The Spring Term
Both Marjorie and Dona described their holidays as "absolutely topping".
To begin with, Father had nearly a week's leave. He could not arrive for
Christmas, but he was with them for New Year's Day, and by the greatest
good luck met Bevis, who was home on a thirty-six-hours leave. To have
two of their dear fighting heroes back at once was quite an unexpected
treat, and though there were still two vacant places in the circle, the
family party was a very merry one. They were joined by a new member, for
Nora and her husband came over, bringing their ten-weeks-old baby boy,
and Marjorie, Dona, and Joan felt suddenly quite grown-up in their new
capacity of "Auntie". Dona in especial was delighted with her wee
nephew.
"I've found out what I'm going to do when I leave school," she told
Marjorie rather shyly. "I shall go to help at a creche. When Winifrede
was reading out that 'News of Old Girls' I felt utterly miserable,
because I knew I could never do any of those things; a hospital makes me
sick, and I'd be scared to death to drive a motor ambulance. I thought
Winifrede would call me an utter slacker. But I could look after babies
in a creche while their mothers work at munitions. I should simply love
it. And it would be doing something for the war in a way, especially if
they were soldiers' children. I'm ever so much happier now I've thought
of it. I'm going to ask to take 'Hygiene' next term, because Gertie
Temple told me they learnt how to mix a baby's bottle."
"And I'm going to ask to take 'First Aid'," replied Marjorie, with equal
enthusiasm. "You have to pass your St. John's Ambulance before you can
be a V.A.D. I'll just love practising bandaging."
The girls went back to school with less reluctance than their mother had
expected. It was, of course, a wrench to leave home, and for Dona, at
any rate, the atmosphere was at first a little damp, but once installed
in their old quarters at Brackenfield they were caught in the train of
bustling young life, and cheered up. It is not easy to sit on your bed
and weep when your room-mates are telling you their holiday adventures,
singing comic songs, and passing round jokes. Also, tears were
unfashionable at Brackenfield, and any girl found shedding them was
liable to be branded as "Early Victorian", or, worse still, as a
"sentimental silly".
Marjorie happened to be the first arrival in Dormitory No. 9. She drew
the curtains of her cubicle and began to unpack, feeling rather glad to
have the place to herself for a while. When the next convoy of girls
arrived from the station, Miss Norton entered the room, escorting a
stranger.
"This is your cubicle," she explained hurriedly. "Your box will be
brought up presently, and then you can unpack, and put your clothes in
this wardrobe and these drawers. The bath-rooms are at the end of the
passage. Come downstairs when you hear the gong."
The house mistress, whose duties on the first day of term were onerous,
departed like a whirlwind, leaving the stranger standing by her bed.
Marjorie drew aside her curtains and introduced herself.
"Hallo! I suppose you're a new girl? You've got Irene's cubicle. I
wonder where she's to go. I'm Marjorie Anderson. What's your name?"
"Chrissie Lang. I don't know who Irene is, but I hope we shan't fight
for the cubicle. The bed doesn't look big enough for two, unless she's
as thin as a lath. There's a good deal of me!"
Marjorie laughed, for the new-comer sounded humorous. She was a tall,
stoutly-built girl with a fair complexion, flaxen hair, and blue eyes,
the pupils of which were unusually large. Though not absolutely pretty,
she was decidedly attractive-looking. She put her hand-bag on the bed,
and began to take out a few possessions, opened her drawers, and
inspected the capacities of her wardrobe.
"Not too much room here!" she commented. "It reminds me of a cabin on
board ship. I wonder they don't rig up berths. I hope they won't be long
bringing up my box. Oh, here it is!"
Not only did the trunk arrive, but Betty and Sylvia also put in an
appearance, both very lively and talkative, and full of news.
"Hallo, Marjorie! Do you know Renie's been moved to No. 5? She wants to
be with Mavie Chapman. They asked Norty before the holidays, and never
told us a word. Wasn't it mean?"
"And Lucy's in the same dormitory!"
"Molly's brought a younger sister--Nancy, her name is. We travelled
together from Euston. She's in St. Ethelberta's, of course--rather a
jolly kid."
"Annie Grey has twisted her ankle, and won't be able to come back for a
week. Luck for her!"
"Valerie Hall's brother has been wounded, and Magsie Picton's brother
has been mentioned in dispatches, and Miss Duckworth has lost her
nephew."
"Miss Pollard's wearing an engagement ring, but she won't tell anybody
anything about it; and Miss Gordon was married in the holidays--a war
wedding. Oh yes! she has come back to school, but we've got to call her
Mrs. Greenbank now. Won't it be funny? The Empress has two little nieces
staying with her--they're five and seven, such sweet little kiddies,
with curly hair. Their father's at the front."
The new girl listened with apparent interest as Betty and Sylvia rattled
on, but she did not interrupt, and waited until she was questioned
before she gave an account of herself.
"I live up north, in Cumberland. Yes, I've been to school before. I've
one brother. No, he's not at the front. I haven't unpacked his photo. I
can't tell whether I like Brackenfield yet; I've only been here half an
hour."
As she still seemed at the shy stage, Betty and Sylvia stopped
catechizing her and concerned themselves with their own affairs. The
new-comer went on quietly with her unpacking, taking no notice of her
room-mates, but when the gong sounded for tea she allowed Betty and
Sylvia to pass, then looked half-appealingly, half-whimsically at
Marjorie.
"May I go down with you?" she asked. "I don't know my way about yet.
Sorry to be a nuisance. You can drop me if you like when you've landed
me in the dining-room. I don't want to tag on."
At the end of a week opinions in Dormitory No. 9 were divided on the
subject of Chrissie Lang. Betty and Sylvia frankly regretted Irene, and
were not disposed to extend too hearty a welcome to her substitute. It
was really in the first instance because Betty and Sylvia were
disagreeable to Chrissie that Marjorie took her up. It was more in a
spirit of opposition to her room-mates than of philanthropy towards the
new-comer. Betty and Sylvia were inclined to have fun together and leave
Marjorie out of their calculations, a state of affairs which she hotly
resented. During the whole of last term she had not found a chum. She
was rather friendly with Mollie Simpson, but Mollie was in another
dormitory, and this term had been moved into IV Upper A, so that they
were no longer working together in form. It was perhaps only natural
that she adopted Chrissie; she certainly found her an amusing companion,
if nothing more. Chrissie was humorous, and always inclined for fun.
She kept up a constant fire of little jokes. She would draw absurd
pictures of girls or mistresses on the edge of her blotting-paper, or
write parodies on popular poems. She was evidently much attracted to
Marjorie, yet she was one of those people with whom one never grows
really intimate. One may know them for years without ever getting beyond
the outside crust, and the heart of them always remains a sealed book.
There is a certain magnetism in friendship. It is perhaps only once or
twice in a lifetime that we meet the one with whom our spirit can really
fuse, the kindred soul who seems always able to understand and
sympathize. In the hurry and bustle of school life, however, it is
something to have a congenial comrade, if it is only a girl who will sit
next you at meals, walk to church with you in crocodile, and take your
side in arguments with your room-mates.
The spring term at Brackenfield proved bitterly cold. In February the
snow fell thickly, and one morning the school woke to find a white
world. In Dormitory 9 matters were serious, for the snow had drifted in
through the open window and covered everything like a winding-sheet. It
was a new experience for the girls to see dressing-tables and
wash-stands shrouded in white, and a drift in the middle of the floor.
They set to work after breakfast with shovels and toiled away till
nearly school-time before they had made a clearance.
"I feel like an Alpine traveller," declared Chrissie. "If things go on
at this rate the school will have to provide St. Bernard dogs to rescue
us in the mornings."
"The newspapers say it's the worst frost since 1895," remarked Sylvia.
"I think it's the limit," groused Betty. "Give me good open hunting
weather. I hate snow."
"Hockey'll be off," said Marjorie. "It's a grizzly nuisance about the
match on Saturday."
Though the usual outdoor games were perforce suspended, the school
nevertheless found an outlet for its energies. There was a little hill
at the bottom of the big playing-field, and down this the girls managed
to get some tobogganing. They had no sleds, but requisitioned tea-trays
and drawing-boards, often with rather amusing results, though
fortunately the snow was soft to fall in. Another diversion was a mock
battle. The combatants threw up trenches of snow, and, arming themselves
with a supply of snowballs, kept up a brisk fire until ammunition was
exhausted. It was a splendid way of keeping up the circulation, and the
girls would run in after this exercise with crimson cheeks. At night,
however, they suffered very much from the cold. Open bedroom windows
were a cardinal rule, and, with the thermometer many degrees below zero,
the less hardy found it almost impossible to keep warm. Marjorie, who
was rather a chilly subject, lay awake night after night and shivered.
It was true that hot bricks were allowed, but with so many beds to look
after, the maids did not always bring them up at standard heat, and
Marjorie's half-frozen toes often found only lukewarm comfort. After
enduring the misery for three nights, she boldly went to Mrs. Morrison
and begged permission to be taken to Whitecliffe to buy an india-rubber
hot-water bag, which she could herself fill in the bath-room. Part of
the Empress's success as a Principal was due to the fact that she was
always ready to listen to any reasonable demands. Hers was no red-tape
rule, but a system based on sensible methods. She smiled as Marjorie
rather bashfully uttered her request.
"Fifteen other girls have asked me the same thing," she replied. "You
may all go into Whitecliffe this afternoon with Miss Duckworth, and see
what you can find at the Stores."
Rejoicing in this little expedition, the favoured sixteen set off at two
o'clock, escorted by the mistress. There had been great drifts on the
high road, and the snow was dug out and piled on either side in
glistening heaps. The white cliffs and hills and the grey sky and sea
gave an unusual aspect to the landscape. A flock of sea-gulls whirled
round on the beach, but of other birds there were very few. Even the
clumps of seaweed on the shore looked frozen. Nature was at her
dreariest, and anyone who had seen the place in the summer glory of
heather, bracken, and blue sea could hardly have believed it to be the
same. The promenade was deserted, the pier shut up, and those people
whose business took them into the streets hurried along as if they were
anxious to get home again.
The girls found it was not such an easy matter as they had imagined to
procure sixteen hot-water bags. Owing to the war, rubber was scarce, and
customers had already made many demands upon the supply. The Stores
could only produce nine bags.
"I have some on order, and expect them in any day," said the assistant.
"Shall I send some out for you when they come?"
Knowing by experience that goods thus ordered might take weeks to
arrive, the girls declined, and set out to visit the various chemists'
shops in the town, with the result that by buying a few at each, they in
the end made up their numbers. The sizes and prices of the bags varied
considerably, but the girls were so glad to get any at all, that they
would have cheerfully paid double if it had been necessary.
Feeling thoroughly satisfied with their shopping expedition, they turned
their steps again towards Brackenfield, up the steep path past the
church, over the bridge that spanned the railway, and along the cliff
walk that led from the town on to the moor. As they passed the end of
the bare beech avenue, they met a party of wounded soldiers from the Red
Cross Hospital, in the blue convalescent uniform of His Majesty's
forces. One limped on crutches, and one was in a Bath chair, wheeled by
a companion; most of the rest wore bandages either on their arms or
heads. Marjorie looked at them attentively, hoping to recognize some of
the patients she had seen at the Christmas-tree entertainment, but these
were all strangers, and she reflected that the other set must have been
passed on by now to convalescent homes. She was walking at the end of
the line, and Miss Duckworth did not happen to be looking. A sudden
spirit of mischief seized her, and hastily stooping and catching up a
handful of snow, she kneaded it quickly, and threw it at Mollie Simpson
to attract her attention. It was done on the spur of the moment, in
sheer fun. But, alas for Marjorie! her aim was not true, and instead of
hitting Mollie her missile struck one of the soldiers. He chuckled with
delight, and promptly responded. In a moment his companions were
kneading snowballs and pelting the school. Now wounded Tommies are
regarded as very privileged persons, and the girls, instantly catching
the spirit of the encounter, broke line and began to throw back
snowballs.
"Girls, girls!" cried Miss Duckworth's shocked and agitated voice; "come
along at once! Don't look at those soldiers. Attention! Form line
immediately! Quick march!"
Rather flushed and flurried, her flock controlled themselves, conscious
that they had overstepped the mark, and under the keen eye of their
mistress, who now brought up the rear instead of leading, they filed off
in their former crocodile. Every one of the sixteen knew that there was
trouble in store for her. They discussed it uneasily on the way home.
Nor were they mistaken. At tea-time Miss Rogers, after ringing the
silence bell, announced that those girls who had been to Whitecliffe
that afternoon must report themselves in Mrs. Morrison's study at 5.15.
It is one thing to indulge in a moment's fun, and quite another to pay
the price afterwards. Sixteen very rueful faces were assembled in the
passage outside the study by 5.15. Nobody would have had the courage to
knock, but the Principal herself opened the door, and bade them enter.
They filed in like a row of prisoners. Mrs. Morrison marshalled them
into a double line opposite her desk, then, standing so as to command
the eyes of all, she opened the vials of her wrath. She reproached them
for unladylike conduct, loss of dignity, and lack of discipline.
"Where are the traditions of Brackenfield," she asked, "if you can so
far forget yourselves as to descend to such behaviour? One would imagine
you were poor ignorant girls who had never been taught better; indeed,
many a Sunday-school class would have had more self-respect. Whoever
began it"--here she looked hard at Marjorie--"is directly responsible
for lowering the tone of the school. Think what disgrace it brings on
the name of Brackenfield for such an act to be remembered against her
pupils! Knit and sew for the soldiers, get up concerts for them, and
speak kindly to them in the hospitals, but never for a moment forget in
your conduct what is due both to yourself and to them. This afternoon's
occurrence has grieved me more than I can express. I had believed that I
could trust you, but I find to my sorrow that I was mistaken."