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A Patriotic Schoolgirl
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
50 Old Bailey, LONDON
17 Stanhope Street, GLASGOW
BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED
Warwick House, Fort Street, BOMBAY
BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED
1118 Bay Street, TORONTO
A Patriotic Schoolgirl
BY
ANGELA BRAZIL
Author of "Schoolgirl Kitty"
"The Luckiest Girl in the School"
"Monitress Merle"
&c. &c.
_Illustrated by Balliol Salmon_
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
Contents
CHAP. Page
I. OFF TO BOARDING-SCHOOL 9
II. BRACKENFIELD COLLEGE 23
III. THE TALENTS TOURNAMENT 32
IV. EXEATS 45
V. AUTOGRAPHS 58
VI. TROUBLE 67
VII. DORMITORY NO. 9 79
VIII. A SENSATION 91
IX. ST. ETHELBERTA'S 98
X. THE RED CROSS HOSPITAL 106
XI. A STOLEN MEETING 119
XII. THE SCHOOL UNION 129
XIII. THE SPRING TERM 140
XIV. THE SECRET SOCIETY OF PATRIOTS 151
XV. THE EMPRESS 163
XVI. THE OBSERVATORY WINDOW 175
XVII. THE DANCE OF THE NATIONS 183
XVIII. ENCHANTED GROUND 195
XIX. A POTATO WALK 208
XX. PATRIOTIC GARDENING 222
XXI. THE ROLL OF HONOUR 231
XXII. THE MAGIC LANTERN 244
XXIII. ON LEAVE 255
XXIV. THE ROYAL GEORGE 264
XXV. CHARADES 276
Illustrations
Facing
Page
"IF YOU WANT THE EUSTON EXPRESS, YOU'LL HAVE
TO MAKE A RUN FOR IT" _Frontispiece_
THEY WERE HUDDLED TOGETHER, WATCHING HER WITH
AWESTRUCK FACES 96
THEN SOMEHOW MARJORIE FOUND HERSELF BLURTING
OUT THE ENTIRE STORY 168
SHE STARED AT IT IN CONSTERNATION 280
A Patriotic Schoolgirl
CHAPTER I
Off to Boarding-school
"Dona, are you awake? Donakins! I say, old sport, do stir yourself and
blink an eye! What a dormouse you are! D'you want shaking? Rouse up, you
old bluebottle, can't you?"
"I've been awake since five o'clock, and it's no use thumping me in the
back," grunted an injured voice from the next bed. "It's too early yet
to get up, and I wish you'd leave me alone."
The huskiness and general chokiness of the tone were unmistakable.
Marjorie leaned over and took a keen survey of that portion of her
sister's face which was not buried in the pillow.
"Oh! the atmosphere's damp, is it?" she remarked. "Dona, you're
ostriching! For goodness' sake brace up, child, and turn off the
water-works! I thought you'd more pluck. If you're going to arrive at
Brackenfield with a red nose and your eyes all bunged up, I'll disown
you, or lose you on the way. Crystal clear, I will! I'll not let you
start in a new school nicknamed 'Niobe', so there! Have a caramel?"
Dona sat up in bed, and arrested her tears sufficiently to accept the
creature comfort offered her. As its consistency was decidedly of a
stick-jaw nature, the mingled sucking and sobbing which followed
produced a queer combination.
"You sound like a seal at the Zoo," Marjorie assured her airily. "Cheer
oh! I call it a stunt to be going to Brackenfield. I mean to have a
top-hole time there, and no mistake!"
"It's all very well for you!" sighed Dona dolefully. "You've been at a
boarding-school before, and I haven't; and you are not shy, and you
always get on with people. You know I'm a mum mouse, and I hate
strangers. I shall just endure till the holidays come. It's no use
telling me to brace up, for there's nothing to brace about."
In the bedroom where the two girls lay talking every preparation had
been made for a journey. Two new trunks, painted respectively with the
initials "M. D. A." and "D. E. A.", stood side by side with the lids
open, filled to the brim, except for sponge-bags and a few other items,
which must be put in at the last. Weeks of concentrated thought and
practical work on the part of Mother, two aunts, and a dressmaker had
preceded the packing of those boxes, for the requirements of
Brackenfield seemed numerous, and the list of essential garments
resembled a trousseau. There were school skirts and blouses, gymnasium
costumes, Sunday dresses, evening wear and party frocks, to say nothing
of underclothes, and such details as gloves, shoes, ties, ribbons, and
handkerchiefs, writing-cases, work-baskets, books, photos, and
knick-knacks. Two hand-bags, each containing necessaries for the first
night, stood by the trunks, and two umbrellas, with two hockey-sticks,
were already strapped up with mackintoshes and winter coats.
For both the girls this morning would make a new and very important
chapter in the story of their lives. Marjorie had, indeed, already been
at boarding-school, but it was a comparatively small establishment, not
to be named in the same breath with a place so important as
Brackenfield, and giving only a foretaste of those experiences which she
expected to encounter in a wider circle. She had been tolerably popular
at Hilton House, but she had made several mistakes which she was
determined not to repeat, and meant to be careful as to the first
impressions which she produced upon her new schoolfellows. Marjorie, at
fifteen and a half, was a somewhat problematical character. In her
childhood she had been aptly described as "a little madam", and it was
owing to the very turbulent effect of her presence in the family that
she had been packed off early to school, "to find her level among other
girls, and leave a little peace at home", as Aunt Vera expressed it.
"Finding one's level" is generally rather a stormy process; so, after
four years of give-and-take at Hilton House, Marjorie was, on the whole,
not at all sorry to leave, and transfer her energies to another sphere.
She meant well, but she was always cock-sure that she was right, and
though this line of action may serve with weaker characters, it is
liable to cause friction when practised upon equals or elders whose
views are also self-opinionated. As regards looks, Marjorie could score.
Her clear-cut features, fresh complexion, and frank, grey eyes were
decidedly prepossessing, and her pigtail had been the longest and
thickest and glossiest in the whole crocodile of Hilton House. She was
clever, if she chose to work, though apt to argue with her teachers; and
keen at games, if she could win, but showed an unsporting tendency to
lose her temper if the odds were against her. Such was Marjorie--crude,
impetuous, and full of overflowing spirits, with many good qualities and
certain disagreeable traits, eager to loose anchor and sail away from
the harbour of home and the narrow waters of Hilton House into the big,
untried sea of Brackenfield College.
Two sisters surely never presented a greater contrast than the Anderson
girls. Dona, at thirteen, was a shy, retiring, amiable little person,
with an unashamed weakness for golliwogs and Teddy bears, specimens of
which, in various sizes, decorated the mantelpiece of her bedroom. She
was accustomed to give way, under plaintive protest, to Marjorie's
masterful disposition, and, as a rule, played second fiddle with a good
grace. She was not at all clever or imaginative, but very affectionate,
and had been the pet of the family at home. She was a neat, pretty
little thing, with big blue eyes and arched eyebrows and silky curls,
exactly like a Sir Joshua Reynolds portrait, and she had a pathetic way
of saying, "Oh, Marjorie!" when snubbed by her elder sister. According
to Aunt Vera, if Marjorie needed to "find her level", Dona required to
be "well shaken up". She was dreamy and unobservant, slow in her ways,
and not much interested in any special subject. Marjorie's cherished
ambitions were unknown to Dona, who liked to plod along in an easy
fashion, without taking very much trouble. Her daily governess had found
it difficult to rouse any enthusiasm in her for her work. She frankly
hated lessons.
It was a subject of congratulation to Mrs. Anderson that the two girls
would not be in the same house at Brackenfield. She considered that
Dona's character had no chance for development under the shadow of
Marjorie's overbearing ways, and that among companions of her own age
she might perhaps find a few congenial friends who would help her to
realize that she had entered her teens, and would interest her in
girlish matters. Poor Dona by no means shared her mother's satisfaction
at the arrangements for her future. She would have preferred to be with
Marjorie, and was appalled at the idea of being obliged to face a
houseful of strangers. She met with little sympathy from her own family
in this respect.
"Do you all the good in the world, old sport!" preached Peter, an
authority of eleven, with three years of preparatory-school experience
behind him. "I felt a bit queer myself, you know, when I first went to
The Grange, but one soon gets over that. You'll shake down."
"I don't want to shake down," bleated Dona. "It's a shame I should have
to go at all! You can't any of you understand how I feel. You're all
beasts!"
"They'll allow you a bucket to weep into for the first day or two, poor
old Bunting!" said Larry consolingly. "It won't be so much kindness on
their part as a desire to save the carpets--salt water takes the colour
out of things so. But I fancy they'll limit you to a week's wailing, and
if you don't turn off the tap after that, they'll send for a doctor,
who'll prescribe Turkey rhubarb and senna mixed with quinine. It's a
stock school prescription for shirking; harmless, you know, but
particularly nasty; you'd have the taste in your mouth for days. Oh,
cheer up, for goodness' sake! Look here: if I'm really sent to the camp
at Denley, I'll come and look you up, and take you out to tea somewhere.
How would that suit your ladyship?"
"Would you really? Will you promise?"
"Honest Injun, I will!"
"Then I don't mind quite so much as I did, though I still hate the
thought of school," conceded Dona.
The Andersons generally described themselves as "a large and rambling
family, guaranteed sound, and quiet in harness, but capable of taking
fences if required". Nora, the eldest, had been married a year ago,
Bevis was in the Navy, Leonard was serving "somewhere in France"; Larry,
who had just left school, had been called up, and was going into
training, and after Marjorie and Dona followed Peter, Cyril, and Joan.
Marjorie and Dona always declared that if they could have been consulted
in the matter of precedence, they would not have chosen to arrive in the
exact centre of a big family. Nora, as eldest, and Joan, as youngest,
occupied definite and recognized positions, but middle girls rarely
receive as much attention. Dona, indeed, had claimed a certain share of
petting, but Marjorie considered herself badly treated by the Fates.
"I wish I were the only one!" she assured the others. "Think how I'd be
appreciated then!"
"We'll swop you with pleasure, madam, if you wish," returned Larry
ironically. "I should suggest an advertisement such as this: 'Wanted
situation as only daughter in eligible family, eight brothers and
sisters given in exchange. A month's approval.' No! Better not put that
in, or they'd send you packing back at the end of the first week."
"Brothers are beasts!" pouted Marjorie, throwing a cushion at Larry to
express her indignation. "What I'd like would be for Mother to take me
away for a year, or let me study Art, or Music, or something, just with
her. Mamie Page's mother went with her to Paris, and they'd a gorgeous
time. That's my ambition."
"And mine's just to be allowed to stop at home," added Dona plaintively.
Neither Marjorie's nor Dona's wishes, however, were considered at
head-quarters. The powers that be had decided that they were to be
educated at Brackenfield College, their boxes were ready packed, and
their train was to leave at nine o'clock by railway time. Mother saw
them off at the station.
"I wish I could have taken you," she said rather anxiously. "But I think
you'll manage the journey all right. You're both together, and
Marjorie's a big girl now, and used to travelling. You've only to cross
the platform at Rosebury to get the London train, and a teacher is to
meet you at Euston. You'll know her by the Brackenfield badge, and be
sure you don't speak to anyone else. Call out of the window for a porter
when you reach Rosebury. You've plenty of time to change. Well,
good-bye, chicks! Be good girls. Don't forget to send me that telegram
from Euston. Write as soon as you can. Don't lean against the door of
the carriage. You're just off now! Good-bye! Good-bye!"
As the train steamed out of the station, Dona sank into her place with
the air of a martyr starting for the stake, and mopped her eyes with her
already damp pocket-handkerchief. Marjorie, case-hardened after many
similar partings, settled herself in the next seat, and, pulling out an
illustrated paper from her bag, began to read. The train was very full,
and the girls had with difficulty found room. Soldiers on leave were
returning to the front, and filled the corridor. Dona and Marjorie were
crammed in between a stout woman, who nursed a basket containing a
mewing kitten, and a wizened little man with an irritating cough.
Opposite sat three Tommies, and an elderly lady with a long thin nose
and prominent teeth, who entered into conversation with the soldiers,
and proffered them much good advice, with an epitome of her ideas on the
conduct of the war. The distance from Silverwood to Rosebury was only
thirty miles, and the train was due to arrive at the junction with
twenty-five minutes to spare for the London express. On all ordinary
occasions it jogged along in a commonplace fashion, and turned up up to
time. To-day, however, it behaved with unusual eccentricity, and,
instead of passing the signals at Meriton, it slowed up and whistled,
and finally stood still upon the bridge.
"Must be something blocking the line," observed one of the Tommies,
looking out of the window.
"I do hope it's not an accident. The Company is so terribly understaffed
at present, and the signal-men work far too long hours, and are ready to
drop with fatigue at their posts," began the thin lady nervously. "I've
always had a horror of railway accidents. I wish I'd taken an insurance
ticket before I started. Can you see anything on the line, my good man?
Is there any danger?"
The Tommy drew in his head and smiled. It was a particularly
good-looking head, with twinkling brown eyes, and a very humorous smile.
"Not so long as the train is standing still," he replied. "I think
they'll get us back to the front this time. We'll probably have to wait
till something passes us. It's just a matter of patience."
His words were justified, for in about ten minutes an express roared
by, after which event their train once more started, and jogged along to
Rosebury.
"We're horribly late!" whispered Marjorie to Dona, consulting her watch.
"I hope to goodness there'll be no more stops. It's running the thing
very fine, I can tell you. I'm glad we've only to cross the platform.
I'll get a porter as fast as I can."
But, when they reached Rosebury, the stout woman and the basket with the
kitten got in the way, and the elderly lady jammed up the door with her
hold-all, so that, by the time Dona and Marjorie managed to get
themselves and their belongings out of the carriage, the very few
porters available had already been commandeered by other people. The
girls ran to the van at the back of the train, where the guard was
turning out the luggage. Their boxes were on the platform amid a pile of
suit-cases, bags, and portmanteaux; their extreme newness made them
easily recognizable, even without the conspicuous initials.
"What are we to do?" cried Marjorie. "We'll miss the London train! I
know we shall! Here, Dona, let's take them ourselves!"
She seized one of the boxes by the handle, and tried to drag it along
the platform, but its weight was prohibitive. After a couple of yards
she stopped exhausted.
"Better leave your luggage and let it follow you," said a voice at her
elbow. "If you want the Euston express, you'll have to make a run for
it."
Marjorie turned round quickly. The speaker was the young Tommy who had
leaned out of the carriage window when the line was blocked. His dark
eyes were still twinkling.
"The train's over there, and they're shutting the doors," he urged.
"Here, I'll take this for you, if you like. Best hurry up!"
He had his heavy kit-bag to carry, but he shouldered the girls' pile of
wraps, umbrellas, and hockey-sticks, in addition to his own burden, and
set off post-haste along the platform, while Marjorie and Dona, much
encumbered with their bags and a few odd parcels, followed in his wake.
It was a difficult progress, for everybody seemed to get into their way,
and just as they neared the express the guard waved his green flag.
"Stand back! Stand back!" shouted an official, as the girls made a last
wild spurt, the whistle sounded, the guard jumped into the van, and,
with a loud clanging of coupling-chains, the train started. They had
missed it by exactly five seconds.
"Hard luck!" said the Tommy, depositing the wraps upon the platform.
"You'll have to wait two hours for the next. You'll get your luggage, at
any rate. Oh, it's all right!" as Marjorie murmured thanks, "I'm only
sorry you've missed it," and he hailed a companion and was gone.
"It was awfully kind of him," commented Dona, still panting from her
run.
"Kind! He's a gentleman--there was no mistaking that!" replied Marjorie.
The two girls had now to face the very unpleasant fact that they had
missed the connection, and that the teacher who was to meet them at
Euston would look for them in vain. They wondered whether she would wait
for the next train, and, if she did not, how they were going to get
across London to the Great Western railway station. Marjorie felt very
doubtful as to whether her experience of travelling would be equal to
the emergency. She hid her fears, however, from Dona, whose countenance
was quite sufficiently woebegone already.
"We'll get chocolates out of the automatic machine, and buy something to
read at the bookstall," she suggested. "Two hours won't last for ever!"
Dona cheered up a little at the sight of magazines, and picked out a
periodical with a soldier upon the cover. Marjorie, whose taste in
literature inclined to the sensational, reviewed the books, and chose
one with a startling picture depicting a phantom in the act of
disturbing a dinner-party. She was too agitated to read more than a few
pages of it, but she thought it seemed interesting. The two hours were
over at last, and the girls and their luggage were safely installed in
the London train by a porter. It was a long journey to Euston. After
their early start and the excitement at Rosebury both felt tired, and
even Marjorie looked decidedly sober when they reached their
destination. Each was wearing the brown-white-and-blue Brackenfield
badge, which had been forwarded to them from the school, and by which
the mistress was to identify them. As they left the carriage, they
glanced anxiously at the coat of each lady who passed them on the
platform, to descry a similar rosette. All in vain. Everybody was in a
hurry, and nobody sported the Brackenfield colours.
"We shall have to get a taxi and manage as best we can," sighed
Marjorie. "I wish the porters weren't so stupid! I can't make them
listen to me. The taxis will all be taken up if we're not quick! Oh, I
say, there's that Tommy again! I wonder if he'd hail us one. I declare
I'll ask him."
"Hail you a taxi? With pleasure!" replied the young soldier, as Marjorie
impulsively stopped him and urged her request. "Have you got your
luggage this time?"
"Yes, yes, it's all here, and we've found a porter, only he's so slow,
and----"
"Are you Marjorie and Dona Anderson?" interrupted a sharp voice. "I've
been looking for you everywhere. Who is this you're speaking to? _You
don't know?_ Then come along with me immediately. No, certainly not!
I'll get a taxi myself. Where is your luggage?"
The speaker was tall and fair, with light-grey eyes and pince-nez. She
wore the unmistakable Brackenfield badge, so her words carried
authority. She bustled the girls off in a tremendous hurry, and their
good Samaritan of a soldier melted away amongst the crowd.
"I've been waiting hours for you. How did you miss your train?" asked
the mistress. "Why didn't you go and stand under the clock, as you were
told in the Head Mistress's letter? And don't you know that you must
_never_ address strangers?"
"She's angry with you for speaking to the Tommy," whispered Dona to
Marjorie, as the pair followed their new guardian.
"I can't help it. He would have got us a taxi, and now they're all gone,
and we must put up with a four-wheeler. I couldn't see any clock, and no
wonder we missed her in such a crowd. I think she's hateful, and I'm not
going to like her a scrap."
"No more am I," returned Dona.