamouring against the falseness of this description. Her
face hardened. Gwethyn perceived it in a flash. "Does she really care
what they think of her?" she speculated. Gwethyn's instinct was always
to fight on behalf of the losing side, and at this moment Githa seemed
to stand alone against the whole room. Moreover, the Oracle was not
disposed to own up that she had made a mistake. She stuck, therefore, to
her guns.
"If Githa's not a favourite, she ought to be. It's your own lack of
appreciation. Where are your eyes? She's a jewel, if you'd the sense to
see it. There, I'm sick of the whole business. If anybody likes to take
my place, I'll resign. Or shall we play something else instead?"
Perhaps the girls thought the game was growing rather too personal.
Nobody offered to act gipsy, and someone hurriedly suggested "Clumps".
In less than a minute the crowd had divided into two close circles, and
the catechism of "animal", "vegetable", or "mineral" began briskly.
Githa took no open notice of Gwethyn's unexpected championship, but from
that afternoon her attitude changed. Instead of continually snapping, or
exercising her wit in sharp little remarks, she was unusually quiet. She
would watch Gwethyn without speaking, and often followed her about the
school, though always at a short distance and with no apparent
intention.
It was at this crisis that Gwethyn one morning received bad news. Tony,
her Pekinese spaniel, and the idol of her heart, had been put out to
board when the Marsdens left home. His foster-mistress, a respectable
working woman, wrote occasionally to record his progress. Hitherto her
letters had been satisfactory, but to-day her report was serious.
Katrine found Gwethyn weeping violently in the sanctum of their bedroom.
"What's the matter?" she asked in some anxiety.
"Matter! Oh! whatever am I to do? Read this."
"DEAR MISS MARSDEN,
"I did not answer your inquiries before about the poor
little dog, hoping he might pick up a bit, but indeed he frets
like to break his heart. The children next door worries him,
and he won't eat, and he has gone that thin it is pitiful to
see him. I do my best, but he does not like being here. He is
getting just a bag of bones, and my husband says it is nothing
but home-sickness. Will you please tell me what I am to do
about him?
"Your obedient servant,
"MARY CARTER."
"The darling! The poor darling! Breaking his little heart for his
missis!" sobbed Gwethyn. "I knew he'd never be happy at the Carters'
cottage. A bag of bones! Oh, my Tony! Katrine, have you got a penny
stamp?"
The girls at Aireyholme were not supposed to send letters without
submitting them first to a mistress, but the rule was not very strictly
enforced, and Gwethyn had no difficulty in answering by return of post.
What she said to Mrs. Carter she did not reveal even to Katrine. Through
the whole of that day and the next, she went about with a look of
mingled anxiety and triumph on her face.
[Illustration: "GWETHYN TORE OFF THE SILK HANDKERCHIEFS. SHE SAW AT ONCE
WHAT HAD HAPPENED"]
At four o'clock on the following afternoon, just when the girls were
coming from their classes, there was a bustle at the side door. A porter
with a hand-cart from the railway station was delivering a large hamper.
Mrs. Franklin chanced to be passing at the moment, and stopped to make
inquiries.
"A hamper? For whom? Miss G. Marsden! And labelled 'Live Stock, with
Care'! What does this mean?"
Gwethyn, coming out of the Fifth Form room, caught sight of the
hand-cart, and with a cry of ecstasy made a rush for the hamper.
"It's Tony! My darling Tony! Oh, my pretty boy! where are you?"
Pulling her penknife from her pocket, she cut the cords in a trice, and
opening the lid, clutched her whimpering pet in her arms. A crowd of
girls collected to see what was happening. Mrs. Franklin thought it high
time to interfere.
"Gwethyn Marsden, whose dog is this?" she asked sharply.
"He's mine! We left him at a cottage when we shut up our house, but he
fretted, so I told Mrs. Carter to send him here. He wanted his missis."
"You sent for this dog on your own authority? And without asking my
permission?"
"He was breaking his heart!"
"You have taken the most unwarrantable liberty!" Mrs. Franklin was
bridling with indignation. "I cannot allow you to keep this dog. It must
be sent back."
"Oh no, please, please!" implored Gwethyn. "He'll die if he has to go
back. I won't let him be one scrap of trouble. He'd sleep on my bed."
"Impossible!" said the Principal firmly. "Do you think I am going to
relax all the rules of the school in your favour? You have been indulged
too much already. There are thirty-six pupils here, and if each one
wished to keep a pet the place would be a menagerie. I cannot make an
exception in your case. It was most impertinent of you to write and
arrange for the animal to be sent."
Matters had reached the point of tragedy. Mrs. Franklin for once was
really angry. She considered that the Marsdens were not sufficiently
amenable to school discipline at any time, but this breach was beyond
all bounds. Gwethyn hugged Tony tightly, and wept stubborn tears. Then
Githa Hamilton stepped to the rescue.
"Please, Mrs. Franklin, instead of sending the little dog back, might I
take him home with me until the end of the term? My own fox-terrier died
two months ago, and my uncle said I could have another dog."
It was such a splendid solution of the difficulty that even the
Principal's face cleared. Gwethyn wiped her eyes, and beamed
encouragement.
"Are you sure your uncle and aunt would consent?" asked Mrs. Franklin,
hopefully but doubtfully.
"Oh, yes! They said I might take the first nice puppy that was offered
me; so I know it's all right."
"Then I shall be very much obliged if you will accept the charge of this
dog."
"I'll be only too glad."
"Githa, you absolute angel!" murmured Gwethyn, pressing her treasure
into the Toadstool's hospitable arms as Mrs. Franklin, mollified at
last, turned into the house.
"Angels don't have khaki-coloured complexions!"
"Yes, they do--the nicest sort! I don't care for the golden-headed kind.
At this moment you're my beau-ideal of blessedness."
"Toadstools savour of elves, not angels!" Githa was well aware of her
nickname. "But look here! I'll take good care of the little chap, and
make him happy. I'll smuggle him to school sometimes, so that you can
see him. I could shut him up in the tool-house, if I square Fuller."
"Your collie won't devour him?" Gwethyn asked, with a sudden burst of
anxiety.
"Rolf never touches small dogs. He's a gentleman in that. Don't you
worry. Tony'll be quite safe, and he'll soon fatten up with plenty of
milk, and a garden to run about in. Bless him! He's taking to his new
missis already. There, precious one!"
"I want him back at the holidays," cried Gwethyn jealously. "He's not to
forget me."
"Right you are! Hold him while I get my hat and my bike. I don't think I
can carry him and ride--he'd wriggle. I'll have to wheel my machine
home. There, kiss his nose just once more, and let him go!"