Ralph Percival spent a long hour alone with his father in the chill dawn
of that New Year's morn, and during its passing heard more stern home-
truths than he had ever before listened to from those indulgent lips.
The Squire had not insisted on any arduous work on his son's part: in
his heart he shared Ralph's theory that a man whose life is to be spent
looking after his own land has no need of much scholarly lore. He must
be straight and manly, intelligent enough to understand and move with
the movements of the day, but not so intelligent as to grow discontented
with a circle of admirable, but somewhat humdrum, neighbours. He must
be possessed of courteous and agreeable manners, able on occasion to
take the chair at a meeting, possibly even on a Bench, with credit to
himself and his family.
A 'Varsity education was obviously the best means of developing such
qualities, but who was going to bother his head as to the question of
honours or no honours? There was no reason why the boy should slave as
if he had his living to make by sheer brain effort. The Squire was
prepared to show the utmost leniency towards Ralph's scholastic efforts,
but that he should have persistently broken the rules, ignored warnings,
incurred gambling debts, and, crowning indignity of all, that he should
have been sent down, even for the last week of the term--that stabbed
the honest old countryman to his heart.
He said very little on the subject of his own feelings; such men are not
given to talk of themselves, but the tone of his voice was eloquent, and
Ralph winced before it. It was a new experience for the spoilt son and
heir to hear any accents but those of love and appreciation from a
member of his own family, and the experience was unexpectedly bitter.
Who could have believed that the Governor would cut up so rough--could
deliver himself of such sledge-hammer judgments? The card debts would
be paid, there was no question of that--every debt should be paid--and
Ralph should return to college with a clean sheet so far as money was
concerned, and with his handsome allowance undiminished--_for the
present_. He himself must decide what would happen in the future. The
Squire asked for no promises; he had had experience of the uselessness
of promises (the listener winced again at the significance of those
words); but Ralph must understand that any debts would be subtracted
from his own future allowance. He must also understand that he was
expected to take his pass the following May. There had been too much
shirking and running loose--now he must work for a change. For his
parents' sake, his sisters' sake, he must make amends for the pain and
shame of the last weeks.
It was a painful scene for both father and son, but the charm of manner
which was the great secret of Ralph's popularity did not forsake him,
even in this hour of humiliation. He made an ideal penitent--abashed,
yet manly, subdued and silenced, yet when the right moment came ready
with a few apt, quietly spoken words.
"Thank you, sir. You are always generous. I've made a beastly poor
return. I hope this year may end better than it has begun."
Poor Ralph! How little he guessed at that moment all that the year held
in store! How little the father dreamed of the altered conditions with
which he would face another New Year's Day! But so long as they both
lived it was good to remember that the interview had ended peacefully
and with a renewed sense of harmony, with a firm hand-grip and an
affectionate glance.
Ralph took his candle from a table in the hall and made his way quietly
up the oak staircase, and his father stood below and watched him go,
while his heart waxed tender within him.
His son--his only son! He would give his heart's blood for the lad.
Had he been just, wise, prudent, in the words which he had said? Had he
been stern enough?--too stern? He was in a thousand minds about his own
conduct, but in only one as regards Ralph's. The boy had taken his
dressing like a man. How handsome he had looked as he stood to listen,
not flinching or hanging his head as an ordinary culprit would have
done, but drawn to his full height, with straight, fearless gaze. With
what a frank air he had held out his hand for that farewell grasp!
Bless the boy! his heart was in the right place. He would settle down,
and make a fine man yet. Patience! Patience!
And so when the family met again for a late breakfast that New Year's
morning there was no shadow visible on the horizon, and throughout the
remainder of Darsie's visit every day seemed given up to enjoyment, and
brought with it some fresh festivity.
Contrary to her expectation, the subject of Ralph's troubles was avoided
rather than sought, and it was only on the eve of her departure to
Newnham that mother and sisters broke the silence to urge in each case
the same request--
"See as much of Ralph as you can during these next six months! Have a
little talk with Ralph now and again! Show an interest in his work.
Let him see that you care. We must all do our best to encourage him to
work!"
By all the members of the family it was taken for granted that Darsie's
interest in Ralph's future was equal to, if not greater than, their own;
they made no secret of their belief that her influence had the more
weight. If Darsie had known a passing temptation to abandon her
efforts, it would have been impossible to do so in the face of such
unanimous appeals.
Well, it was good to be back in Newnham once more, to get to work again
after the lazy weeks, to wake up one's brains with tussles over Anglo-
Saxon texts, to wrestle with philology, instead of browsing over novels
and magazine tales. The Divinity Schools were stuffy as ever, the men
on one side shutting up the windows with their usual persistence, while
the girls on theirs frowned and fumed; but the Chaucer lectures were
full of interest, and coaching assumed a keener interest as spring
advanced and the prospect of "Mays" drew near. Last year both Darsie
and Hannah had gained second-class honours; this year they had
determined to gain firsts, or perish in the attempt. With a second and
a first record for Mays there was a possibility--a dazzling
possibility--of firsts in the final Tripos. When one thought of that it
seemed impossible to work too hard, to put _too_ much energy into one's
studies. But the happy blending of work and play which characterises
Newnham life prevented industry from being carried to an exaggerated
extent. The hour's informal dancing after dinner on Wednesday and
Saturday evenings seemed to quicken circulation and brain alike, and the
great Shakespeare Ball was a distinct fillip, although--or was it
_because_?--it involved some slackness for the preparation of costumes.
The short Easter vac. served but as a breathing-space, and then another
May term began with an unparalleled succession of fine and sunny days.
Everything seemed early this spring; trees and shrubs rushed into leaf,
a wealth of blossom gave a fairy-like beauty to the old-world gardens,
and in every youth and maid the spirit of the spring awoke also, and
called to them to come out to play. This was the season for picnics,
for walks along the fields by the riverside, for boating, for bathing,
for garden teas, for breakfast parties at the Orchard, amidst the pink
and white wonder of the apple-blossom.
Darsie Garnett was fired with a desire to give an Orchard party on her
own account, the guests to be Hannah, Margaret France, her special
Fresher adorer (Marian White by name), Ralph Percival, Dan Vernon, two
agreeable Classics from King's; Mrs Reeves to play chaperon--just a
cheery little party of nine. What could you wish for more?
Margaret, preternaturally solemn, opined that _ten_ would be a more
desirable number. "Poor Mrs Reeves! What has _she_ done? Why not ask
some one to play about with _her_? I can't bear to see a Lonely at a
picnic or to be interrupted myself!"
"It _might_ be judicious to invite Minerva!" agreed Darsie, twinkling,
and alluding to the Don who enjoyed the privilege of Mrs Reeves's
special friendship. "Two chaperons! What a character for propriety I
shall gain, to be sure! They little know."
"They know perfectly well, but they are human creatures after all.
They've been young themselves, and they enjoy the Orchard! Set to work
at once, my dear, and get out your invitations. This weather can't
possibly last, and it's going to break my heart if it is wet."
But there was no sign of rain on that exquisite morning when at the
striking of six o'clock Darsie leaped out of bed, and thrust her ruffled
golden head out of the opened window. A few feathery white clouds
served but to intensify the blueness of the sky; the air was soft and
sweet, the garden beneath was already bathed in sunlight. Darsie gave a
little caper of delight. Sunshine, a picnic, a pretty frock and hat
waiting to be worn, and one's very best friends to admire the result--
what healthy girl of twenty could fail to be happy under such
circumstances as these?
She sang as she dressed; she made little fancy steps, and three separate
pirouettes which would have delighted the heart of a terpsichorean
mistress. One pirouette greeted the effect of the white dress; the
second, that of the wide straw hat, with its appropriate garland of
blossom; the third was partly in celebration of the combined effect, and
partly out of sheer inability to keep still.
Her toilette completed, Darsie repaired to Hannah's room and surprised
that tasteless young woman engaged in putting the final touches to her
own costume, in the shape of an abomination designated "a neck
arrangement," composed of the cheapest of machine lace and papery satin
ribbon. Hannah jumped with dismay as a hand descended suddenly over her
shoulder, and tore this treasure from her grasp.
"No!" cried Darsie firmly. "You are my childhood's friend, and I love
you dearly, but wear lace frills with a linen collar at my Orchard party
you--_shall not_! Miserable woman! Will you never learn how to dress?"
"I paid eleven-three for it, near the end of a term. Thought I _would_
please you this time! Hate the tickling stuff myself. Some people are
never satisfied," grumbled Hannah, rummaging in her tie-box, but it
never occurred to her to dispute the decree. On questions of toilette
Darsie's word was absolute.
The two girls descended the stairs together, and found the other three
members of the party awaiting them at the door, Margaret and the little
Fresher abeam with smiles, and even Minerva herself looking quite young
and skittish. At moments like these it dawned upon the student mind
that even a don herself could occasionally enjoy a mixture of play with
her work.
At the river Mrs Reeves and the four men came forward to meet the
Newnham party, the canaders were ranged ready for the embarkment, and
Darsie felt the honours of her position press heavily, as the other
members of the party stood silently waiting for her to apportion the
crews. The worst of it was that one felt obliged to take the least
desirable place oneself. Considered as a don, Minerva had many points,
but when bound for a river picnic one did not exactly hanker after her
society. Still, there it was. Every position has its drawbacks. The
row up the river on that exquisite morning was a joy independent of
society, and when the Orchard itself was reached it was undeniably
agreeable to sit at the head of the table, and play the gracious hostess
to one's guests.
Orchard appetites are proverbial, but this particular party claimed to
have broken all previous records. Soon there was hardly a fragment of
food left on a plate. The pile of banana-skins was positively startling
to behold; tea and coffee pots were drained, and drained again; requests
for milk and more milk threatened the supply of later guests, and the
birds in the trees overhead chattered not a whit more gaily than the
company around the board.
"Shop" was sternly forbidden as a subject of conversation, and the
remotest reference thereto was instantly booed into silence, for behind
all the lightsomeness of demeanour a weight of anxiety lay on each
heart. The critical time was approaching when the result of the year's
work would be put to the test. The two classics, as sons of a poor
clergyman, were acutely conscious of all that was involved by a first or
second class. Ralph Percival was realising painfully the difficulty of
making up for years of slacking, or even of keeping up a spurt beyond a
few days at a time; the little Fresher trembled at the thought of her
first Mays; even Margaret France herself showed signs of nerves before
the ordeal of the Tripos, and on one tragic occasion had even been
discovered weeping hysterically upon her bed.
"C-c-couldn't remember a context," was her hiccoughing explanation of
the breakdown, and henceforth Darsie had taken her in hand, fagged for
her, petted her, scolded her, put her to bed, and ruthlessly carried off
notebooks to her own study, to frustrate disastrous attempts at midnight
toil.
As for Dan, he was a giant among pigmies. Examinations had no terrors
for him; his place was assured. When strangers visited Cambridge, their
sons and brothers pointed out his big, lumbering form in the streets,
and bade them remember Vernon--Vernon would arrive! Darsie was
conscious that his presence lent distinction to her party, for Dan but
seldom appeared in the social world.
And he was behaving so well, too! taking part in the conversation, even
telling stories and capping anecdotes of his own accord, and behaving
quite amiably to Ralph. Darsie beamed approval on him from the end of
the table, and deliberately singled him out as her companion for the
after-breakfast stroll.
"Come down to the river, Dan! There's a tree with the most convenient
forked branch where one can sit hidden by the leaves and watch the
canaders come up. Last year I heard some quite thrilling fragments of
conversation."
"I'll be wary of that tree," said Dan solemnly, but he helped Darsie to
her eyrie, and swung himself up beside her with an alacrity which showed
that the suggestion fell in well with his own wishes, and there they sat
like birds in a nest, smiling at each other with bright, friendly
glances.
"Isn't this fine? No one saw us come, did they? They'll think we're
lost. I'm tired of being polite. Thank you for coming to my party,
Dan, and for being so jolly."
"Thank you for asking me and for looking so--ripping!" Dan cast an
appreciative glance at the white dress and blossom-wreathed hat. "Glad
to see you're not knocking yourself up with too much work."
Darsie bent her head with a dubious air.
She wished to look well, but, on the other hand, a little sympathy would
not have been unwelcome. "I'm excited this morning, and that gives me a
colour," she explained. "If you could see me at the end of the day--I'm
so weak in my mediaeval French Grammar. It haunts me at night--"
"Stop!" cried Dan warningly. "Don't let it haunt you here, at any
rate--it would be a crime among this blossom. Tell me a story as you
used to do in the old schoolroom days. I haven't heard you tell a story
since that Christmas night when we all sat round the fire and burnt fir-
cones, and the light shone on your face. You wore a white dress then.
You looked _all_ white."
"And you sat in the corner and glowered--I could see nothing, but I
_felt_ eyes. That will be one of the times we shall remember, Dan, when
we look back on our young days--all together, and so happy and free. I
had a melancholy turn during that cone-burning, one of the shadows that
fall upon one causelessly in the midst of the sunshine, but that was
only a bit of the happiness, after all. It's rather wonderful to be
twenty, Dan, and never to have known a real big sorrow! Most of the
girls here have come through something, some of them a great deal. I
feel such a babe beside them. It isn't good for one, I suppose, to have
things _too_ smooth."
"I hope they'll continue smooth for a long time to come. You're too
young for troubles, Darsie," said Dan hastily. He sat silent for a few
moments, his chin poking forward, his thin, expressive lips twitching as
if struggling with difficult speech. A canader came gliding slowly by,
the man and girl occupants chatting gaily together, unconscious of the
watchers in the tree on the bank. Their words fell absently on Darsie's
ear, she was waiting for what Dan had to say.
"When they _do_ come, you know you can depend on me. I'm not much of a
hand at social life, so it's best to keep out of the way and let other
fellows chip in who can make a better show, but if there's anything
useful to be done, you might give me a turn. We're very old friends."
Darsie gave him an affectionate glance. "Indeed I will. I should feel
you a tower of strength. Thank you, dear Oak-tree."
"Thank you, Apple-blossom!" returned Dan quite gallantly, if you please,
and with a laugh which followed the passing seriousness vanished.
For the next half-hour they laughed and sparred, capped stories, and
made merry, more like a couple of happy children than hard-worked
students on the verge of examinations; and then, alas! it was time to
return to work, and, sliding down from their perch, Dan and Darsie
walked forward to assemble the scattered members of the party.