A Patriotic Schoolgirl Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  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 forChristmas, but he was with them for New Year's Day, and by the greatestgood luck met Bevis, who was home on a thirty-six-hours leave. To havetwo of their dear fighting heroes back at once was quite an unexpectedtreat, and though there were still two vacant places in the circle, thefamily party was a very merry one. They were joined by a new member, forNora and her husband came over, bringing their ten-weeks-old baby boy,and Marjorie, Dona, and Joan felt suddenly quite grown-up in their newcapacity of "Auntie". Dona in especial was delighted with her weenephew.

  "I've found out what I'm going to do when I leave school," she toldMarjorie rather shyly. "I shall go to help at a creche. When Winifredewas 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 mesick, and I'd be scared to death to drive a motor ambulance. I thoughtWinifrede would call me an utter slacker. But I could look after babiesin a creche while their mothers work at munitions. I should simply loveit. And it would be doing something for the war in a way, especially ifthey were soldiers' children. I'm ever so much happier now I've thoughtof it. I'm going to ask to take 'Hygiene' next term, because GertieTemple told me they learnt how to mix a baby's bottle."

  "And I'm going to ask to take 'First Aid'," replied Marjorie, with equalenthusiasm. "You have to pass your St. John's Ambulance before you canbe a V.A.D. I'll just love practising bandaging."

  The girls went back to school with less reluctance than their mother hadexpected. It was, of course, a wrench to leave home, and for Dona, atany rate, the atmosphere was at first a little damp, but once installedin their old quarters at Brackenfield they were caught in the train ofbustling young life, and cheered up. It is not easy to sit on your bedand weep when your room-mates are telling you their holiday adventures,singing comic songs, and passing round jokes. Also, tears wereunfashionable at Brackenfield, and any girl found shedding them wasliable 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 drewthe curtains of her cubicle and began to unpack, feeling rather glad tohave the place to herself for a while. When the next convoy of girlsarrived from the station, Miss Norton entered the room, escorting astranger.

  "This is your cubicle," she explained hurriedly. "Your box will bebrought up presently, and then you can unpack, and put your clothes inthis wardrobe and these drawers. The bath-rooms are at the end of thepassage. 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. Iwonder 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 fightfor the cubicle. The bed doesn't look big enough for two, unless she'sas 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, andinspected the capacities of her wardrobe.

  "Not too much room here!" she commented. "It reminds me of a cabin onboard ship. I wonder they don't rig up berths. I hope they won't be longbringing up my box. Oh, here it is!"

  Not only did the trunk arrive, but Betty and Sylvia also put in anappearance, both very lively and talkative, and full of news.

  "Hallo, Marjorie! Do you know Renie's been moved to No. 5? She wants tobe with Mavie Chapman. They asked Norty before the holidays, and nevertold 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 travelledtogether from Euston. She's in St. Ethelberta's, of course--rather ajolly kid."

  "Annie Grey has twisted her ankle, and won't be able to come back for aweek. Luck for her!"

  "Valerie Hall's brother has been wounded, and Magsie Picton's brotherhas been mentioned in dispatches, and Miss Duckworth has lost hernephew."

  "Miss Pollard's wearing an engagement ring, but she won't tell anybodyanything about it; and Miss Gordon was married in the holidays--a warwedding. Oh yes! she has come back to school, but we've got to call herMrs. Greenbank now. Won't it be funny? The Empress has two little niecesstaying 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 rattledon, but she did not interrupt, and waited until she was questionedbefore she gave an account of herself.

  "I live up north, in Cumberland. Yes, I've been to school before. I'veone brother. No, he's not at the front. I haven't unpacked his photo. Ican't tell whether I like Brackenfield yet; I've only been here half anhour."

  As she still seemed at the shy stage, Betty and Sylvia stoppedcatechizing her and concerned themselves with their own affairs. Thenew-comer went on quietly with her unpacking, taking no notice of herroom-mates, but when the gong sounded for tea she allowed Betty andSylvia to pass, then looked half-appealingly, half-whimsically atMarjorie.

  "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 landedme 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 thesubject of Chrissie Lang. Betty and Sylvia frankly regretted Irene, andwere not disposed to extend too hearty a welcome to her substitute. Itwas really in the first instance because Betty and Sylvia weredisagreeable to Chrissie that Marjorie took her up. It was more in aspirit of opposition to her room-mates than of philanthropy towards thenew-comer. Betty and Sylvia were inclined to have fun together and leaveMarjorie out of their calculations, a state of affairs which she hotlyresented. During the whole of last term she had not found a chum. Shewas rather friendly with Mollie Simpson, but Mollie was in anotherdormitory, and this term had been moved into IV Upper A, so that theywere no longer working together in form. It was perhaps only naturalthat 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 absurdpictures of girls or mistresses on the edge of her blotting-paper, orwrite parodies on popular poems. She was evidently much attracted toMarjorie, yet she was one of those people with whom one never growsreally intimate. One may know them for years without ever getting beyondthe outside crust, and the heart of them always remains a sealed book.There is a certain magnetism in friendship. It is perhaps only once ortwice in a lifetime that we meet the one with whom our spirit can reallyfuse, the kindred soul who seems always able to understand andsympathize. In the hurry and bustle of school life, however, it issomething to have a congenial comrade, if it is only a girl who will sitnext you at meals, walk to church with you in crocodile, and take yourside in arguments with your room-mates.

  The spring term at Brackenfield proved bitterly cold. In February thesnow fell thickly, and one morning the school woke to find a whiteworld. In Dormitory 9 matters were serious, for the snow had drifted inthrough the open window and covered everything like a winding-sheet. Itwas a new experience for the girls to see dressing-tables andwash-stands shrouded in white, and a drift in the middle of the floor.They set to work after breakfast with shovels and toiled away tillnearly school-time before they had made a clearance.

  "I feel like an Alpine traveller," declared Chrissie. "If things go onat this rate the school will have to provide St. Bernard dogs to rescueus in th
e 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 huntingweather. I hate snow."

  "Hockey'll be off," said Marjorie. "It's a grizzly nuisance about thematch on Saturday."

  Though the usual outdoor games were perforce suspended, the schoolnevertheless found an outlet for its energies. There was a little hillat the bottom of the big playing-field, and down this the girls managedto get some tobogganing. They had no sleds, but requisitioned tea-traysand drawing-boards, often with rather amusing results, thoughfortunately the snow was soft to fall in. Another diversion was a mockbattle. The combatants threw up trenches of snow, and, arming themselveswith a supply of snowballs, kept up a brisk fire until ammunition wasexhausted. It was a splendid way of keeping up the circulation, and thegirls would run in after this exercise with crimson cheeks. At night,however, they suffered very much from the cold. Open bedroom windowswere a cardinal rule, and, with the thermometer many degrees below zero,the less hardy found it almost impossible to keep warm. Marjorie, whowas 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 lookafter, the maids did not always bring them up at standard heat, andMarjorie's half-frozen toes often found only lukewarm comfort. Afterenduring the misery for three nights, she boldly went to Mrs. Morrisonand begged permission to be taken to Whitecliffe to buy an india-rubberhot-water bag, which she could herself fill in the bath-room. Part ofthe Empress's success as a Principal was due to the fact that she wasalways ready to listen to any reasonable demands. Hers was no red-taperule, but a system based on sensible methods. She smiled as Marjorierather bashfully uttered her request.

  "Fifteen other girls have asked me the same thing," she replied. "Youmay all go into Whitecliffe this afternoon with Miss Duckworth, and seewhat you can find at the Stores."

  Rejoicing in this little expedition, the favoured sixteen set off at twoo'clock, escorted by the mistress. There had been great drifts on thehigh road, and the snow was dug out and piled on either side inglistening heaps. The white cliffs and hills and the grey sky and seagave an unusual aspect to the landscape. A flock of sea-gulls whirledround on the beach, but of other birds there were very few. Even theclumps of seaweed on the shore looked frozen. Nature was at herdreariest, and anyone who had seen the place in the summer glory ofheather, bracken, and blue sea could hardly have believed it to be thesame. The promenade was deserted, the pier shut up, and those peoplewhose business took them into the streets hurried along as if they wereanxious to get home again.

  The girls found it was not such an easy matter as they had imagined toprocure sixteen hot-water bags. Owing to the war, rubber was scarce, andcustomers had already made many demands upon the supply. The Storescould 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 toarrive, 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 inthe end made up their numbers. The sizes and prices of the bags variedconsiderably, but the girls were so glad to get any at all, that theywould have cheerfully paid double if it had been necessary.

  Feeling thoroughly satisfied with their shopping expedition, they turnedtheir steps again towards Brackenfield, up the steep path past thechurch, over the bridge that spanned the railway, and along the cliffwalk that led from the town on to the moor. As they passed the end ofthe bare beech avenue, they met a party of wounded soldiers from the RedCross Hospital, in the blue convalescent uniform of His Majesty'sforces. One limped on crutches, and one was in a Bath chair, wheeled bya companion; most of the rest wore bandages either on their arms orheads. Marjorie looked at them attentively, hoping to recognize some ofthe patients she had seen at the Christmas-tree entertainment, but thesewere all strangers, and she reflected that the other set must have beenpassed on by now to convalescent homes. She was walking at the end ofthe line, and Miss Duckworth did not happen to be looking. A suddenspirit of mischief seized her, and hastily stooping and catching up ahandful of snow, she kneaded it quickly, and threw it at Mollie Simpsonto attract her attention. It was done on the spur of the moment, insheer fun. But, alas for Marjorie! her aim was not true, and instead ofhitting Mollie her missile struck one of the soldiers. He chuckled withdelight, and promptly responded. In a moment his companions werekneading snowballs and pelting the school. Now wounded Tommies areregarded as very privileged persons, and the girls, instantly catchingthe spirit of the encounter, broke line and began to throw backsnowballs.

  "Girls, girls!" cried Miss Duckworth's shocked and agitated voice; "comealong at once! Don't look at those soldiers. Attention! Form lineimmediately! Quick march!"

  Rather flushed and flurried, her flock controlled themselves, consciousthat they had overstepped the mark, and under the keen eye of theirmistress, who now brought up the rear instead of leading, they filed offin their former crocodile. Every one of the sixteen knew that there wastrouble in store for her. They discussed it uneasily on the way home.Nor were they mistaken. At tea-time Miss Rogers, after ringing thesilence bell, announced that those girls who had been to Whitecliffethat 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 paythe price afterwards. Sixteen very rueful faces were assembled in thepassage outside the study by 5.15. Nobody would have had the courage toknock, but the Principal herself opened the door, and bade them enter.They filed in like a row of prisoners. Mrs. Morrison marshalled theminto a double line opposite her desk, then, standing so as to commandthe eyes of all, she opened the vials of her wrath. She reproached themfor unladylike conduct, loss of dignity, and lack of discipline.

  "Where are the traditions of Brackenfield," she asked, "if you can sofar forget yourselves as to descend to such behaviour? One would imagineyou were poor ignorant girls who had never been taught better; indeed,many a Sunday-school class would have had more self-respect. Whoeverbegan it"--here she looked hard at Marjorie--"is directly responsiblefor lowering the tone of the school. Think what disgrace it brings onthe name of Brackenfield for such an act to be remembered against herpupils! Knit and sew for the soldiers, get up concerts for them, andspeak kindly to them in the hospitals, but never for a moment forget inyour conduct what is due both to yourself and to them. This afternoon'soccurrence has grieved me more than I can express. I had believed that Icould trust you, but I find to my sorrow that I was mistaken."