The Dance of the Nations
Though Mrs. Morrison made the most rigid enquiries she could get no
information as to who had placed the lamp in the window. She locked the
door of the Observatory, and caused the old gardener to patrol the
grounds at intervals after dark to watch for further signals, but
nothing more occurred. After weeks of vigilance and suspicion she came
to the conclusion that it must have been a practical joke on the part of
one of the girls. Chrissie in her private talks with her chum upheld
that view of the matter, but Marjorie had her own opinions. She often
looked at Miss Norton and wondered what secrets were hidden under that
calm exterior. To all outward appearance the house mistress was
scholastic, cold, and entirely occupied with her duties. She was
essentially a disciplinarian, and kept St. Elgiva's under a strict
regime. Her girls often wished she were less conscientious in her
superintendence of their doings.
The possession of a mutual secret shared by themselves alone seemed to
draw Chrissie and Marjorie closer together than ever. Not that Chrissie
gave her chum any more of her real confidence, for she was the kind of
girl who never reveals her heart, but she seemed to become more and
more interested in Marjorie's affairs. She enjoyed the latter's home
news, and especially letters from the front.
"I envy you, with three brothers in the army!" she admitted one day with
a wistful sigh.
"Yes, it's something to know our family is doing its bit," returned
Marjorie proudly. "Haven't you any relations at the front?" she added.
Chrissie shook her head.
"My father is dead, and my only brother is delicate."
Marjorie forbore to press the question further. She could see it was a
tender subject.
"Probably the brother is a shirker or a conscientious objector," she
thought, "and to such a patriotic girl as Chrissie it must be a dreadful
trial. If Bevis or Leonard or Larry seemed to hang back I'd die of
shame."
Judging from the photo of Chrissie's brother which stood on her
dressing-table, he did not look an engaging or interesting youth. The
dormitory, keenly critical of each other's relatives, had privately
decided in his disfavour. That Chrissie was fond of him Marjorie was
sure, though she never talked about him and his doings, as other girls
did of their brothers. The suspicion that her chum was hiding a secret
humiliation on this score made warm-hearted Marjorie doubly kind, and
Chrissie, though no more expansive than formerly, seemed to understand.
She was evidently intensely grateful for Marjorie's friendship, and as
entirely devoted to her as her reserved disposition allowed. She would
send to Whitecliffe for violets, and place the little bunch on her
chum's dressing-table, flushing hotly when she was thanked. She
presented innumerable small gifts which she managed to make in her spare
time. She was a quick and exquisite needlewoman, and dainty collars in
broderie anglaise, embroidered pocket-handkerchiefs, pin-cushions,
dressing-table mats, and other pretty trifles seemed to grow like magic
under her nimble fingers. Any return present from Marjorie she seemed to
value exceedingly. She put the latter's photo inside a locket, and wore
it constantly. She was clever at her lessons, and would help her chum
with her work out of school hours. St. Elgiva's smiled tolerantly, and
named the pair "the Turtle Doves". Though the atmosphere of the hostel
was not sentimental, violent friendships were not unknown there.
Sometimes they were of enduring quality, and sometimes they ended in a
quarrel. Miss Norton did not encourage demonstrative affection among her
flock, but it was known that Mrs. Morrison considered schoolgirl
friendships highly important and likely to last for life. She beamed
rather than frowned on those who walked arm in arm.
Marjorie's second term at Brackenfield was fast wearing itself away. In
spite of many disagreeable happenings she felt that she had taken her
place in the life of the school, and that she was a definite figure at
St. Elgiva's. There was a little rivalry between the hostels, and each
would try to outdo the other in such matters as collecting for
charities, knitting for the soldiers, or providing items for concerts.
At the end of term each hostel put up in the hall a list of its various
achievements, and great was the triumph of that house which could record
the largest number of socks or shillings. There was an old and
well-established custom that on the last three evenings of term the
three hostels in turn might take possession of the assembly hall, and
give some form of entertainment to which they could invite the rest of
the school. St. Elgiva's held a committee meeting to discuss possible
projects.
"There doesn't seem anything new," mourned Mollie. "Of course concerts
and plays and charades are very well in their way, but they're done
every time."
"We all like them," admitted Phyllis.
"Oh yes, we like them; but it would be so nice to have a change."
"Can't anybody make a suggestion?" urged Francie.
"The things we really want to do are just the things we can't," sighed
Betty. "If I could choose, I'd vote for a bonfire and fireworks."
"Or a torchlight picnic," prompted Sylvia. "It would make a nice
excitement for the special constables to come and arrest us, as they
most certainly would. What a heading it would make for the newspaper--'A
Ladies' School in Prison. No Bail Allowed'! Would they set us to pick
oakum?"
"But seriously, do think of something practical. Have your brains all
gone rusty?"
"There are progressive games," ventured Patricia.
"St. Githa's are giving them. I know it for a fact. They sent to
Whitecliffe for marbles and boxes of pins and shoe-buttons to make
'fish-ponds'. They get first innings, so it would be too stale if our
evening were to be just a repetition of theirs."
It was Chrissie who at last made the original suggestion.
"Couldn't we have a dance? I don't mean an ordinary dance, but something
special. Suppose we were all to dress up to represent different nations.
We could have all the Allies."
"Ripping! But how could we manage enough costumes?"
"We'd make them up with coloured paper and ribbons. It shouldn't be very
difficult."
"It's a jolly good idea," said Mollie reflectively.
The more the committee considered the matter the more they felt disposed
to decide in favour of the dance. They consulted Miss Norton on the
subject, and she proved unusually genial and encouraging, and offered to
take two delegates with her to Whitecliffe to buy requisites. The girls
drew lots for the honour, and the luck fell to Mollie and Phyllis. They
had an exciting afternoon at the Stores, and came back laden with
brown-paper parcels.
"Miss Norton says the fairest plan will be to have the things on sale,"
they announced. "We're going to turn the sitting-room into a shop, and
you may each come in one by one and spend a shilling, but no more."
"All serene! When will you be at the receipt of custom?"
"This evening after supper."
That day there had been in the library a tremendous run upon any books
which gave illustrations of European costumes. The girls considered that
either allegorical or native peasant dresses would be suitable. They
took drawings and wrote down details.
"What I'd like would be to write to London to a firm of theatrical
providers, and tell them to send us down a consignment of costumes,"
announced Patricia.
"Oh, I dare say! A nice little bill we should have! I've hired costumes
before, and they charge a terrific amount for them," commented Francie.
"It's rather fun to make our own, especially when we're all limited the
same as to material," maintained Nora.
The girls usually did needlework after supper, but this evening the
sitting-room was to be devoted to the sale. Mollie and Phyllis were wise
in their generation, and, anticipating a stampede, they picked out
Gertrude Holmes and Laura Norris as being the most stalwart and
brawny-armed among the damsels of St. Elgiva's, and set them to keep the
door, admitting only two at a time. Even with this precaution a rather
wild scene ensued. Instead of keeping in an orderly queue, the girls
pushed for places, and there were several excited struggles in the
vicinity of the stairs. As each girl came out, proudly exhibiting what
she had purchased, the anxiety of those who had not yet entered the
sitting-room increased. They were afraid everything might be sold before
it came to their turns, and had it not been for the well-developed
muscles of Gertrude and Laura, the fort might have been stormed and the
stores raided.
Mollie and Phyllis had invested their capital with skill, and showed an
assortment of white and coloured crinkled papers, cheap remnants of
sateen, lengths of gay butter muslin, and yards of ribbon. For the
occasion they assumed the manners of shop assistants, and greeted their
visitors with the orthodox: "What can I show you, madam?" But their
elaborate politeness soon melted away when the customer showed signs of
demanding more than her portion, and the "Oh, certainly!" or "Here's a
sweet thing, madam!" uttered in honeyed tones, turned to a blunt "Don't
be greedy!" "Can't give you more than your shilling's worth, not if you
ask ever so." "There won't be enough to go round, so you must just make
what you've got do. Not a single inch more! If you don't go this minute
we'll take your parcels back. We're in a hurry."
By using the greatest dispatch Mollie and Phyllis just managed to
distribute their goods before the bell rang for prayers. The ribbon and
sateen were all bought up, and the crinkled paper which was left over
they put aside to make decorations for the hall.
Next day St. Elgiva's was given up to the fabrication of costumes. The
girls retired to their dormitories, strewed their beds with materials,
and worked feverishly. In No. 9 the excitement was intense. Sylvia, who
intended to represent the United States, was seccotining stars and
stripes, cut out of coloured paper, on to her best white petticoat.
Betty was stitching red stripes down the sides of her gymnasium
knickers, being determined to appear in the nearest approach to a Zouave
uniform that she could muster, though a little doubtful of Miss Norton's
approval of male attire. Chrissie, with a brown-paper hat, a red tie,
and belt strapped over her shoulder, meant to figure as Young Australia.
Marjorie alone, the most enthusiastic of all for the scheme, sat limply
on her bed with idle scissors.
"I'd meant to be Rumania," she confessed, "and I find Patricia's bagged
the exact thing I sketched."
"Can't there be several Rumanias?"
"Yes, there will be, because Rose and Enid have set their hearts on the
same. I'd rather have something original, though."
"I don't think Rumania would suit you; you're too tall and fair," said
Sylvia. "It's better for dark girls, with curly hair if possible."
"Couldn't you have a Breton peasant costume?" suggested Chrissie. "I've
a picture post card here in my album that we could copy. Look, it's just
the thing! The big cap and the white sleeves would do beautifully in
crinkled paper, and I'll lend you that velvet bodice I wore when I was
'Fadette'."
"How about the apron?"
"Stitch two handkerchiefs together, pick the lace off your best
petticoat and sew it round, and you'll have the jinkiest little Breton
apron you ever saw."
"Christina Lang, you're a genius!" exclaimed Marjorie, pulling out the
best petticoat from under a pile of blouses in her drawer, and setting
to work with Sylvia's embroidery scissors to detach the trimming.
"You'll want a necklace and some earrings," decided Chrissie. "Oh, we'll
easily make you ear-rings--break up a string of beads, thread a few of
them, and tie them on to your ears. I'll guarantee to turn you out a
first-class peasant if you'll put yourself in my hands."
"I suppose I'll be expected to talk Breton," chuckled Marjorie.
The Seniors' entertainment came first, and on the following evening
Intermediates and Juniors assembled in the big hall as the guests of St.
Githa's. Progressive games had been provided, and the company spent a
hilarious hour fishing up boot-buttons with bent pins, picking up
marbles with two pencils, or securing potatoes with egg-spoons. A number
of pretty prizes were given, and the hostesses had the satisfaction of
feeling perfectly sure that their visitors, to judge by their behaviour,
had absolutely and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. St. Githa's had
undoubtedly covered itself with glory, and St. Elgiva's must not be
outdone. The Intermediates worked feverishly to finish their costumes.
Such an amount of borrowing and lending went on that it would be quite a
problem to sort out possessions afterwards. It was a point of etiquette
that anyone who had anything that would be useful to a neighbour's
get-up was bound in honour to offer the loan of it. Only the hostesses
were to be in costume; the guests were to appear in ordinary evening
dresses.
Marjorie, before the mirror in her bedroom, gazed critically at her own
reflection. Chrissie's clever fingers had pulled and twisted the
crinkled paper into the most becoming of peasant caps, the large bead
ear-rings, tied on with silk, jangled on to her neck, her paper sleeves
stood out like lawn, the lace-edged apron was a triumph of daintiness,
she wore Patricia's scarlet-kid dancing-slippers with Betty's black silk
stockings.
"Do you think I'll do?" she queried.
The Zouave officer threw herself on one knee in an attitude of ecstatic
admiration, and laid a hand upon her heart.
"Do? You're ravishing! I'm going to make love to you all the evening,
just for the sport of seeing the Acid Drop's face. Play up and flirt,
won't you?"
"You look a regular Don Juan!" chuckled Marjorie.
"That's my role this evening. I'm going to break hearts by the dozen. I
don't mind telling you that I mean to dance with Norty herself."
St. Elgiva's might certainly congratulate itself upon the success of its
efforts. The fancy costumes produced a sensation. All the Allies were
represented, as well as allegorical figures, such as Britannia, Justice,
Peace, and Plenty. It was marvellous how much had been accomplished with
the very scanty materials that the girls had had to work upon. The ball
was soon in full swing; mistresses and prefects joined in the fun, and
found themselves being whirled round by Neapolitan contadini or
picturesque Japs. The room, decorated with flags and big rosettes of
coloured paper, looked delightfully festive. Even Miss Norton, usually
the climax of dignity, thawed for the occasion, and accepted Betty's
invitation to a fox-trot without expressing any disapproval of the
Zouave uniform. Marjorie, after a vigorous half-hour of exercise, paused
panting near the platform, and refused further partners.
"I want a rest," she proclaimed. "You wouldn't believe it, but this
costume's very hot, and my ear-rings keep smacking me in the face."
"If you not want to dance, Marjorie, you shall play, and I take a turn,"
suggested the French mistress, vacating the piano stool.
"By all means, mademoiselle. Do go and dance. There's Elsie wanting a
partner. I'll enjoy playing for a while. What pieces have you got here?
Oh, I know most of them."
Marjorie good-naturedly settled herself to the piano. She was an
excellent reader, so could manage even the pieces with which she was not
already acquainted. She was playing a two-step, and turning her head to
watch the dancers as they whirled by, when suddenly she heard a shout,
and Chrissie, who was passing, scrambled on to the platform, dragged her
from the piano, threw her on the floor, and sat upon her head. Dazed by
the suddenness of her chum's extraordinary conduct, Marjorie was too
much amazed even to scream. When Chrissie released her she realized what
had happened. She had put the corner of her large Breton cap into the
flame of the candle, and it had flared up. Only her friend's prompt
action could have saved her from being horribly burnt. As it was, her
hair was slightly singed, but her face was unscathed. The girls,
thoroughly alarmed, came crowding on to the platform, and Miss Norton,
after blowing out the piano candles, examined her carefully to see the
extent of the damage.
"More frightened than hurt!" was her verdict. "But another second might
have been too late. I must congratulate you, Chrissie, on your presence
of mind."
Chrissie flushed crimson. It was not often that Miss Norton
congratulated anybody. Praise from her was praise indeed.
"Please go on dancing," begged Marjorie. "I'm all right, only I think
I'll sit still and watch. It's made my legs feel shaky. I never thought
of the candle and the size of my cap."
"It's spoilt your costume," said Sylvia commiseratingly. "And yours was
the best in all the room--everybody's been saying so. I wanted to get a
snapshot of you in it to-morrow."
"Take Betty instead. She's the limit in that Zouave get-up. And if you
wouldn't mind using an extra film, I'd like one of Chrissie.
Chrissie"--Marjorie caught her breath in a little gasp--"has saved my
life to-night!"