Exeats
Marjorie and Dona possessed one immense advantage in their choice of a
school. Their aunt, Mrs. Trafford, lived within a mile of Brackenfield,
and had arranged with Mrs. Morrison that the two girls should spend
every alternate Wednesday afternoon at her house. Wednesday was the most
general day for exeats; it was the leisurely half-holiday of the week,
when the girls might carry out their own little plans, Saturday
afternoons being reserved for hockey practice and matches, at which all
were expected to attend. The rules were strict at Brackenfield, and
enacted that the girls must be escorted from school to their destination
and sent back under proper chaperonage, but during the hours spent at
their aunt's they were considered to be under her charge and might go
where she allowed.
To the sisters these fortnightly outings marked the term with white
stones. They looked forward to them immensely. Both chafed a little at
the strict discipline and confinement of Brackenfield. It was Dona's
first experience of school, and Marjorie had been accustomed to a much
easier regime at Hilton House. It was nice, also, to have a few hours
in which they could be together and talk over their own affairs. There
were home letters to be discussed, news of Bevis on board H.M.S.
_Relentless_, of Leonard in the trenches, and Larry in the
training-camp, hurried scrawls from Father, looking after commissariat
business "somewhere in France", accounts of Nora's new housekeeping,
picture post cards from Peter and Cyril, brief, laborious, round-hand
epistles from Joan, and delightful chatty notes from Mother, who sent a
kind of family chronicle round to the absent members of her flock.
One Wednesday afternoon about the middle of October found Marjorie and
Dona walking along the road in the direction of Whitecliffe. They were
policed by Miss Norton, who was taking a detachment of exeat-holders
into the town, so that at present the company walked in a crocodile,
which, however, would soon split up and distribute its various members.
It was a lovely, fresh autumn day, and the girls stepped along briskly.
They wore their school hats, and badges with the brown, white, and blue
ribbons, and the regulation "exeat" uniform, brown Harris tweed skirts
and knitted heather-mixture sports coats.
"Nobody could mistake us for any other school," said Marjorie. "I feel
I'm as much labelled 'Brackenfield' as a Dartmoor prisoner is known by
his black arrows! It makes one rather conspicuous."
"Trust the Empress for that!" laughed Mollie Simpson, who was one of the
party. "You see, there are other schools at Whitecliffe, and other
girls go into the town too. Sometimes they're rather giggly and silly,
and we certainly don't want to get the credit for their escapades.
Everybody knows a 'Brackenfielder' at a glance, so there's no risk of
false reports. The Empress prides herself on our clear record. We've the
reputation of behaving beautifully!"
"We haven't much chance of doing anything else," said Marjorie, looking
rather ruefully in the direction of Miss Norton, who brought up the
rear.
At the cross-roads the Andersons found their cousin, Elaine, waiting for
them, and were handed over into her charge by their teacher, with strict
injunctions that they were to be escorted back to their respective
hostels by 6.30.
Marjorie waved good-bye to Mollie, and the school crocodile passed along
the road in the direction of Whitecliffe. When the last hat had bobbed
round the corner, and the shadow of Miss Norton's presence was really
removed for the space of four whole hours, the two girls each seized
Elaine by one of her hands and twirled her round in a wild jig of
triumph. Elaine was nearly twenty, old enough to just pass muster as an
escort in the eyes of Miss Norton, but young enough to be still almost a
schoolgirl at heart, and to thoroughly enjoy the afternoons of her
cousins' visits. She worked as a V.A.D. at the Red Cross Hospital, but
she was generally off duty by two o'clock and able to devote herself to
their amusement. She had come now straight from the hospital and was in
uniform.
"You promised to take us to see the Tommies," said Marjorie, as Elaine
turned down the side road and led the way towards home.
"The Commandant didn't want me to bring visitors to-day. There's a
little whitewashing and papering going on, and the place is in rather a
mess. You shall come another time, when we're all decorated and in
apple-pie order. Besides, we haven't many soldiers this week. We sent
away a batch of convalescents last Thursday, and we're expecting a fresh
contingent in any day. That's why we're taking the opportunity to have a
special cleaning."
"I wish I were old enough to be a V.A.D.!" sighed Marjorie. "I'd love it
better than anything else I can think of. It's my dream at present."
"I enjoy it thoroughly," said Elaine; "though, of course, there's plenty
to do, and sometimes the Commandant gets ratty over just nothing at all.
Have you St. John's Ambulance classes at school?"
"They're going to start next month, and I mean to join. I've put my name
down."
"And Dona too?"
"They're not for Juniors. We have a First Aid Instruction class of our
own," explained Dona; "but I hate it, because they always make me be the
patient, as I'm a new girl, and I don't like being bandaged, and walked
about after poisons, and restored from drowning, and all the rest of
it. It's rather a painful process to have your tongue pulled out and
your arms jerked up and down!"
"Poor old girl! Perhaps another victim will arrive at half-term and take
your place, then you'll have the satisfaction of performing all those
operations upon her. I've been through the same mill myself once upon a
time."
The Traffords' house, "The Tamarisks", stood on Cliff Walks, a pleasant
residential quarter somewhat away from the visitors' portion of the
town, with its promenade and lodging-houses. There was a beautiful view
over the sea, where to-day little white caps were breaking, and small
vessels bobbing about in a manner calculated to test the good seamanship
of any tourists who had ventured forth in them. Aunt Ellinor was in the
town at a Food Control Committee meeting, so Elaine for the present was
sole hostess.
"What shall we do?" she asked. "You may choose anything you like. The
cinema and tea at a cafe afterwards? Or a last game of tennis (the lawn
will just stand it)? Or shall we go for a scramble on the cliffs? Votes,
please."
Without any hesitation Dona and Marjorie plumped for the cliffs. They
loved walking, and, as their own home was inland, the seaside held
attractions. Elaine hastily changed into tweed skirt and sports coat,
found a favourite stick, and declared herself ready, and the three, in
very cheerful spirits, set out along the hillside.
It was one of those beautiful sunny October days when autumn seems to
have borrowed from summer, and the air is as warm and balmy as June.
Great flocks of sea-gulls wheeled screaming round the cliffs, their
wings flashing in the sunshine; red admiral and tortoise-shell
butterflies still fluttered over late specimens of flowers, and the
bracken was brown and golden underfoot. The girls were wild with the
delight of a few hours' emancipation from school rules, and flew about
gathering belated harebells, and running to the top of any little
eminence to get the view. After about a mile on the hills, they dipped
down a steep sandy path that led to the shore. They found themselves in
a delightful cove, with rugged rocks on either side and a belt of hard
firm sand. The tide was fairly well out, so they followed the retreating
waves to the water's edge. A recent stormy day had flung up great masses
of seaweed and hundreds of star-fish. Dona, whose tastes had just begun
to awaken in the direction of natural history, poked about with great
enjoyment collecting specimens. There were shells to be had on the sand,
and mermaids' purses, and bunches of whelks' eggs, and lovely little
stones that looked capable of being polished on the lapidary wheel which
Miss Jones had set up in the carpentering-room. For lack of a basket
Dona filled her own handkerchief and commandeered Marjorie's for the
same purpose. For the first time since she had left home she looked
perfectly happy. Dona's tastes were always quiet. She did not like
hockey practices or any very energetic games. She did not care about
mixing with the common herd of her schoolfellows, and much preferred
the society of one, or at most two friends. To live in the depths of the
country was her ideal.
Marjorie, on the contrary, liked the bustle of life. While Dona
investigated the clumps of seaweed, she plied Elaine with questions
about the hospital. Marjorie was intensely patriotic. She followed every
event of the war keenly, and was thrilled by the experiences of her
soldier father and brothers. She was burning to do something to help--to
nurse the wounded, drive a transport wagon, act as secretary to a
staff-officer, or even be telephone operator over in France--anything
that would be of service to her country and allow her to feel that she
had played her part, however small, in the conduct of the Great War. As
she watched the sea, she thought not so much of its natural history
treasures as of submarines and floating mines, and her heart went out to
Bevis, somewhere on deep waters keeping watchful guard against the
enemy.
It was so delightful in the cove that the girls were loath to go. They
climbed with reluctance up the steep sandy little path to the cliff. As
they neared the top they could hear voices in altercation--a
high-pitched, protesting, childish wail, and a blunt, uncompromising,
scolding retort. On the road above stood an invalid carriage, piled up
with innumerable parcels, and containing also a small boy. He was a
charmingly pretty little fellow, with a very pale, delicately oval face,
beautiful pathetic brown eyes, and rich golden hair that fell in curls
over his shoulders like a girl's. He was peering out from amidst the
host of packages and trying to look back along the road, and evidently
arguing some point with the utmost persistence. The untidy servant girl
who wheeled the carriage had stopped, and gave a heated reply.
"It's no use, I tell you! Goodness knows where you may have dropped it,
and if you think I'm going to traipse back you're much mistaken. We're
late as it is, and a pretty to-do there'll be when I get in. It's your
own fault for not taking better care of it."
"Have you lost anything?" enquired Elaine, as the girls entered the road
in the midst of the quarrel.
"It's his book," answered the servant. "He's dropped it out of the pram
somewhere on the way from Whitecliffe; but I can't go back for it, it's
too far, and we've got to be getting home."
"What kind of a book was it?" asked Marjorie.
"Fairy tales. Have you found it?" said the child eagerly. "All about
Rumpelstiltzkin and 'The Goose Girl' and 'The Seven Princesses'."
"We haven't found it, but we'll look for it on our way back. Have you
any idea where you dropped it?"
The little boy shook his head.
"I was reading it in the town while Lizzie went inside the shops. Then I
forgot about it till just now. Oh, I _must_ know what happened when the
Prince went to see the old witch!"
His brown eyes were full of tears and the corners of the pretty mouth
twitched.
"He's such a child for reading! At it all day long!" explained the
servant. "He thinks as much of an old book as some of us would of golden
sovereigns. Well, we must be getting on, Eric. I can't stop."
"Look here!" said Dona. "We'll hunt for the book on our way back to
Whitecliffe. If we find it we'll meet you here to-day fortnight at the
same time and give it to you."
"And suppose you don't find it?" quavered the little boy anxiously.
"I think the fairies will bring it to us somehow. You come here to-day
fortnight and see. Cheer oh! Don't cry!"
"He wants his tea," said the servant. "Hold on to those parcels, Eric,
or we shall be dropping something else."
The little boy put his arms round several lightly-balanced packages, and
tried to wave a good-bye to the girls as his attendant wheeled him away.
"Poor wee chap! I wonder what's the matter with him?" said Elaine, when
the long perambulator had turned the corner. "And I wonder where he can
possibly be going? There are no houses that way--only a wretched little
village with a few cottages."
"I can't place him at all," replied Marjorie. "He's not a poor person's
child, and he's not exactly a gentleman's. The carriage was very shabby,
with such an old rug; and the girl wasn't tidy enough for a nurse, she
looked like a general slavey. Dona, I don't believe you'll find that
book."
"I don't suppose I shall," returned Dona; "but I have _Grimm's Fairy
Tales_ at home, and I thought I'd write to Mother and ask her to send it
to Auntie's for me, then I could take it to him next exeat."
"Oh, good! What a splendid idea!"
Though the girls kept a careful look-out along the road they came across
no fairy-tale volume. Either someone else had picked it up, or it had
perhaps been dropped in the street at Whitecliffe. Dona wrote home
accordingly, and received the reply that her mother would post the book
to "The Tamarisks" in the course of a few days. The sisters watched the
weather anxiously when their fortnightly exeat came round. They were
fascinated with little Eric, and wanted to see him again. They could not
forget his pale, wistful face among the parcels in the long
perambulator. Luckily their holiday afternoon was fine, so they were
allowed to go to their aunt's under the escort of two prefects. They
found Elaine ready to start, and much interested in the errand.
"The book came a week ago," she informed Dona. "I expect your young man
will be waiting at the tryst."
"He's not due till half-past four--if he keeps the appointment exactly,"
laughed Dona; "but I've brought a basket to-day, so let's go now to the
cove and get specimens while we're waiting."
If the girls were early at the meeting-place the little boy was earlier
still. The long perambulator was standing by the roadside when they
reached the path to the cove. Lizzie, the servant girl, greeted them
with enthusiasm.
"Why, here you are!" she cried. "I never expected you'd come, and I told
Eric so. I said it wasn't in reason you'd remember, and he'd only be
disappointed. But he's thought of nothing else all this fortnight. He's
been ill again, and he shouldn't really be out to-day, because the pram
jolts him; but I've got to go to Whitecliffe, and he worried so to come
that his ma said: 'Best put on his things and take him; he'll cry
himself sick if he's left'."
The little pale face was whiter even than before, there were large dark
rings round the brown eyes, and the golden hair curled limply to-day.
Eric did not speak, but he looked with a world of wistfulness at the
parcel in Dona's hand.
"I couldn't find your book, but I've brought you mine instead, and I
expect it's just the same," explained Dona, untying the string.
A flush of rose pink spread over Eric's cheeks, the frail little hands
trembled as he fingered his treasure.
"It's nicer than mine! It's got coloured pictures!" he gasped.
"If it jolts him to be wheeled about to-day," said Elaine to the servant
girl, "would you like to leave him here with us while you go into
Whitecliffe? We'd take the greatest care of him."
"Why, I'd be only too glad. I can tell you it's no joke wheeling that
pram up the hills. Will you stay here, Eric, with the young ladies till
I come back?"
Eric nodded gravely. He was busy examining the illustrations in his new
book. The girls wheeled him to a sheltered place out of the wind, and
set to work to entertain him. He was perfectly willing to make friends.
"I've got names for you all," he said shyly. "I made them up while I was
in bed. You," pointing to Elaine, "are Princess Goldilocks; and you,"
with a finger at Marjorie and Dona, "are two fairies, Bluebell and
Silverstar. No, I don't want to know your real names; I like make-up
ones better. We always play fairies when Titania comes to see me."
"Who's Titania?"
"She's my auntie. She's the very loveliest person in all the world.
There's no one like her. We have such fun, and I forget my leg hurts.
Shall we play fairies now?"
"If you'll show us how," said the girls.
It was a very long time before Lizzie, well laden with parcels, returned
from Whitecliffe, and the self-constituted nurses had plenty of time to
make Eric's acquaintance. They found him a charming little fellow, full
of quaint fancies and a delicate humour. His chatter amused them
immensely, yet there was an element of pathos through it all; he looked
so frail and delicate, like a fairy changeling, or some being of another
world. They wondered if he would ever be able to run about like other
children.
"Good-bye!" he said, when Lizzie, full of apologies and thanks, resumed
her charge. "Come again some time and play with me! I'm going home now
in my Cinderella coach to my Enchanted Palace. Take care of giants on
your way back. And don't talk to witches. I won't forget you."
"He's hugging his book," said Marjorie, as the girls stood waving a
farewell. "Isn't he just too precious for words?"
"Sweetest thing I've ever seen!" agreed Dona.
"Poor little chap! I wonder if he'll ever grow up," said Elaine
thoughtfully. "I wish we'd asked where he lives, and we might have sent
him some picture post cards."
"I'm afraid 'The Enchanted Palace' wouldn't find him," laughed Marjorie.
"We must try to come here another Wednesday."
But the next fortnightly half-holiday was wet, and after that the days
began to grow dark early, and Aunt Ellinor suggested other amusements
than walks on the cliffs, so for that term at any rate the girls did not
see Eric again. He seemed to have made his appearance suddenly, like a
pixy child, and to have vanished back into Fairyland. There was a link
between them, however, and some time Fate would pull the chain and bring
their lives into touch once more.