A Pair of Schoolgirls: A Story of School Days Page 6

  CHAPTER V

  A Literature Exercise

  The fickle goddess of fortune, having elected to draw together the livesof Dorothy Greenfield and Alison Clarke, had undoubtedly begun her taskby sending the latter to live near Coleminster. Mrs. Clarke told all herfriends that it was by the merest chance she had seen and takenLindenlea. She had decided that the climate of Leamstead was toorelaxing; and when, on a motor tour with a cousin in the North, shehappened to pass through the village of Latchworth, and noticed thepretty, rambling old house to let on the top of the hill, she had atonce insisted upon stopping, obtaining the keys, and looking over it.And she had so immediately and entirely fallen in love with itspleasant, sunny rooms and delightful garden that she had interviewed theagent without further delay, and arranged to take it on a lease.

  "It's the very kind of place I've always longed for!" shedeclared--"old-fashioned enough to be picturesque, yet with every moderncomfort: a good coach-house and stable, a meadow large enough to keep aJersey cow in, a splendid tennis court, and the best golf links in theneighbourhood close by. Another advantage is that Alison can go toAvondale College. The house is so near to the station that she cantravel by train into Coleminster every day, and return at four o'clock.I'm never able to make up my mind to spare her to go to a boardingschool; but, on the other hand, I don't approve of girls being taught athome by private governesses. The College exactly solves the problem. Noone can say I'm not giving her a good education, and yet I shall see herevery day, and have her all Saturday and Sunday with me. It's no usepossessing a daughter unless she can be something of a companion, and Ialways think Nature meant a mother to bring up her own child,particularly when she's a precious only chick like mine."

  Alison had no memory of her father, who had died in her infancy. Hermother had been as both parents to her, and had supplied the place ofbrothers and sisters as well. Poor Mrs. Clarke could not help fussingover her one treasure, and Alison's education, amusements, clothes, and,above all, health, were her supreme interests in life. The girl wasinclined to be delicate; she had suffered as a child from bronchialasthma, and though she had partly outgrown the tendency, an occasionalattack still alarmed her mother.

  It was largely on Alison's account that Mrs. Clarke had taken Lindenlea.She thought the open, breezy situation on the top of a hill likely tosuit her far better than the house at Leamstead, which had been situatedtoo close to the river; and she knew that the neighbourhood ofColeminster was considered specially bracing for those troubled withthroat or chest complaints. At fourteen Alison was one of thoseover-coddled, petted, worshipped only daughters who occasionally, indefiance of all ordinary rules, seem to escape becoming pampered andselfish. She had a very sweet and sensible disposition, and a strongsense of justice. In her heart of hearts she hated to be spoilt or inany way favoured. She would have liked to be one of a large family, andshe greatly envied girls with younger brothers and sisters to care for.Dearly as she loved her mother, it was often a real trial to her to beidolized in public. She was quick to catch the amused smile of visitorswho listened while her praises were sung, and the everlasting subject ofher health was discussed; and to detect the disapproval with which theynoticed her numerous indulgences. She felt it unfair that strangers, andeven friends, seemed to consider her selfish for receiving all the goodthings showered upon her. She could not disappoint her mother byrefusing any of them, though she would gladly have handed them on tosomeone less fortunate than herself. To her credit, she never onceallowed her mother to suspect that this over-fond and anxious affectionmade her appear singular, and occasionally even a subject of ridiculeamong other girls. She submitted quite patiently to the cosseting andworrying about her health, only sighing a little over the superfluouswraps and needless tonics, and wishing, though never for less love,certainly for less close and fretting attention.

  Perhaps as the direct result of this adoration at home, Alison was apleasant companion at school, quite ready to give up her own way onoccasion, and enjoying the sensation of sharing alike with everyoneelse. She was soon on good terms with her classmates, for she was merryand humorous as well as accommodating. Her friendship with Dorothyincreased daily. As they travelled backwards and forwards by traintogether they were necessarily thrown much in each other's company, andthey earned the nicknames of "David" and "Jonathan" in the Form.

  The contrast between the circumstances and the upbringing of the twogirls could not, however, have been stronger. Miss Sherbourne, inadopting Dorothy, had undertaken a charge that was a heavy ifself-imposed burden upon her small means. Rigid economy was the rule atHolly Cottage; no luxuries could be afforded, and pleasures were mostlyof a kind that did not involve any great expenditure. It was rarely thatAunt Barbara indulged herself even to the extent of a concert ticket ora piece of new music. A fresh piano was out of the question, so shemanaged to coax a good deal of melody from the old one. If it had notbeen for the help of her writing she could not have sent Dorothy to theCollege, and, as it was, such extras as dancing lessons were impossible.

  Though Dorothy clearly understood the necessity for economy, she oftensecretly chafed against it. She was a girl who liked to shine before herschoolfellows, and she felt keenly that she lacked their advantages. Itwas hard, when all were talking of a play or an exhibition, to have toconfess that she had not been, and to hear the others say pityingly:"Why, Dorothy, you never go anywhere!" Her clothes, made by Aunt Barbaraat home, though beautifully neat and quite sufficient for a schoolgirl,could not compete with the pretty dresses worn by many of hercompanions; and she did not possess even a watch, much less bangles andchains such as Hope Lawson was fond of displaying.

  The knowledge of her dependent position, which Aunt Barbara had socarefully kept hidden, came to her as the most serious of her drawbacks.She could not help brooding over it, and the more she dwelt upon thesubject the more disconsolate and discontented she became. Aunt Barbara,whose loving eyes were quick to notice, saw only too clearly the phasethrough which Dorothy was passing; but she knew that the girl must fighther own battle before she learnt to set the right value on this world'spossessions, and to discover for herself what things are really ofworth. With Dorothy's character Miss Sherbourne often felt as though shewere working in the dark. She did her best to impress her ownpersonality upon the child, but every now and then some unexpectedtrait--a legacy, perhaps, from an unknown ancestor--would crop up andmake her realize how strong is the force of heredity in our natures. Sherecognized that at the present crisis "preaching" would be useless, andcould only trust that patience and forbearance would indirectly bringabout the desired effect.

  "Auntie," said Dorothy, as she ate her breakfast one morning, about amonth after the term began, "I don't like Hope Lawson since she got theWardenship. She hasn't improved."

  "How's that? I thought she was a tolerably nice girl," answered MissSherbourne.

  "She wasn't at all bad before, but she's changed. She and Blanche Halland Irene Jackson go together now, and they simply sit upon all the restof the class."

  "Rather a large order, if they do it literally!" laughed Aunt Barbara.

  "Metaphorically, of course. But really, Auntie, you've no idea how nastythey are. Hope has taken the tone that she's much above everyone else--Idon't mean because she's Warden, but socially. You see, while her fatherhas been Mayor they've entertained numbers of distinguished people, andHope's never tired of talking about them. Then she comes to schoolwearing heaps of bangles and rings and things, and she makes one feelshe doesn't consider one's clothes anything to hers. She saw my blueskirt had been lengthened, for she nudged Irene and laughed, and saidvery pointedly that braid had gone out of fashion. Then she asked mewhere I bought my boots. I wasn't going to tell her, so I didn't answer;but Blanche Hall piped out: 'The Market Stores', and they both screamedwith laughter, and Hope said she always bought hers at Forster's."

  "I should simply take no notice, if I were you."

  "I try not to, but all the same it's annoying. Yesterday
we had asquabble about giving out the French books, and I said I should ask MissPitman; then Hope said Miss Pitman would be sure to take her part,because she often dines at their house. And the worst of it is, it'strue. Miss Pitman isn't quite fair. Hope and Blanche and Irene make themost tremendous fuss of her, and she always favours them--she doesreally. She gives them better marks for their exercises, and easierquestions in class, and waits much longer for their answers than foranybody else's. She doesn't like me."

  "Dorothy!"

  "She doesn't--honestly, Auntie. Even Alison notices how down she is onme. If I do the least little thing I'm snapped up in a second."

  "Then the obvious moral is, don't do the least little thing."

  Dorothy pulled a long face.

  "Auntie! You were brought up by a private governess, and you don't knowwhat it is to go to a huge school. One can't always be absolutelyimmaculate; if one could, one would be a saint, not an ordinary girl. Ican't resist talking sometimes, or shuffling my feet, or fidgeting withmy pencil, or--no, no; if you're going to lecture, I shall fly! It's tenpast eight, and it's too wet to take the short cut across the field."

  Dorothy certainly considered she had a grievance at present. She hadunfortunately not made a very good impression upon her new teacher. Shecould not bear to curry favour, and, seeing that Hope and some of theothers were trying by every means in their power to pay special court toMiss Pitman, she went to the opposite extreme, and became so abrupt asto be almost uncivil in her manners.

  "I'm not going to bring her flowers every morning, and offer her walnutcreams in the interval," she thought. "It seems like bribery, and Ishould think much better of her if she wouldn't accept them. Miss Hardynever did."

  Miss Hardy, the mistress of the Lower Fourth, had been strict butscrupulously just; she might be sometimes disliked by her pupils, butshe was always respected. Miss Pitman was a totally different type ofteacher: she was younger, better looking, dressed more prettily, andcared very much more for the social side of life. She lacked power toenforce good discipline, and tried to supply her deficiency by making abid for popularity among her girls. She dearly loved the littleattentions they paid her: she liked to pin a rose on her dress, or carryhome a bunch of hothouse flowers; she found tickets for concerts orlectures most acceptable; and invitations--provided they were to nicehouses--were not despised. Probably she had not the least idea that shewas allowing her predilection for some of her pupils to bias herjudgment of their capacities in class, but in the few weeks that she hadtaught the Upper Fourth she had already gained a reputation forfavouritism.

  "She can be so particularly mean," said Dorothy, continuing the recitalof her grievances to Alison in the train. "She deliberately helpedBlanche out with one question yesterday, and she wouldn't give me eventhe least hint."

  "I don't like her myself," commented Alison, "though she isn't as hardon me as she is on you. But it's perfectly easy to see what's the matterwith Miss Pitman--she's ambitious to climb. She wouldn't accept theParkers' invitation (they only live in a semi-detached villa), and she'sbeen twice to the Lawsons', who send her home in a motor. Well, shewon't be asked to our house."

  "Nor to ours, though I don't suppose she'd want to come. All the same,it's disgusting, and I've a very poor opinion of her."

  That morning Miss Pitman took her classes without her ordinary adornmentin the way of a button-hole. Hope Lawson was absent, and the delicateMarechal Niel or dainty spray of carnations that usually lay on her deskat nine o'clock was absent also. Perhaps she missed it, for she was bothimpatient and snappy in her manner during the lessons, waxed sarcasticwhen Noelle Kennedy demanded an explanation of a rather obvious point,and made no allowance for slips. She dictated the History notes soquickly that it was very difficult to follow her, and woe to Dorothy,who was rash enough to ask her to repeat a sentence!

  "Are you deaf, Dorothy Greenfield? Sit up and don't poke. I can't allowyou to stoop over your desk in that way. If you're shortsighted, youhad better go to an oculist and get fitted with glasses."

  Dorothy was apt to poke, and her attitude when writing was mostinelegant; but it is difficult to remember physical culture during theagonies of following a quick dictation. She frowned and lookedthunderous as she made a jerky effort to sit straight.

  "Miss Pitman's crosser than usual," she said to Alison at eleveno'clock. "You'll see, I shall only get 'Moderate' for my literatureexercise, however well I do it."

  "You mean she'll mark it low on purpose?"

  "Yes; she never judges me fairly."

  "But does she look at the names on the labels when she's correcting?"

  "You may be sure she does, or Hope wouldn't always have 'Very Good'."

  "Then, just as an experiment, let us exchange. I'll write my exercise inyour book, and you can write yours in mine. Our writing's sufficientlyalike."

  "Oh, that would be a gorgeous joke! We'll do it; but don't tell a soul.Let us go upstairs and arrange it now."

  Dorothy wrote her literature exercise that morning in the book labelled"Alison Clarke". She had prepared her subject carefully, and did hervery best not only to put down correct facts, but to attend to pointsof composition. She tried to avoid tautology, unduly long sentences, andvarious other mistakes to which she was prone, and flattered herself atthe end of the half-hour that she had turned out a decidedly creditablepiece of work. She blotted it with great satisfaction, and by ratherofficiously collecting the books of several girls who sat near, andplacing hers in the middle of the pile, she managed to hand it to themonitress without showing the incriminating "Alison Clarke" on thecover. There was a singing class from 12 to 12.45, during which timeMiss Pitman always did her corrections. When the girls rushed up to theclassroom at a quarter to one, the books were finished and placed readyupon the table. Alison and Dorothy each seized her own, and retiredtogether to a corner of the room.

  "You've got 'Fair' in my book," whispered Dorothy. "Now let me see whatI've got in yours."

  "'Excellent'!"

  "Fiddlesticks!"

  "Well, look for yourself."

  "It actually is! Oh! Miss Pitman would never have given me 'Excellent'if she'd known it was mine. I feel I've scored no end. Doesn't it showher up?"

  "Rather!"

  "Excellent" was the very highest mark possible, and it was rarely givenat the College. To receive it was certainly a great honour, and showedthe merit of the exercise. The two conspirators thought they had beenextremely clever, and congratulated themselves upon the success of theirlittle plot; but it was to have a sequel which neither of them expectedin the least. Miss Tempest taught literature throughout the school, andthough she delegated the correction of exercises to assistantmistresses, she occasionally made some enquiry about the written portionof the work. That afternoon she entered the Upper Fourth classroom.

  "I wish to know the results of your literature exercises," sheannounced. "I myself set the paper this week, and I want to see whatstandard you have reached individually. Will each girl in turn repeather mark, beginning with Noelle Kennedy?"

  Dorothy was in a quandary: she did not know what she ought to say. Mustshe give the mark that was written in her book, or the one she hadreally gained? Justice seemed to point to the latter, so when it came toher turn she answered "Excellent". Alison, taking the cue from her,answered "Fair". Evidently the exercises had not reached a very highstandard of merit that day. There were a few "Goods", a great many"Moderates" and "Fairs", and even one or two "Weaks" and "Faulties". Atthe end of the recital the head mistress was just about to give hercomment, when Miss Pitman intervened.

  "May I say a word, Miss Tempest? One girl has not stated her markcorrectly. Dorothy Greenfield said 'Excellent'. Now I particularlyremember that I only gave one 'Excellent' this morning, and that was notto Dorothy."

  Miss Tempest turned to Dorothy with her sternest look.

  "Repeat your mark!" she ordered.

  "Excellent," quavered Dorothy, sticking to her point, though she foresawa storm.


  "Hand me your exercise!"

  Dorothy fumbled in her desk with trembling fingers. She knew she wasinvolved in a most awkward situation. She was very pale as she passed upthe book. Miss Tempest opened it and glared first at the "Fair", writtenplainly in Miss Pitman's handwriting, and then at the embarrassed faceof her pupil.

  "I should not have thought you would consider it worth while to attemptto deceive me with so palpable a falsehood, Dorothy Greenfield!" shesaid scornfully.

  Dorothy turned all colours. For once her wits deserted her. She couldnot imagine how to explain the matter. The whole thing had happened sosuddenly that there seemed no time to cudgel up a word in self-defence.A groan of indignation passed round the class, which Miss Tempestinstantly suppressed.

  "Well, what have you to say for yourself, Dorothy? Do you consider suchconduct worthy of a girl who was nominated for the Wardenship?"

  "Please, Miss Tempest, may I speak?" said a voice at the back; andAlison Clarke stood up, blushing scarlet, but determined to have hersay.

  "Do you know anything about this, Alison?"

  "Yes; it's my fault. We changed exercise books. The one in Dorothy'sbook marked 'Fair' is really mine, and here is Dorothy's, marked'Excellent', in my book. If you'll please look at it you'll see it's herown writing--she makes Greek e's, and I never do."

  Miss Tempest frowned, but she nevertheless examined the exercise, whicha row of eager hands passed up to her.

  "Is this Dorothy Greenfield's writing, Miss Pitman?" she asked.

  "It certainly has all the characteristics," admitted the Form mistress.

  "Why were you writing in each other's book?" enquired Miss Tempestsharply.

  Alison's scarlet face took an even deeper shade of crimson.

  "Oh--just silliness!" she murmured. "But it seemed more honest each totake the mark we'd really gained. I couldn't give in 'Excellent' whenI'd only had 'Fair'."

  "Take care such a thing never happens again," said Miss Tempest, eyeingboth the culprits, who at that moment would have given a great deal tohave been a little less clever. "You will each put down 'Fair' in yourreports."

  "So I've lost my 'Excellent'," lamented Dorothy after school. "MissPitman will be rejoicing; I believe she 'twigged'."

  "I'm almost certain she did, she was looking at you so keenly. Well,there's one good thing, it will show her that we think she favours."

  "Much she'll care!"

  "Oh, I don't know! No teacher likes to be accused of unfairness."

  "I know one thing--I should have got into an uncommonly big scrape ifyou hadn't put in a word."

  "Well, it was much easier for me than for you, as you'd got the'Excellent'."

  "But I haven't got it now, worse luck! And probably I shan't haveanother all this term," groaned Dorothy.