ENTER THE BLACK SHEEP
One afternoon a week later the Fifth commandeered the common room for
a special meeting to arrange an impromptu cricket match for the next
Wednesday afternoon, the weather being so unusually hot that it was
impossible to start winter games in real earnest. They were about to
begin the meeting, when an excited exclamation from a girl sitting
curled up in a corner of the big settee attracted everyone's
attention.
"Oh, I say, girls, just listen to this!" She held up the letter
which she had been reading while waiting for the meeting to start.
"Letters already, Glenda?" remarked Ida Preston. "Why, we've only
been back a week. Not from home, surely?"
"No," replied Glenda. "This came by the afternoon post and it's from
my cousin, who lives at Croftdene. She thinks her news might be of
interest to us. It has given me a thrill, anyway."
"Something about St. Etheldreda's?" asked Irene Eames in surprise.
Glenda nodded. She was a tall girl of striking appearance, always
beautifully dressed, with dark hair and eyes and a rather dramatic
way of talking. She delighted in creating sensations and had a large
following among the Fifth. In fact, she and her friend--red-haired,
hot-tempered, clever Irene Eames--were the acknowledged leaders of
the form.
"I should just think it is," Glenda replied with emphasis. "It's
about this new girl who hasn't turned up yet. It seems she's a real
bad lot, according to my cousin, who thinks we're in for a lively
time."
"Does she know her, then?"
"No, but--well, I'll tell you how it is. A lady named Mrs. Whiddon
recently came to live in the old Grange at Croftdene. My aunt and
cousin went to call, and before the acquaintance was many weeks old
they discovered that Mrs. Whiddon had a niece, who was so naughty and
troublesome she didn't know what to do with her. She sent her away
to a boarding-school last term, and"--here Glenda paused with great
dramatic effect--"she was _expelled_!"
There were exclamations of incredulous wonder from Glenda's little
audience.
"It's quite true, because it comes from the girl's own aunt and
guardian," declared Glenda. "At the end of the term--she was only
there a term--the Principal wrote and asked Mrs. Whiddon to take her
niece away, as she was quite unmanageable and would have a bad
influence on the other girls."
"I wonder what she did," breathed Betty Cairns, awestruck. "It must
have been something dreadful."
Glenda shook her head. "I don't know. Mrs. Whiddon didn't say.
Mustn't she be a bright specimen, though--the niece, I mean!"
"And this girl is coming to St. Etheldreda's," said Irene slowly.
"Surely Miss Julian doesn't know what sort of a character she has?"
"But she does!" Glenda retorted triumphantly. "She offered to take
the girl into her school--give her a trial, so to speak. It seems
her mother was a very dear old friend of Prinny's and she's doing it
for her sake, I suppose."
The girls looked at one another, but no one said anything.
"What I think," continued Glenda, "is that it's rather hard lines on
us to have a girl of this sort foisted on us. If she's too bad a
character for one school to put up with, then she isn't good enough
for St. Etheldreda's."
"Hear, hear!" came from one or two listeners.
"Well," said red-haired Irene, the top girl of the form, "we aren't
all saints by any means, but I've never yet heard of a girl at St.
Etheldreda's who has had to be threatened with expulsion. I don't
want to chum up with a girl of that sort."
Glenda held up her letter. "My cousin says it's a good thing for me
I am warned in time, as she knows how lacking I am in common sense
and a 'sense of balance,' whatever that means. Rather a knock for
me, what?" and she joined heartily in the laugh against herself.
"Still, perhaps it is rather fortunate we have got to know about this
girl," Muriel Graves observed thoughtfully. "Otherwise we might have
had a few shocks."
"Forewarned is forearmed," added Irene. "We shall know how to deal
with her--or rather, how to steer clear of her," and there was a
murmur of agreement from the others; the rest of the form were apt to
be easily swayed by its two strongest characters, Irene and Glenda.
Suddenly a new voice, hitherto unheard, came from the direction of
the wide hearth.
"I say, don't you think the fairest thing would be to give the kid a
chance?" said Nathalie Sandrich.
All eyes were immediately turned on the new speaker, a rather big
girl who had somewhat the appearance of a lanky, ungainly young colt;
that is to say, her hands and feet seemed to be too large in
proportion to the rest of her, while she did not appear to know quite
what to do with her elbows and knees--faults which would probably be
remedied when she had finished growing. She had a shock of bright
brown hair, irregular features, plentifully besprinkled with freckles
during the summer term, and a rather wide mouth which displayed
beautifully white, even teeth when she smiled.
Nathalie Sandrich, usually known as Nat, had, as she herself
declared, only one talent, a perfect genius for "putting her foot in
it."
Strange to relate, when a difficult catch at cricket was muffed--a
catch upon which the fate of the match rested--the unhappy fielder
was sure to be Nat Sandrich, though Nat was quite a good cricketer.
Should it be discovered that one of the girls walking down the church
aisle for Sunday morning service was displaying an enormous hole in
her stocking, above the heel of her shoe, one took it for granted
that the girl would be Nat although, as she pointed out, she did
quite as much darning as any other girl in the school. When the
position lists of the term examinations were posted up, the name of
Nat Sandrich was invariably the very last on the Fifth Form list,
though one could not by any means call her a dull or stupid girl.
She was unfortunately the member of a Fifth Form unusually diligent
and intelligent at their lessons, and suffered in comparison; she
also generally managed to lower her chances further by omitting to
head one of her papers or number some of her questions, thereby
losing marks to which she would otherwise have been entitled. On the
whole Nat was popular with her school companions, for she had a
cheerful disposition and often amused them, but they were inclined to
regard her with a kind of tolerant, good-natured contempt.
All eyes were now on Nat, as she made her suggestion so abruptly.
"What exactly do you mean, Nat?" asked Irene.
"Only that I think you ought to give the kid a chance," repeated Nat,
"by treating her as if you'd never heard any of that," pointing to
Glenda's letter. "Just imagine she's an ordinary sort of girl and
you've never heard anything against her. She may not be so bad after
all. Perhaps there was a mistake at the other school. Besides, you
can soon judge what sort of a girl she is for yourselves. It isn't
fair to her to form a prejudice against her before you see her."
Here was a new point of view. Glenda looked annoyed, for though she
was not an unkind or ill-natured girl at heart, she did not like to
see the startling effect produced by her news counteracted.
"I hardly see how a mistake could have been made," she said loftily.
"Her aunt's opinion of her seemed to coincide with that of the Head
Mistress of the school. I don't think it's at all nice of Prinny to
plant down such a character in our midst."
But Nat stuck to her guns. "Prinny wants to give her another chance
or she would have told us what sort of a girl this new kid was," she
insisted. "Besides, don't you think that's the sort of thing she
meant when she talked about 'putting in' as well as 'getting out'?
It isn't being very kind or considerate."
"Good gracious! It's never Nat preaching!" cried Irene with an
amazed expression "What will happen next?"
Nat was crimson to her ears. "I'm not preaching," she denied, with
as much indignation as if she had been accused of breaking all the
ten commandments at once. "I've never preached in my life. It's
only that I don't think it's fair----"
"Good for you, Nat," broke in a clear voice from behind, and everyone
looked hurriedly round to see Allison standing just inside the door.
She had entered unnoticed in the commotion some few minutes ago and
now came forward. "Nat is right," she went on decidedly, "I don't
know how you got hold of this tale. Miss Julian was particularly
anxious that rumours of this sort should not get about."
The girls were eager to explain the source of their information and
were already feeling a little ashamed of themselves, for they were
good-hearted girls in the main and even those strong-minded spirits,
Irene and Glenda, were anxious to keep the good opinion of the
popular Head Girl.
Allison smiled round upon the circle of Fifth-formers.
"Then is it agreed that Nat's idea be adopted, and we all decide to
forget what we've just heard in Glenda's letter and give this new
girl at least a fair start? Then it won't be our faults if she
doesn't take advantage of it."
Everyone agreed, with outward heartiness at any rate. "As a matter
of fact," Allison then continued, "it's about the new girl that I
came to speak to you. She's just arrived."
Naturally this announcement caused great excitement.
"Is she coming into the Fifth?" asked Irene.
"Yes. Miss Julian is giving her a trial with you, though I believe
she is a little below the average age. As a senior she'll be
entitled to a study, of course. Which of you will volunteer to take
her in?"
There was silence. Everyone looked stealthily at everyone else, but
no volunteers were forthcoming.
At last Nat said, with a sigh: "I suppose I ought to, as I'm the only
one with a study to myself at present. But I don't want to. I like
a peaceful life."
"Oh, you needn't necessarily be the victim," replied Allison. "It
can easily be otherwise arranged by somebody changing studies with
you."
Still no one moved or spoke.
Allison looked across at Nat. "You'll have to take it on," she said
with a twinkle in her eyes. "No one else will."
Nat groaned. "All right," she replied resignedly. "I suppose you
can't expect the girls to upset their present study arrangements.
But I don't look forward to the prospect."
"If she can't get on with you, Nat, then she won't get on with
anyone," Allison said decidedly, adding with another twinkle: "You
will have to put up a notice on the board, publicly announcing that
you will not hold yourself responsible for any of your partner's
debts or misdemeanours. Here she is, I believe," as the door opened
and Pamela Preston looked in.
"I've brought her along; Allison," said the prefect. "She's taken
her things upstairs to her cubicle and partially unpacked."
"Right-oh!" Allison nodded her thanks. "I'll introduce her to her
future form companions and leave her to their tender mercies."
Pamela vanished, leaving her charge standing just inside the door.
Naturally everyone gazed at her with unrestrained curiosity, and
rather to their disappointment did not see anything about the new
girl that looked at all dreadful or desperately wicked. In fact,
there was something rather childish about the solitary figure, in
spite of her fifteen years; an impression due to the slightness of
her build, her height, which was rather under than above the average,
the shortness of her tunic and her straight bobbed hair, black near
the roots and ending round her ears in a kind of rusty brown. Like
the rest of her figure, her features were small and delicately cut,
her complexion olive and her eyes grey-blue, under lashes that were
long and dark. She came forward apparently without either shyness or
eagerness, as Allison called to her.
[Illustration: "Everyone gazed at her with unrestrained curiosity."]
"Your name's Monica, isn't it?" the Head Girl asked with a friendly
smile.
"Yes, Monica Carr," was the brief response, but there was no return
of Allison's smile.
"Well, these are girls of the Fifth, which will probably be your
form. I'll just introduce you to two or three of them, then I'll
clear off and leave you to make friends. This is Irene, the top
girl. This is Glenda, the shining light of the dramatic society, and
here is Ida Preston, the most accurate netball shooter we have ever
possessed. Oh, and this is Nat. I mustn't forget Nat, as you are to
share studies with her."
The girls, true to their compact, greeted the newcomer with as much
naturalness as they could simulate, and Allison, her mind relieved,
took her departure.
"'Fraid we shall have to postpone our meeting," observed Glenda.
"The tea bell will soon be ringing. We must have it later. Come
along to my study about half an hour before supper bell, those who
wish, and we'll fix up our match arrangements then."
Nat turned to the girl who stood silently at her side. "Come along
and I'll show you our study," she suggested. "Then if you've any
books and things you want to keep there you can bring them down."
The new girl followed Nat along the passage which led to the row of
senior studies, added to the school accommodation when the Annexe was
built. She listened silently as Nat, who was a sociable soul,
chatted cheerfully. She was not very responsive, however; not even
when Nat, with obvious pride, ushered her into the little room,
remarking:
"To a certain extent we are allowed to furnish or decorate our
studies as we like. It's rather fun to see the different ideas
different girls have. This study is rather bare at present, but the
girl who was to share it with me left last term and took her
belongings with her, and I haven't had time to hang up my pictures
yet. The table, chairs and cupboard are school furniture, but the
little bookcase is mine. My youngest brother made it for me, so that
accounts for the shelves not fitting properly. Perhaps you would
like to suggest things--what colours we should choose for curtains,
table-cloth, cushion-covers and so on--or perhaps you have some
pictures you would like to put up. I'm afraid I'm not very artistic
about that sort of thing."
No gleam of animation or enthusiasm lightened the new girl's face.
"I didn't bring anything like that with me," she said, speaking for
the first time, in a voice that was low-toned and with a husky note
in it. "I didn't know. Besides, I haven't anything, except one or
two dressing-table ornaments that will do for my cubicle."
"But perhaps you'll have a few original ideas," persisted Nat. "Then
we might look round and buy what we want."
"I don't often get original ideas," was the discouraging reply.
Nat rubbed her nose thoughtfully, reflecting dismally that this was
not a very bright beginning and held out few hopes for a jolly
future. However, you couldn't always judge new girls from first
impressions. Some of them felt very strange and awkward and homesick
at first, poor things. She tried again, meaning to be comforting.
"I hope you don't feel homesick, because really there isn't any need.
Of course, some of the younger girls are, though we haven't any very
young ones. Last year we had a new girl--quite a big girl in the
Fourth--who cried and cried every night for a whole week, till her
nose was so red the others said it gave her a most disreputable look!
Now she cries every time we break up for the holidays."
"Well, I haven't any intention of crying, either now or when we break
up. As for being homesick, I haven't a home to be sick for."
"Oh, haven't you? What a shame!" Nat said sympathetically. "Where
will you go for the holidays?"
"Oh, I've a house I can go to--my aunt's house. It's very large and
comfortable, and you can have everything you want there--but a house
isn't a home."
"Haven't you a father or mother?"
"No."
"Nor brothers or sisters?"
"No."
"How horrid for you!" Nat had not been at all attracted by the new
girl, but now her ready sympathies were enlisted. No wonder she was
so queer and stiff!
"Have you been to many schools?" she continued, with another attempt
to be friendly.
"No, I was only at one for a term last year."
"You've had a governess then, I suppose?"
"No."
"Oh!" Nat wondered how a girl was educated, if she neither went to
school nor had a governess. "I suppose your people taught you at
home?"
"No."
After this brief denial, conversation languished. The new girl
volunteered no information about herself and did not seem to want to
know anything about her new surroundings, so Nat racked her brains
for a further topic of interest.
"Do you play games at all? That always helps at school. Even girls
who aren't much good at anything else get awfully popular if they can
shine at games."
"No, I can't play any games."
Nat was completely taken aback.
"Not any at all? But surely you must have played something. Not
cricket or tennis or netball?"
The new girl shook her head.
"Nor hockey?"
"No, I don't think so. What is hockey like?"
"Oh, it's a topping game. You chase up and down a field and swipe at
the ball with your stick whenever you get the chance. You'll have to
play something here. Games are compulsory, unless you're excused for
medical reasons. You haven't a weak heart or varicose veins, I
suppose?"
"I don't think so."
"Then you'll have to learn," declared Nat firmly.
"I don't mind if I do."
Silence fell again. Nat did not like to continue the games topic,
for the new girl displayed not the slightest interest or enthusiasm
in it. She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes before the tea
bell rang. A new thought struck her.
"I say, this is one of the days when you have to speak French at
meals. No English is allowed at the senior tables under penalty of a
penny fine. Do you know much French?"
"Not a word."
Nat gazed incredulously. "Not really? Honest Injun, you're not
pulling my leg?"
"Indeed, no. I was never taught French."
"Never taught French! I forgot you've never been to school nor had a
governess."
Nat looked hard at the new girl, but there was no sign of mischievous
propensities in her expression; she merely appeared bored at having
to answer all these tiresome questions.
"Then I'm afraid it's rather hard lines on you," Nat remarked.
"You'll have to sit still and say nothing all tea-time."
The new girl looked up and for the first time spoke with some warmth
in her voice and manner.
"I don't mind that at all. But I'm jolly hungry. Suppose I want
some sugar in my tea or some more jam or cake, and it isn't within
reach, can't I ask for it?"
"Not in English. Only in French."
"But I can't speak French."
Nat scratched her head in perplexity. "We must think of some way out
of the difficulty. I'm afraid I couldn't possibly teach you the
French names for everything on the tea-table before tea bell goes.
I'll tell you what. You must just say: 'Passez-moi cela, s'il vous
plait,' and point to what you want."
The new girl put her head on one side and regarded Nat with a flicker
of impish mischief in her face.
"But it's rude to point."
"Then you must manage to point without being rude. Jerk your head or
make a graceful gesture. That's the best I can do for you, anyway."
"What is it I have to say."
"'Passez-moi cela, s'il vous plait.' It means 'Pass me that,
please.' Say it after me ten times, then you'll know it by heart."
A few minutes later Monica was escorted to tea by Nat. The big
oak-raftered and panelled room with its long tables covered with
snow-white napery was a cheery sight, especially when filled with
seventy or eighty hungry schoolgirls and echoing with the chatter of
their voices. The new girl sat quiet and silent by Nat's side,
subdued by the crowds of strange faces, the buzz of strange voices.
Curious glances were cast at her by some of the Fifth Form girls who
had heard of her reputation, but on the whole they were too busy
satisfying their appetites and racking their brains for French
phrases to take much notice of Monica.
At her table Glenda Vaughan, tall and good-looking in her dark,
handsome style, was holding everyone's attention with her endeavour
to relate a humorous story in French, and her love of dramatic effect
was shown in every varying tone of her voice, every flash of her dark
eyes.
"Attention, mes enfants," she commenced. "Je vais vous dire une
petite conte--une conte très-très drôle," and in somewhat remarkable
French she endeavoured to relate how the witty young French guest
asked his French hostess a riddle. Why was she like the teapot?
Here Glenda paused, gazed round triumphantly, then continued: "Et le
jeune homme répondit: 'Parce que vous êtes pleine de bonté.'"
Everyone looked puzzled. No one laughed. As a matter of fact Glenda
was the only one at the table who might be said to possess linguistic
talent and she was very proud of her French. Besides, she had
studied up this little story very carefully in order to make an
impression.
Nat, who was steadily working her way through her third slice of
bread and butter before embarking on cake, paused in the act of
helping herself to raspberry jam. "Mais, quel jeune homme stupide!
Quel est le joke?" she demanded. "Je--je ne le vois pas."
Glenda, annoyed, flounderingly tried to explain in a mixture of
French and English, disregarding the possibility of a fine. "Que
vous êtes bêtises! Pleine de bonté--full of goodness; pleine de bon
thé--full of good tea. Comprenez?"
Ida Preston burst out laughing while in the act of drinking from her
cup, with the natural result that she choked and fell to coughing
violently, much to the delight of her unfeeling table companions.
Miss Moore, the mistress in charge that day, stopped chatting to
Allison and glanced severely across at the scene of this sudden
commotion.
"Comment donc! Qu'avez-vous, Glenda, Irene? Taisez-vous."
While Glenda was wildly searching for a suitable answer in French,
Nat's voice was raised in cheerful explanation.
"C'est Ida, Mademoiselle. Elle est trop pleine de bon thé," and from
table number two there came a shout of ribald and unseemly mirth at
Nat's ready answer.