ALLISON TELLS A STORY
When tea was over the Fifth, surprised by the news that Allison
wished to speak to them in the common room before they settled down
to their evening's prep, made their way thither in groups of twos and
threes. Monica was among the company, having left the sick-room that
afternoon, though excused from school work till the following
morning. Everyone was standing about in groups, wondering what
Allison had to say to them, when the Head Girl herself entered the
room as brisk and cheerful as ever.
"You all seem to be here, I see. Let's settle down round the fire.
Pull out the hassocks, some of you. I've brought some chestnuts
mother sent me yesterday, and you can roast them while you listen to
what I've got to tell you."
"It isn't a lecture, is it?" asked Ida apprehensively, as they all
scrambled to secure seats round the fire.
"Lecture? Oh, no. I'm merely going to tell you a little story.
Prinny was going to tell it to you, then she suggested you might like
to hear it from me instead and I just jumped at the chance. I love
telling stories and this is a true one. Only you must all promise
not to interrupt till I've quite finished, or you'll make me lose the
thread of it."
"Yes, we promise. Go on, please," came in an eager chorus, for
everybody there knew that Allison had quite a genius for telling
stories.
So Allison began:
"Well, this is a story about a girl like yourselves. Her name?
We'll call her Alice. Unfortunately, Alice's parents died when she
was quite young and she was left in the charge of her uncle, who was
made her guardian. He was a soldier and was abroad a good deal, so
Alice couldn't live with him. Instead, she lived in the country, in
charge of her nurse. Alice led rather a lonely life, for she never
went to school but had lessons instead at the Rectory, where the
Rector taught her and several delicate little boys who were not
robust enough to go to preparatory boarding-schools."
"What a rotten time she must have had!" remarked Glenda. "Didn't she
know any other children?"
"Well, sometimes she visited the other children who lived near, but
very often she had to make her own amusements and formed the habit of
reading a great deal and dreaming over the books she read. The
red-letter days in her life were her uncle's visits. Other children
had mothers and fathers, it is true, but very few had for a guardian
an officer in the British Army who wore rows of medals for brave and
gallant deeds, and who could tell you breathless stories of daring
and heroic actions, who was always kind to you and who made you want
to grow up as brave and generous as he was."
"I'd rather have a mother and father," observed Ida, selecting a
chestnut from the hearth and peeling off the shell. "However, I
suppose he was the next best thing."
"Anyway," Allison went on, "Alice thought the world of him, and like
many other young people she cherished a passionate hero-worship for
this idol of hers--who, she felt, possessed all the virtues of
nobility, gallantry, honesty and courage. You may guess how
delighted she was when she heard that he had resigned his commission
and had settled down to live in England, and that she was to make her
home with him and his sister in the future. But a dreadful blow fell
before she experienced this new happiness----"
"What blow?" demanded Ida, pausing in the act of popping the chestnut
into her mouth. She hadn't been very interested in Alice up to that
point, but now the story began to be more exciting.
"I warned you not to interrupt," Allison said severely. "I'm just
going to tell you. Alice's nurse received the news, but kept it from
her charge, and in answer to Alice's constant inquiries, 'When is
uncle coming to fetch me?' she could only shake her head sadly. But
her aunt came to fetch her at last, and Alice's sensitive spirit was
chilled by her cold, unloving greeting. She soon learnt the truth.
Her uncle and guardian had become involved in money difficulties and
had fled the country secretly, taking with him the little fortune
which Alice's parents had left in his charge for their child."
"What a shame!" cried several girls together. "Whatever did Alice
do?" added Glenda. "I suppose she had nothing at all after that."
"For a little while after she heard the news she had a sort of lost,
bewildered feeling as if she could feel no solid ground under her
feet," continued Allison. "If her uncle could do this thing, then it
seemed as if there was no honour, nor honesty, nor kindliness in the
world. The lost, lonely feeling changed and hardened into a spirit
of sullen resentment, which grew worse under her aunt's treatment of
her. Her aunt, unfortunately, hadn't a very loving disposition and
did not care for young people; but being very conscientious, she
regarded it as her duty to look after the child her brother had
robbed and deserted, though she made it quite plain to Alice that the
duty was an unpleasant one. Alice, I suppose, argued that if people
in this world had no scruples and were all selfish, why should she
bother either? You can understand how she felt, can't you?"
The listeners, now really interested, nodded, and Glenda remarked
feelingly: "I guess I should have felt rather like it myself."
"In a very short time," Allison went on, "her aunt despatched her to
a boarding-school, still a rebel, and there Alice had a brief but
hectic career, which ended in her being expelled for cheating.
Everybody cheated in this life when it served their purpose, Alice
had decided, so why shouldn't she? As for being expelled, nobody
wanted her at the school, so what did it matter?"
At this point in Allison's story the girls, who were now listening
with close attention, began to steal glances at each other, then to
look round the room as if in search of someone. Monica, who had been
sitting in the farther-most corner, near the door, flushed and
stirred uncomfortably.
"I say, this girl Alice----" Glenda was beginning, but Allison broke
in peremptorily.
"Now, Glenda. You know you promised not to interrupt. Fill your
mouth with a chestnut instead."
"Sorry, Allison," said Glenda meekly. "I won't transgress again.
Hurry up and tell us what happened to Alice after that."
"Let me see, I had just got to where Alice left her first school.
Well, her aunt was naturally extremely annoyed, and I don't quite
know what would have happened to Alice if a former great friend of
her mother's had not offered to have her at the school of which she
was Principal. This lady wanted Alice to have a fair and square
start at her school"--here someone was heard to murmur "St.
Etheldreda's" under her breath, but Allison took no notice and went
on as if she had not heard--"so she purposely ignored the aunt's
warnings that her niece must be dealt with very firmly indeed or she
would be quite unmanageable. She told no one that Alice had been
sent away from one school, only asked the other mistresses to make
allowances for her at first, because she had not been accustomed to
school life and school rules. Unfortunately, the story leaked
out----"
"Glenda had a letter," Ida interjected, hastily, but at Allison's
frown she apologized quickly: "Sorry, Allison. I forgot."
"The story, as I said, leaked out, and Alice, who by this time was
beginning to feel that perhaps she had made a mistake in judging
everybody by the actions of her uncle, and that there were plenty of
people in the world who were kind and generous and honourable, learnt
straight away that she was not to be given another chance and that
all the girls, as she thought, had been carefully warned against her.
Once again she felt hurt and sore, and in that 'don't-care-a-hang'
mood."
Allison paused, looked round her little circle of listeners to see if
they were following her, then added impressively:
"You know yourselves how much you are sometimes affected by quite
little things. It was quite a little thing that restored Alice's
lost faith in mankind. Or perhaps"--here Allison's expression lost
some of its solemnity and her eyes twinkled mischievously--"I
oughtn't really to call Nat little, because she's rather
big--especially her hands and feet. But----"
Nat jumped visibly at the unexpected sound of her own name, and her
serene, placid expression changed to one of confused amazement.
"I?" she stuttered. "What--what had I got to do with it?"
"Only that later on Mon--I mean Alice, heard how one girl in her form
had stood up for her and pleaded that she should be given a chance to
make a fair start. And afterwards that girl treated her--well, just
as she would have treated any other girl of her acquaintance. In
return Alice tried to show her gratitude, but her first venture was
not very successful. She locked up one of the members of the hockey
team, with the sole idea of giving her friend a chance of achieving
her ambition and playing in the first eleven. But the friend was
angry at the methods she used and quarrelled with her."
Then Allison related the story of the telegram in much the same words
that the Principal had used in telling it to her, and when she had
finished she went straight on with the adventure of the well from
Monica's point of view, which, up till then, had never occurred to
anyone.
When Allison had concluded there was silence for just a few
minutes--the chestnuts, forgotten, burned unnoticed on the bars of
the grate--then Glenda looked round the room.
"By the by, where is Monica?--for of course that's whom you mean,
though you called her Alice."
But Monica had disappeared; the place which she had occupied on the
outskirts of the group was vacant.
"She was here a minute ago," said someone. "She must have slipped
out while we were listening to Allison," Ida suggested.
Allison rose leisurely to her feet, smoothing down the creases in her
dress.
"And that's my story, girls. After all, you see, Alice wasn't the
desperately wicked character we thought her at first. Certainly she
had some funny ideas in her head at one time, but I think she had
pretty well got rid of them before she had been here a couple of
months. As for the telegram business, the Principal will make a
short public announcement at prayers to-morrow to put the
responsibility of the dark deed on the real culprit. Thank goodness,
we've no girls like that at St. Etheldreda's."
The Fifth looked at each other, much impressed.
"Really, perhaps we weren't as nice to Monica as we might have been,"
murmured Glenda pensively, as if the thought had just occurred to her.
"Take my advice," said Allison, "and treat her like any other
ordinary schoolgirl, and you'll find she'll soon be one."
Irene's cheeks were burning--and it wasn't the fire, though she was
quite close to it.
"Anyway," she burst out with explosive suddenness, "this'll be a
lesson to me never to go prying into other people's correspondence
again."
"To think," said Nat sadly, "that Monica believed she was risking her
life to save a clumsy elephant like me, and I've never even said
thank'ee for it."
"Plenty of time yet, Nat," said Allison cheerfully. "Well, I mustn't
linger any longer. Virgil calls me. Thanks for listening so
patiently. Good-bye, everybody."
"Good-bye, Allison," came in an answering chorus.
"Isn't Allison a brick?" said Ida impulsively as the door closed
behind the Head Girl. "She might have pointed out what a mean,
self-opinionated lot we've been--all, that is, except Nat--but she
never said a word. As for Nat, I guess she's the only one of us
who's 'put in' much kindness or consideration this term. You
remember what Miss Julian said on first day?"
"Oh, rot!" protested Nat with scarlet cheeks.
"No, there's no Head Girl like ours," agreed Glenda, "and I think
you're right about Nat, too. Well, I must begin to see about prep,
or there'll be wigs on the green tomorrow." She hurried off and the
rest of the girls, also with thoughts of the prep that was waiting,
reluctantly dispersed.
Allison, however, had not quite completed her mission. On leaving
the common room she set out in quest of the missing Monica and
speedily ran her to earth in her cubicle.
"Just the person I wanted to see," she declared, as Monica looked up,
startled, when she appeared in the doorway. "What made you run away
in the middle of my story? Weren't you interested in Alice?"
"I----" stammered Monica, and stopped.
"Well, never mind now," said Allison cheerfully. "I finished the
story without you, as it happened. What I've come to tell you now is
that Prinny wants to see you in her room. Nothing dreadful," as
Monica looked rather apprehensive, "only something she intended to
ask you about before, but forgot."
"Am I to go now?"
"Yes. Run along." Allison's smile was both kind and cheery, and
Monica went off feeling reassured. When she knocked at the
Principal's door and went inside, Miss Julian was still looking as
kind as she had done during Monica's last interview with her in the
sick-room.
"Allison said you wished to see me." Monica explained her appearance.
"Yes. Sit down, Monica. It is nothing to do with what we were
talking about before, but I want you to answer me just as frankly.
It is about your exams. How came you to have such a low position? I
have had some really good reports about your work and intelligence
from some of the mistresses and I know you are capable of doing much
better. You did not do your best, did you, Monica?"
Monica wriggled uneasily.
"No, Miss Julian," she confessed, truthfully.
"Why not?"
"Must I tell you?" asked Monica in a low voice, but this time she
lifted her eyes frankly to Miss Julian's face. "I will, if you
insist, but I would rather not. It is nothing disgraceful," she
added hurriedly, "and I promise that I will try to be nearer the top
than the bottom next term."
Miss Julian hesitated a moment. She felt sure that Monica was
speaking the truth when she denied any discreditable intentions, and
from the very clear idea she had now formed of Monica's character,
she shrewdly guessed at some queer quixotic motive underlying her
act. Quickly she made up her mind.
"No, you need not tell me this time," she replied. "I am going to
take your word for it when you say there was nothing discreditable
about it. But I shall expect you to keep your promise and do better
next term. Now run along and find your form companions. I am sure
that you will soon find out that they are ready to be friends, if you
are."
So Monica left the Principal's study and made her way towards her own
room with a light step that now and again degenerated into a little
dancing skip, and with the idea firmly rooted in her mind, and
growing stronger every minute, that she was going to find plenty of
happiness in her future life at St. Etheldreda's.