For the Sake of the School Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  A Blackberry Foray

  Having made up her mind to accept the responsibility which fate, throughthe agency of the magazine editor, had thrust upon her, Ulyth,metaphorically speaking, set her teeth, and began to take Rona seriouslyin hand. Being ten months older than her protegee, in a higher form,and, moreover, armed with full authority from Miss Bowes, she assumedcommand of the bedroom, and tried to regulate the chaos that reigned onher comrade's side of it. Rona submitted with an air of amused goodnature to have her clothes arranged in order in her drawers, her shoesput away in the cupboard, and her toilet articles allotted places on herwashstand and dressing-table. She even consented to give some thought toher personal appearance, and borrowed Ulyth's new manicure set.

  "You're mighty particular," she objected. "What does it all matter? MissBowes gave me such a talking-to, and said I'd got to do exactly what youtold me; and before I came, Dad rubbed it into me to copy you for all Iwas worth, so I suppose I'll have to try. I guess you'll find it a jobto civilize me though." And her eyes twinkled.

  Ulyth thought, with a mental sigh, that she probably would find it "ajob".

  "No one bothered about it at home," Rona continued cheerfully. "Dad didsay sometimes I was growing up a savage, but Mrs. Barker never cared.She let me do what I liked, so long as I didn't trouble her. She was nolady! We couldn't get a lady to stay at our out-of-the-way block. Dadused to be a swell in England once, but that was before I was born."

  Ulyth began to understand, and her disgust changed to a profound pity. Amotherless girl who had run wild in the backwoods, her father probablyout all day, her only female guide a woman of the backwoods, whosemanners were presumably of the roughest--this had been Rona's training.No wonder she lacked polish!

  "When I compare her home with my home and my lovely mother," thoughtUlyth, "yes--there's certainly a vast amount to be passed on."

  The other girls, who had never expected her to keep Rona in her bedroom,were inclined to poke fun at the proceeding.

  "Your bear cub will need training before you teach her to dance," saidStephanie Radford tauntingly.

  "She has no parlour tricks at present," sniggered Addie Knighton.

  "Are you posing as Valentine and Orson?" laughed Gertie Oliver. Gertrudehad been Ulyth's room-mate last term, and felt aggrieved to besuperseded.

  "I call her the cuckoo," said Mary Acton. "Do you remember the young onewe found last spring, sprawling all over the nest, and opening its huge,gaping beak?"

  In spite of her ignorance and angularities there was a certain charmabout the new-comer. When the sunburn caused by her sea-voyage hadyielded to a course of treatment, it left her with a complexion whichput even that of Stephanie Radford, the acknowledged school beauty, inthe shade. The coral tinge in Rona's cheeks was, as Doris Deaneenviously remarked, "almost too good to look natural", and her blue eyeswith the big pupils and the little dark rims round the iris shone liketwinkling stars when she laughed. That ninnying laugh, to be sure, wasstill somewhat offensive, but she was trying to moderate it, and onlywhen she forgot did it break out to scandalize the refined atmosphere ofThe Woodlands; the small white even teeth which it displayed, and twoconspicuous dimples, almost atoned for it. The brown hair was brushedand waved and its consequent state of new glossiness was a very distinctimprovement on the former elf locks. In the sunshine it took tones ofwarm burnt sienna, like the hair of the Madonna in certain of Titian'sgreat pictures. Lessons, alack! were uphill work. Rona was naturallybright, but some subjects she had never touched before, and in othersshe was hopelessly backward. The general feeling in the school was that"The Cuckoo", as they nicknamed her, was an experiment, and no one couldguess exactly what she would grow into.

  "She's like one of those queer beasties we dug up under the yew-treelast autumn," suggested Merle Denham. "Those wriggling transparentthings, I mean. Don't you remember? We kept them in a box, and didn'tknow whether they'd turn out moths, or butterflies, or earwigs, orwoodlice!"

  "They turned into cockchafer beetles, as a matter of fact," said Ulythdrily.

  "Well, they were horrid enough in all conscience. I don't like Naturestudy when it means hoarding up creepy-crawlies."

  "You're not obliged to take it."

  "I don't this year. I've got Harmony down on my time-table instead."

  "You'll miss the rambles with Teddie."

  "I don't care. I'll play basket-ball instead."

  "How about the blackberry foray?"

  "Oh, I'm not going to be left out of that! It's not specially Naturestudy. I've put my name down with Miss Moseley's party."

  The inmates of The Woodlands were fond of jam. It was supplied to themliberally, and they consumed large quantities of it at tea-time. To helpto meet this demand, blackberrying expeditions were organized during thelast weeks of September, and the whole school turned out in relays topick fruit. A dozen girls and a mistress generally composed a party,which was not confined to any particular form, but might include anywhose arrangements for practising or special lessons allowed them to go.Dates and particulars of the various rambles planned, with the names ofthe mistresses who were to be leaders, were pinned up on thenotice-board, and the girls might put their names to them as they liked,so long as each list did not exceed twelve.

  On Saturday afternoon Miss Moseley headed a foray in the direction ofPorth Powys Falls, and Merle, Ulyth, Rona, Addie, and Stephanie weremembers of her flock.

  "I'm glad I managed to get into this party," announced Merle, "because Ialways like Porth Powys better than Pontvoelas or Aberceiriog. It's ajollier walk, and the blackberries are bigger and better. I was the verylast on the list, so I'd luck. Alice had to go under Teddie's wing. I'drather have Mosie than Teddie!"

  "So would I," agreed Ulyth. "I scribbled my name the very first of all.Just got a chance to do it as I was going to my music-lesson, beforeeveryone else made a rush for the board. Porth Powys will be looking noend to-day."

  Swinging their baskets, the girls began to climb a narrow path which ranalongside the stream up the glen. Some of them were tempted to linger,and began to gather what blackberries could be found; but Miss Moseleyhad different plans.

  "Come along! It's ridiculous to waste our labour here," she exclaimed."All these bushes have been well picked over already. We'll walkstraight on till we come to the lane near the ruined cottage, then weshall get a harvest and fill our baskets in a third of the time. Quickmarch!"

  There was sense in her remarks, so Merle abandoned several half-ripespecimens for which she had been reaching and joined the file that waswinding, Indian fashion, up the path through the wood. Over a high,ladder-like stile they climbed, then dropped down into the gorge towhere a small wooden bridge spanned the stream. They loved to stand herelooking at the brown rushing water that swirled below. The thick treesmade a green parlour, and the continual moisture had carpeted the woodswith beautiful verdant moss which grew in close sheets over the rocks.Up again, by an even steeper and craggier track, they climbed thefarther bank of the gorge, and came out at last on to the broadhill-side that overlooked the Craigwen Valley.

  Here was scope for a leader; the track was so overgrown as to be almostindistinguishable, and ran across boggy land, where it was only too easyto plunge over one's boot-tops in oozy peat. Miss Moseley found the waylike a pioneer; she had often been there before and remembered just whatplaces were treacherous and just where it was possible to use a swingingbough for a help. By following in her footsteps the party got safelyover without serious wettings, and sat down to take breath for a fewminutes on some smooth, glacier-ground rocks that topped the ridge theyhad been scaling. They were now at some height above the valley, and theprospect was magnificent. For at least ten miles they could trace thewindings of the river, and taller and more distant mountain peaks hadcome into view.

  "Some people say that Craigwen Valley's very like the Rhine,"volunteered Ulyth. "It hasn't any castles, of course, except atLlangarmon, but the scenery's just as lovely
."

  "Nice to think it's British then," rejoiced Merle. "Wales can hold itsown in the way of mountains and lakes. People have no need to go abroadfor them. What's New Zealand like, Rona?"

  "We've ripping rivers there," replied the Cuckoo, "bigger than this bylots, and with tree-ferns up in the bush. This isn't bad, though, as faras it goes. What's that place over across on the opposite hill?"

  "Where the light's shining? Oh, that's Llanfairgwyn! There's a villageand a church. We've only been once. It's rather a long way, because youhave to cross the ferry at Glanafon before you can get to the other sideof the river."

  "And what's that big white house in the trees, with the flag?"

  "That's Plas Cafn. It's _the_ place in the neighbourhood, you know,"said Stephanie, fondly fingering her necklace.

  "I don't know. How should I?"

  "Well, you know it now, at any rate."

  "Does it belong to toffs?"

  "It belongs to Lord and Lady Glyncraig. They live there for part of theyear."

  "Oh!" said Rona. She put her chin on her hand and surveyed the distantmansion for several moments in silence. "I reckon they're stuck up,"she remarked at last.

  "I believe they're considered nice. I've never spoken to them," repliedUlyth.

  "I have," put in Stephanie complacently. "I went to tea once at PlasCafn. It was when Father was Member for Rotherford. Lord Glyncraig knewhim in Parliament, of course, and he happened to meet Father and me justwhen we were walking past the gate at Plas Cafn, and asked us in totea."

  Merle, Addie, and Ulyth smiled. This visit, paid four years ago, was thestanding triumph of Stephanie's life. She never forgot, nor allowed anyof her schoolfellows to forget, that she had been entertained by thegreat people of the neighbourhood.

  "He wasn't Lord Glyncraig then; he was only Sir John Mitchell, Baronet.He's been raised to a peerage since," said Merle, willing to qualifysome of the glory of Stephanie's reminiscences.

  "We don't grow peers in Waitoto, or baronets either, for the matter ofthat," observed Rona. "I don't guess they're wanted out with us. We'dhave no place in the bush for a Lord Glyncraig."

  "You'd better claim acquaintance with him, as your name's Mitchell too.How proud he'd be of the honour!" teased Addie.

  Coral flooded the whole of the Cuckoo's face. She had begun tounderstand the difference between her rough upbringing and the refinedhomes of the other girls, and she resented the sneers that were oftenmade at her expense.

  "Our butcher at home is Joseph Mitchell," hinnied Merle.

  "Mitchell's a common enough name," said Ulyth. "I know two families inScotland and some people at Plymouth all called Mitchell. They're noneof them related to each other, and probably not to Merle's butcher or toLord Glyncraig."

  "Nor to me," said Rona. "I'm a democrat, and I glory in it. Stephanie'swelcome to her grand friends if she likes them."

  "I do like them," sighed Stephanie plaintively. "I love aristocraticpeople and nice houses and things. Why shouldn't I? You needn't grin,Addie Knighton; you'd know them yourself if you could. When I come outI'd like to be presented at Court, and go to a ball where the people areall dukes and duchesses and earls and countesses. It would be worthwhile dancing with a duke, especially if he wore the Order of theGarter!"

  "Until that glorious day comes you'll have to dance with poor little mefor a partner," giggled Merle.

  "Aren't you all rested? We shall get no blackberries if we don't hurryon," called Miss Moseley from the other end of the rock.

  Everybody scrambled up immediately and set out again over thebracken-covered hill-side. Another half-mile and they had reached thebourne of their expedition. The narrow track through the gorse and fernwidened suddenly into a lane, a lane with very high, unmortared walls,over which grew a variety of bramble with a particularly lusciousfruit. Every connoisseur of blackberries knows what a difference thereis between the little hard seedy ones that commonly flourish in thehedges and the big juicy ones with the larger leaves. Nature had beenprodigal here, and a bounteous harvest hung within easy reach.

  "They are as big as mulberries--and oh, such heaps and heaps!" exclaimedAddie ecstatically. "No, Merle, you wretch, this is my branch! Don'tpoach, you wretch! Go farther on, can't you!"

  "I wish we could send the jam to the hospital when it's made," sighedMerle.

  The party spread itself out; some of the girls climbed to the top of thewall, so that they could reach what grew on the sunnier side, and a fewskirted round over a gate into a field, where a ruined cottage was alsocovered with brambles. They worked down the lane by slow degrees,picking hard as they went. At the end a sudden rushing roar struck uponthe ear, and without even waiting for a signal from Miss Moseley thegirls with one accord hopped over a fence, and ran up a slight incline.The voice of the waterfall was calling, and the impulse to obey wasirresistible. At the top of the slope they stopped, for they had reacheda natural platform that overlooked the gorge. The scene rivalled one ofthe beauty-spots of Switzerland. The Porth Powys stream, flowing betweenprecipitous rocks, fell two hundred feet in a series of four splendidcascades. The rugged crags on either side were thickly covered with aforest of fir and larch, and here and there a taller stone-pine rearedits darker head above the silvery green. Dashing, roaring, leaping,shouting, the water poured down in a never-ceasing volume: the whitespray rose up in clouds, wetting the girls' faces; the sound was like anendless chorus of hallelujahs.

  "Porth Powys is in fine form to-day. There must have been rain up in themountains last night," remarked Ulyth. "What do you think of it, Rona?"

  "It's a champion! I'm going to climb down there and get at the edge."

  "No, you won't!" said Miss Moseley sharply. "Nobody is to go a singlestep nearer. You must all come back into the lane now, and get on withblackberry-picking. Your baskets are only half full yet."

  Very reluctantly the girls followed. The fall exercised a fascinationover them, and they could have stayed half an hour watching its whiteswirl. They did not wish, however, to earn the reputation of slackers.Two other parties had gone out blackberrying that afternoon, and therewould be keen competition as to which would bring back the most pounds.They set to work again, therefore, with enthusiasm, counting stainedfingers and scratches as glorious wounds earned in the good cause. Ronapicked with zeal, but she had a preoccupied look on her face.

  "Say, I liked that waterfall," she remarked to Ulyth. "One can't seeanything of it down in this old lane. I'm going to get a better view."

  "You mustn't go off on your own," commanded Ulyth. "Miss Moseley willreport you if you do!"

  "Don't excite yourself. I only said I was going to get a better view.It's quite easy."

  Rona put her basket in a safe place, and with the aid of a hazel bushclimbed to the top of the wall. Apparently the prospect did not satisfyher.

  "I'm going a stave higher still. Keep your hair on!" she shouted down toUlyth, and began swarming up the bole of a huge old oak-tree thatabutted on the wall. She was strong and active as a boy, and had soonscrambled to where the branches forked. A mass of twisted ivy hung here,and raising herself with its aid, she stood on an outstretched bough.

  "It's ripping! I can see a little bit of the fall; I'll see it better ifI get over on to that other branch."

  "Take care!" called Miss Moseley from below.

  Rona started. She had not known the mistress was so near. The movementupset her decidedly unstable balance; she clutched hard at the ivy, butit gave way in her fingers; there was a sudden crash and a smotheredshriek.

  White as a ghost, Miss Moseley climbed the wall, expecting to find theprostrate form of her pupil on the other side. To her surprise she sawnothing of the sort. Near at hand, however, came a stifled groan.

  "Rona, where are you?" shrieked the distracted governess.

  "Here," spluttered the voice of the Cuckoo; "inside the tree. Thebeastly old thing's rotten, and I've tumbled to the very bottom of thetrunk!"

  "Are you hurt?"

  "No
, nothing to speak of."

  "Here's a pretty go!" murmured the girls, who all came running at thesound of shouts. "How's she going to get out again?"

  "Can't you climb up?" urged Miss Moseley.

  "No, I can't stir an inch; I'm wedged in somehow."

  What was to be done? The affair waxed serious. Miss Moseley, with areally heroic effort, and much help from the girls, managed to scale thetree and look down into the hollow trunk. She could just see Rona'sscared face peeping up at her many feet below.

  "Can you put up your hand and let me pull you?"

  "No; I tell you I'm wedged as tight as a sardine."

  "We shall have to send for help then. May and Kathleen, run as quicklyas you can down the lane. There's a farm at the bottom of the hill. Tellthem what's the matter."

  "I hope to goodness they'll understand English!" murmured Merle.

  "Will I have to stop here always?" demanded a tragic voice within thetree. "Shall you be able to feed me, or will I have to starve? How longdoes it take to die of hunger?"

  "You won't die just yet," returned Miss Moseley, laughing a little inspite of herself. "We'll get you out in course of time."

  "I guess I'd better make my will, though. Has anybody got a pencil andpaper, and will they please write it down and send it home? I want toleave my saddle to Pamela Higson, and Jake is to have the bridle andwhip--I always liked him better than Billy, though I pretended I didn't.Jane Peters may have my writing-desk--much she writes, though!--andAmabel Holt my old doll. That's all I've left in New Zealand. Ulyth cantake what I've got at school--'twon't be any great shakes to her, Iexpect. You didn't tell me how long it takes to die!"

  "Cheer up! There's not the slightest danger," Miss Moseley continued toassure her.

  "It's all very well to say 'cheer up' when you're standing safe on thetop," said the gloomy voice of the imprisoned dryad. "It feels adifferent matter when you're boxed up tight with tree all round you.It's jolly uncomfortable. Where are the girls?"

  "Here's one," replied Ulyth, climbing the tree to relieve poor MissMoseley, who gladly retired in her favour. "I'm going to stay and talkto you till somebody comes to get you out. Oh, here are May and Kathleenat last! What a fearful time they've been!"

  The two messengers came panting back with many excuses for their delay.It was a long way down the lane to the farm, and when they arrived therethey had considerable difficulty in explaining their errand. No onecould understand English except a little boy, who was only half-able totranslate their remarks into Welsh. They had at length made the farmerrealize what had happened, and he had promised to come at once. In thecourse of a few minutes they were followed by David Jones and his son,Idwal, bearing a rope, an axe, and a saw, and looking rather dismayed atthe task in store for them. It proved indeed a matter of considerabledifficulty to rescue Rona without hurting her; a portion of thetree-trunk was obliged to be sawn away before she could obtainsufficient room to help to free herself, and it was only after an hour'shard work that she stood at last in safety on the ground.

  "How do you feel?" asked Miss Moseley anxiously, fearing broken bones ora sprain from the final effort of extraction.

  "Well, I guess it's taken the bounce out of me. I'm as stiff as arheumatic cat! Oh, I'll get back to school somehow, don't alarmyourself! I'm absolutely starving for tea. Good-bye, you wood-demon; younearly finished me!" and Rona shook her fist at the offending oak-treeas a parting salute.

  "She called it demon to rhyme with lemon!" gurgled Addie, almost sobbingwith mirth as she followed, holding Merle's arm. "The Cuckoo will causeme to break a blood-vessel some day. It hurts me most dreadfully tolaugh. I've got a stitch in my side. Oh dear! I wonder whatever she'llgo and do next?"