The Head Girl at the Gables

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER III

  New Brooms

  A week later, Rosemary, trailing clouds of glory in the familyestimation, departed for the classic precincts of the College ofMusic, and Lorraine, left behind, shook off the atmosphere ofdetachment which always pervades an exodus, and focused her fullmind and energies upon The Gables. It was no light thing to bechosen as head girl. Miss Kingsley, in that private talk in thestudy, had urged the responsibility as well as the honour of theoffice. Lorraine did not mean to disappoint her if she could helpit. She set to work at once to wrestle with the problem of an autumnprogramme for the school. In virtue of her office she was presidentof all the various existing guilds and societies, and had the powerto enlarge, curtail, or reorganize at her discretion. Although in asense she was supreme referee, she had no desire to ride rough-shodover the general wishes, so, as a preliminary to any proposedchanges, she called a monitresses' meeting.

  The seven girls who, with herself, made up the Sixth Form, assembled inthe class-room after school, interested and, on the whole, ready forbusiness. Audrey, to be sure, was giggling as usual. Patsie was pullingan absurd face of mock dignity, but Nellie and Claire were pleased withtheir new importance. Vivien, rather sulky, though submitting perforceto play second fiddle, had patched up a temporary truce with Dorothy,and the pair settled side by side. Claudia, the fresh addition to theform, strolled in late and sat crocheting while the others talked.Lorraine, her lap full of minutes books, bristled with ideas.

  Lily Anderson, the former head girl, had been energetic and enterprisingto an extent that was really worthy of a wider sphere. Her standard hadsoared so high that the school had been quite unable to live up to it.In her excess of zeal she had founded too many societies, and with suchstrict and arduous rules that they would have tried the spirit of acandidate for initiation into some mystic Brotherhood. Urged on by herenthusiasm, the members had made a desperate first spurt, and then hadslacked lamentably. The records of their brief successes and subsequentfallings-off were chronicled in certain marbled-cover exercise-books.Lorraine, fresh from a perusal of these annals, began the meeting with adrastic suggestion.

  "As things stand at present," she said, "the school seems over-weightedwith societies. This is an exact list of them: 'The Research Society','The Poker-work Guild', 'The Debating Society', 'The Sketching Club','The Stamp Collectors' Union', 'The Post Card Guild', 'The Home ReadingCircle', 'The Jack Tar Club', 'The Entertainments Guild', 'The MusicalUnion', 'The Hockey Club', 'The Cricket Club', 'The Tennis Club', 'TheBadminton Club', 'The Basket-ball Club', 'The Natural History League','The Elocution Guild', 'The Needlecraft Society', and 'The Home ArtsGuild'."

  "Nineteen in all!" commented Patsie, who had been checking off the itemson her fingers.

  "Rather stiff for a school of forty girls!" nodded Dorothy sagely.

  "There are far too many to keep up properly," urged Lorraine. "Everyhobby we've ever had has been turned into a society. If we'd had nolessons to do, we could scarcely have managed them all, but when theymust come out of our spare time it gets quite a tax. I think we mustn'tbe quite so ambitious this year. Suppose we let some of them drop, andconcentrate on just a few."

  "I'm your man!" agreed Patsie. "I always thought such heaps of societieswere a grizzly nuisance. It got the limit when two or three girlscouldn't even compare post cards without being turned into a guild.Those kids in the Second Form actually had a society for collectingstumps of lead pencil, and used to steal them shamelessly from any boxesthat were left about in the gym. The 'guild habit' has grown into aperfect mania with the school."

  "Best whittle them down," said Vivien, who had herself suffered at thehands of the too enthusiastic Lily Anderson.

  "Which do you propose to shelve and which to keep?" asked Dorothy.

  Lorraine opened the biggest and fattest exercise book.

  "This is 'The Gables Guild'," she explained, "a sort of foundationsociety that includes all the others as branches. Miss Kingsley is thepatron, and she has written on the first page:

  'A UNION FOR SELF-CULTURE AND PHILANTHROPY _Motto_:--BEING AND DOING'."

  "Oh, goodness! What does that mean? I'm a duffer at long words,"protested Audrey. "Can't you put it into English?"

  "Well, it means we've got to do something for ourselves and somethingfor other people too."

  "That's simpler."

  "We've plenty to choose from out of nineteen branches," said Nellie.

  "Don't you think it would hit the mark if we had a Games Club to includehockey, cricket, and tennis, an Entertainments Club to get up plays andconcerts, and a Nature Study Union that could absorb the ResearchSociety and the Natural History League both together. These would be forourselves. Then for the 'Philanthropy' side, we could keep on the JackTar Club, and let the Needlework Society and the Home Arts Guild sendanything they make to that."

  "What's the 'Jack Tar Club', please?" asked Claudia, looking up fromher crochet.

  "It's to give Christmas presents to the sailors and their wives andchildren. We packed off a huge big box to Portsmouth last year. LilyAnderson and Lottie Watson and Helen Stanley made some gorgeous things,and revelled in doing them."

  "And the rest of us toiled and groaned and grumbled, and ended byborrowing and begging from our long-suffering relations," twinkledPatsie. "Don't think you'll keep that crochet edging for yourself, DameClaudia! It'll be commandeered to go round a tray-cloth for a Mrs. JackTar!"

  "I shall probably never finish enough of it even to edge a d'oyley,"admitted Claudia calmly.

  "Look here, this is side-tracking!" said Lorraine, rapping her pencil onthe desk. "Please to remember that this is a Committee Meeting, and youmust speak to the Chair. Won't anybody make a proposition?"

  "I propose that we have what you've just suggested, then: a 'GamesClub', an 'Entertainments Club', a 'Nature Study Union' and the 'JackTar Club'," said Dorothy.

  "And quite enough, too," murmured Patsie.

  "I'll second it!" declared Nellie.

  "I'd like to add an amendment," said Lorraine. "I want to suggest thatwe have a School Social every month, where we can show specimens anddrawings and photos."

  Vivien pulled a face of discouragement.

  "We've got enough on," she urged. "Leave us our Saturdays."

  "We needn't have them on Saturdays. They could be from four to five onWednesdays. I think it's just what is wanted at The Gables. Day girlsnever get an opportunity of meeting and comparing notes, and having funtogether like girls do at boarding schools. It would be a sort of partyevery time."

  "I think it sounds ripping!" said Claire. "Stick it in with theproposition, as far as I'm concerned."

  "Hands up for the amendment, then!"

  Five hands went up promptly, two doubtfully, and Vivien's hands remainedon her lap--not that she really objected very much to the idea of"Socials", but she was not disposed to give in too readily to all hercousin's suggestions. The feeling that she herself ought to haveoccupied the presidential chair still rankled.

  Carried by a majority, however, the new scheme became law, and thecommittee, with an eye on the clock, and tea-time looming near,hurriedly settled minor details, appointed Wednesday fortnight for thefirst "Social", subject to the approval of "the powers that be"; and,having triumphantly concluded their business, stamped downstairs withmore noise than was absolutely consistent with the dignity ofmonitresses--but then, the juniors had gone home, and were not there tohear.

  Lorraine, highly satisfied with the results of the meeting, wasdetermined to make the first "Social" a success. She had always feltstrongly that there was not a sufficient bond of union among the girlsat The Gables. She remembered her own days as a junior, when the seniorshad seemed distant and unapproachable beings, whose doings were amystery.

  "I used to long to see their collections and drawings and things," sheruminated, "but, if I ever tried to butt in, I got a jolly good snub formy pains. It's going to be different now. Those youngsters shall have acha
nce. They can't learn unless we show them how. I don't call itsporting for the Sixth to do good work and hide it under a bushel. We'llhave a nice jinky little exhibition, and encourage everybody to try andmake it a bigger one next time. It'll spur the juniors on to see some ofour attempts. I'll put the screw on Vivien to bring her butterflies,though I know she hates moving the cases."

  Miss Kingsley heartily approved of the idea of the social gathering, andsmoothed the way for its adoption by allowing school to be suspended athalf-past three instead of four o'clock on those special Wednesdayafternoons. She promised to provide tables in the gymnasium for thedisplay of specimens, and to do anything else in her power to helpmatters forward.

  "It will give you a splendid opportunity for getting to know the youngergirls," she assured Lorraine. "I'm very glad you thought of it."

  Determined to make the first exhibition as representative as possible,its enthusiastic originator divided it into sections, and put up noticesinviting contributions of all sorts from all quarters. At home she helda review of her own possible exhibits and Monica's, and shook her headover them.

  "I don't call ourselves a really clever family!" she acknowledged. "Weplod along in our own way, but we don't blaze out into leather work orribbon embroidery or hand-made lace."

  "What about my fretwork basket for Rosemary?" demanded Monica, rathernettled.

  "Mervyn made the best half of it, and it was crooked at that," returnedLorraine frankly. "I shouldn't have cared to show it as a specimen ofForrester handicraft. I don't think any of our efforts are much of acredit to us. I vote you and I go in for Natural History instead. Let'smake a collection of all the ferns in the neighbourhood. Dorothy'sbringing pressed flowers, and Vivien her butterflies, but I haven'theard of anybody taking up the ferns. We'll rummage round on Saturdayafternoon, and get all the kinds we can, and plant them in that tin dishthat's under the greenhouse shelf."

  "Is it to be your collection or mine?" asked Monica doubtfully.

  "Don't be nasty! We'll each have one if you like. You may have the tinfor yours, and I'll use that big photographic developing dish for mine.Will that content you, you spoilt baby?"

  "Right oh!" conceded Monica magnanimously. "But if I do any morefretwork before the exhibition, I'm going to show it. It'll be as niceas Jill's or Greta's, you bet!"

  Having decided upon a representative collection of ferns as their_piece de resistance_ for the social gathering, the next and mostimportant step was to get the specimens. Armed with baskets and trowels,Lorraine and Monica made several expeditions into the country lanes, andcame home burdened with spoils. To identify their treasures was a hardertask. Lorraine pored over the illustrations in Sowerby's _BritishFerns_, and got horribly mixed between Lastrea dilatata and AthyriumFelix-foemina.

  "I know I shall put all the names wrong," she declared, "but I'll make ashot at them, anyway."

  "If you want ferns," said Mervyn, who came whistling into thebreakfast-room where the girls were sitting, "I know a place where thereare just heaps and heaps of them--all sorts and kinds. They'retop-hole!"

  "Oh! Where?" exclaimed Lorraine and Monica in an excited duet.

  "Down the railway cutting. They're all growing round the mouth of thetunnel. I've seen them lots of times, but I never took any notice ofthem before. If you like, I'll show you. There'll be just time before itgets dark."

  "We'll come now," said Lorraine, running to fetch hat and coat. "You'rea mascot, Mervyn!"

  She had never thought of the railway cutting, for it was quite in thetown, and seemed a most unlikely place in which to go botanizing. Theywalked down through the narrow streets by the harbour, then up the steeproad past the chapel and above the station, till they came to the highpalings that overlooked the line. Below them lay the entrance to thetunnel, and growing in the crevices of the stone wall on either side ofthe archway was a crop of ferns luxuriant enough amply to justifyMervyn's enthusiastic description.

  "How absolutely topping!" exclaimed Lorraine, scaling the palings withscant consideration for her skirt and less for her fingers. "Shall Ihelp you, Cuckoo? Look out for splinters!"

  But Monica's long legs already dangled on the far side, and she droppedsuccessfully if painfully into a clump of thistles, and followed herbrother down the bank.

  There was no doubt about the excellence of the ferns, but they had onedisadvantage; like most botanical specimens of any value, the best andfinest grew out of reach. There was nothing for it but to climb thewall. They had all three mounted up some distance, and were busilypulling at roots, when a stern voice suddenly sounded in their ears.

  "What are you doing up there? Get down at once!"

  Lorraine was so startled that she lost her footing, and descended withmore speed than elegance, tumbling indeed almost into the arms of theirindignant questioner. He eyed her suspiciously, and turned to Mervyn andMonica, who had come down with greater caution.

  "Now you three've got to give an account of yourselves," he proclaimed."I'm a special constable, and I want to know what you're doing on therailway line at the mouth of a tunnel."

  "We were doing no harm," answered Mervyn, "only getting a few ferns."

  "Oh, I dare say! And what else? This is a military area, and trespassingon the railway line, and especially loitering in the vicinity of atunnel, comes under the heading of an offence against the realm. I shallhave to report it. Give me your names and addresses."

  The three young Forresters looked at one another in dismay.

  "This is absurd!" burst out Lorraine. "We came to get a few ferns,that's all. They're wild, and surely taking a root or two isn't anoffence against the realm?"

  "You've been found in a forbidden area in a military zone," returned thespecial constable pompously. "I'm stationed here to guard the tunnel,and I shall report you. If you don't give me your names and addresses, Ishall have to arrest you."

  Very unwillingly the Forresters complied, and watched the incriminatingdetails being jotted down in an official notebook.

  "Our father is a town councillor," ventured Lorraine, hoping forvicarious favour.

  "That makes it so much the worse, for you ought to know better," was theuncompromising reply. "Take yourselves off at once, and mind you nevercome trespassing here again!"

  Crestfallen, but trying to preserve the family dignity, the Forrestersbeat a retreat. They scorned to run, and walked leisurely up the bank,while the special constable covered them with his eye. Monica had anuneasy suspicion that they might also be covered with a revolver, and,though she would not for worlds have shown a qualm of fear beforeMervyn, she was nevertheless considerably relieved when she foundherself upon the safe side of the fence.

  "Strafe the old chap and his jaw-wag!" exploded Mervyn. "A nice messhe's got us into with his fussy interference!"

  "Do you think he'll really report us?" asked Lorraine anxiously.

  Her spirits were down at zero. Her father was strict, and would be veryangry with them for getting into trouble. A scene at home loomed largeon the horizon. In imagination she saw the affair reported in the localnewspaper. A nice position truly for the head girl at The Gables tobegin the new term by covering herself with disgrace.

  Mervyn strode along whistling with amused sang-froid, but inwardlyabsorbed in unpleasant contemplation. Monica clutched the fern baskethalf-defiantly.

  Rounding a corner suddenly, they nearly collided with a thin littlegentleman who was coming uphill at top speed.

  "So sorry!" apologized Lorraine. "Why, it's Uncle Barton! Where are yougoing, Uncle?"

  "On special constable duty, worse luck, for it's a damp evening, andI've a bad cold in the head," he replied. "But I've got to relievesomebody else."

  An inspiration struck Lorraine.

  "Are you going to the railway cutting? Oh, Uncle! We've just had such ahullabaloo down there. Could you possibly help us out of it?"

  Mr. Barton Forrester listened with a twinkle in his eye to his niece'sgraphic account of their adventure, and promised his mo
ral support.

  "It's Winston-Jones on duty there," he commented. "I know him, so I'lldo my best to convince him that none of you are German spies ordangerous incendiaries. Cheer up! They won't hale you off to prison thistime. I expect I can put matters straight, and you'll hear no more aboutit. But remember the railway is taboo for the future. We can't alloweven botanists to be straying about near tunnels in a military zone."

  "We won't so much as lean over the palings. Thanks most immensely,Uncle! You're an absolute angel!"

  "I wish I had wings to waft me up the hill. I'm deficient in leg powerto-night," coughed Mr. Barton Forrester. "No, I won't kiss you,Monica--you'd catch my cold. Good-bye, all three of you! I'll have atalk with Winston-Jones, and persuade him to wipe off that black scoreagainst your names."

  "I always said Uncle Barton was a trump," murmured Monica, as the threesinners, vastly relieved, went on their way.

  "He's an absolute sport," agreed Mervyn with enthusiasm.