A Pair of Schoolgirls: A Story of School Days

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER XIII

  A School Anniversary

  Dorothy returned to Hurford with a whole world of new experiences torelate to Aunt Barbara. The visit to Ringborough had indeed been animmense enjoyment, and after so much excitement it was difficult tosettle down to the round of school and lessons. With some natures changeis a tonic that sets them once more in tune with their everydaysurroundings; but with others it only rouses desires for what theycannot get. Unfortunately it had this effect in Dorothy's case. Herpleasant time at the Hydropathic, the amusements there, and hercompanionship with other young people, which she had so muchappreciated, all combined to bring out into sharp contrast the quietnessand uneventfulness of her ordinary existence, and to make her life atHolly Cottage seem dull and monotonous. The old cloud settled down uponher, and the old discontented look crept back into her eyes.

  Aunt Barbara, who had hoped the holiday would cheer her up, was franklydisappointed. She was uneasy and anxious about Dorothy; she felt thatsome undesirable element was working in the girl's mind, yet she couldnot define exactly of what it consisted. It was a negative rather than apositive quality, and manifested itself more in acts of omission thanthose of commission. Dorothy was rarely disagreeable at home, but shehad lately slidden out of many of the little pettings and fond, lovingways that had meant so much to Aunt Barbara, and her manner had grownsomewhat hard and uncompromising. Small things count for so much indaily life, and Dorothy, absorbed in her own troubles, never thoughtwhat value might be set on a kiss, or what the lack of it might seem tothat tender heart which had made her happiness its own.

  At present she was engrossed in Avondale concerns, for the coming termwas the fullest and busiest in the school year. Not only was there thework of her own form to be considered, but the many side interests inconnection with the College also--the Ambulance Guild, the BotanicalSociety (a special feature of the summer months), and last, but notleast, the Dramatic Union, to be a member of which she was justly proud.Her inclusion in this, though a supreme satisfaction, brought thepenalty of added work. She was expected to learn parts and submit tosevere drilling at rehearsals, the standard required being greatly abovewhat had contented the Upper Fourth.

  The Union was looking forward to shortly displaying its talent on theoccasion of the school festival. This was to be held on the twelfth ofMay, partly because it was the anniversary of the laying of thefoundation stone of the present building, and partly because, being oldMay Day, it gave an opportunity for many quaint and charming methods ofcelebration.

  Miss Tempest, who loved to revive bygone customs, had introduced maypoleplaiting, morris dances, and other ancient "joyous devices" at theschool, and the girls had taken them up with enthusiasm. At thisfestival, instead of giving dances and May Day carols, such as had beenpopular for the last year or two, the Dramatic Union was to act a floralpageant called "The Masque of the Blossoms", a pretty performance inwhich interesting old catches and madrigals were included, and manyhistorical and emblematical characters represented. Miss Hicks, thesinging mistress, undertook the direction of the musical part of thepiece, and coached the girls at private practices in the songs.

  Dorothy, after the allotment of the parts, came home brimming over withexcitement.

  "It's the most delightful, quaint thing, Auntie! 'Queen Elizabeth' is init, and 'Raleigh' and 'Spenser', as well as 'Venus' and two nymphs, andthe spirit of the woodlands. The songs are charming. I know you'll like'Now is the month of maying' and 'The trees all budding'. Nora Burgessis to be 'Leader of the Masque', and Ottilia Partington is 'Spring'. Andoh, Auntie! what do you guess is my part? I'm to be 'Queen of theDaffodils'! It lay between me and Vera Norland; we both knew the wordsequally well, so we drew lots, and I won. I've brought a book to showyou what the costume must be. Look! it gives a picture."

  "It's extremely pretty, but it seems rather elaborate," said MissSherbourne, scanning the dainty creation figured in the illustrationwith an eye to its home-dressmaking possibilities.

  "Do you think so? The green part's to be made of satin, and the skirtunderneath is all folds of soft yellow silk, to represent petals. Thenthere are wreaths of artificial daffodils, and a veil of gauze coveredwith gold sequins."

  "Perhaps we can copy it in sateen and art muslin," said Aunt Barbara.

  "Auntie! It ought to be real silk and satin! It won't look anything ifit's only made of cheap materials."

  "But I can't afford to buy dearer ones for a costume that will only beused once."

  "Muriel, and Fanny, and Olga, who are taking the other flowers, arehaving beautiful things made at a dressmaker's," returned Dorothy rathersulkily.

  "I dare say; but that doesn't make it any easier for us."

  "I can't be the only one in a cheap dress!" burst out Dorothy. "Oh,Auntie, you might let me have something nice, just for once! It's toobad that I never get anything like other girls."

  "You don't know what you ask, Dorothy," said Miss Sherbourne, with apained tone in her voice. "I do all for you that's in my power. It hurtsme to deny you even more than it hurts you to go without what you want.No, I can't promise anything; you must learn to realize what a smallmargin we have for luxuries."

  Dorothy flung down the book and rushed upstairs to her bedroom. She wasthoroughly out of temper, and hot tears started to her eyes. She had sether heart on making a good effect as "Queen of the Daffodils". It was animportant part in the Masque, and she was extremely triumphant that thelot had fallen to her. To act at the College Anniversary was a greathonour, and Dorothy knew that Hope Lawson and Valentine Barnett, neitherof whom was included this time, would have been only too delighted tohave her chance.

  "They envy me ever so much, and it will make them extra-censorious," shethought. "They'll turn up their noses dreadfully if I only wear acostume of sateen and art muslin."

  To Dorothy, who had not yet forgotten her disappointment at losing theelection for the Wardenship, and who was always on the defensive againstreal or imaginary slights, this occasion of the festival seemed a uniqueopportunity of asserting her position in the school. She knew, fromformer experience, how the girls discussed and criticized the dressesworn by the players, and what elaborate and expensive costumes wereoften provided: many beautiful accessories in the way of scenery weregenerally lent by parents of the pupils, and the whole performance wason a very handsome scale. To be one of the masquers in this year'spageant would increase her social standing, and magnify her importancein her Form as nothing else could possibly do. She pictured the triumphof the scene, the select company of picked actors on the platform, themusic, the flowers, and the lovely effects of colour grouping. The largelecture hall would be filled to overflowing with pupils and guests.Alison's uncle would no doubt be there, and Percy and Eric Helm. Shewould like them to see her as "Queen of the Daffodils". She might givethree "performer's invitations", so she could ask Dr. and Mrs. Longtonas well as Aunt Barbara. Oh, it would be the event of her life! But howwas all this to happen if she could not be provided with a suitablecostume?

  "What it comes to is this," she said to herself. "The thing, to be doneat all, ought to be done well; the girls will laugh at me if I turn upin sateen, with sixpence-halfpenny bunches of daffodils. I'd rather notact if I can't have a nice dress. Aunt Barbara might manage it somehow."

  Dorothy did her lessons in her den that evening, although there was nofire and the weather was still cold. She came down to supper so moodyand unresponsive that Miss Sherbourne, after a vain attempt atconversation, gave up the effort, and the meal passed almost in silence.The subject of the Masque was not mentioned by either.

  Dorothy cried bitterly in bed that night, hot scalding tears ofdisappointment--tears that did not soften and relieve her grief, butonly made it harder to bear; and she woke next morning with a splittingheadache.

  "Have you finished with this book, Auntie?" she said after breakfast,taking up the ill-fated catalogue of costumes, which had been left thenight before on the sideboard.

  "You might le
ave it for a day or two, if Miss Hicks can spare it,"replied Miss Sherbourne. "There is still plenty of time before May thetwelfth."

  "What's the matter with Dorothy?" said Mavie Morris that morning atschool. "She's so glum and cross, one can't get a civil word from her.When I mentioned the pageant, she nearly snapped my head off."

  "Tantrums again, I suppose," said Ruth Harmon, shrugging her shoulders."The best plan is to leave her alone till she comes out of them. Youought to know Dorothy Greenfield by this time."

  "You shouldn't tease her," said Grace Russell.

  "I didn't. I only asked her what her dress was to be like, and she toldme to mind my own business. All those who are acting are just full oftheir costumes. They talk of nothing else."

  "Is Dorothy's going to be a nice one?" asked Ruth.

  "I don't know; she wouldn't tell me anything. Dorothy doesn't generallyhave handsome things, does she?"

  "No; she's one of the plainest-dressed girls in the Form."

  "But she'll surely come out in something decent for the Masque! Shemust, you know."

  "Perhaps that's the rub--poor Dorothy!" murmured Grace Russell.

  When Dorothy returned home that afternoon she found Miss Sherbourne busyat her writing table. Generally all papers were cleared away beforetea-time, and Aunt Barbara was ready to help with lessons, or play gamesand chat afterwards; to-day, however, she instituted a new regime.

  "I am going to write in the evenings now," she said, "so you must bequiet, dear, and not disturb me. I have a piece of work that Iparticularly want to finish."

  Dorothy prepared her German translation and learned her Latinvocabularies, then, taking up a volume of Scott, began to read. It wasrather dull with only the scratching of Aunt Barbara's pen to break thesilence. She missed their usual game of chess and their pleasant talk.It seemed so extraordinary not to be allowed to say a single word. Thenext evening and the next the programme was the same. Except at mealtimes, Dorothy hardly had the opportunity of exchanging ideas with AuntBarbara. She did not like the innovation.

  "Auntie does nothing but write--write--write the whole time," shecomplained to Martha.

  "Yes; she's overdoing it entirely, and I've told her so!" returnedMartha indignantly. "She's at it from morning till night, and then she'snot finished, for she's sitting up to the small hours. There's no sensein fagging like that. You can't burn a candle at both ends."

  "Then why does she?" questioned Dorothy.

  "That's what I asked her. She's not strong enough to stand it. She'sbeen ill again lately, and if she doesn't mind she'll have a breakdown."

  "Auntie, won't you go to bed early too?" suggested Dorothy, as she saidgood night, looking rather anxiously at the pale face bent over thepapers. Miss Sherbourne put her hand to her head wearily.

  "I can't. I must make a push and put in a certain number of hours' work,or these articles will never be finished in time. If I can send them inby the second, and they are accepted, I may possibly get a cheque forthem at once. That would just give us time before the twelfth. We can'tbuy silks and satins without the wherewithal, can we?"

  "Oh, Auntie! are you slaving like this for me?" exclaimed Dorothy."Can't we get the dress any other way?"

  "No, dear; I can't afford it out of the house-keeping money, and it isone of my rules never to run into debt for anything. Don't worry;another day will see me through, and I think the editor of the_Coleminster Gazette_ will like the articles--they're better than theones he accepted last year."

  Dorothy went upstairs uneasy and dissatisfied with herself. AuntBarbara's good-night kiss had roused something that had been slumberingfor a long time. Thoughts that the girl had suppressed lately began tomake themselves heard, and to clamour loudly and reproachfully. Shetried to put them away, but they refused to be dismissed. With her eyesshut tight in bed, she seemed to see a vision of Aunt Barbara's tiredface as she sat working, working so painfully hard in the sitting-roombelow.

  "And for me--always for me--never for herself," reflected Dorothy. "Shehasn't bought a new dress of her own this spring, though she needs onebadly."

  She looked with compunction next morning at Miss Sherbourne's palecheeks.

  "Does your head ache, Auntie?"

  "Yes. I haven't been quite well lately, but I expect it will pass. Youshall buy me some phenacetin powders in town; they always do my headgood. Dr. Longton recommended them."

  "She looks more fit to be in bed than at her writing table," thoughtDorothy, as she left the room, armed with the necessary prescription.She hurried away from school at four o'clock in order to give herselftime to call at the chemist's, and ran anxiously into the house on herreturn, bearing the packet of powders in triumph.

  "Sh! Sh! Don't make a noise," said Martha, coming from the kitchen."Your aunt's lying down. I told her it would come to this, and I'veproved my words. It's an attack of her old complaint. It always comesback with overwork."

  "Is she really very ill?" faltered Dorothy.

  "I don't know. I've just sent Jones's boy with a message for Dr.Longton. No, you mustn't go disturbing her till he's been. Take yourthings off, and I'll bring you your tea."

  Dorothy ate her solitary meal in sad distress. She could remember twoformer illnesses of Aunt Barbara's, and she was old enough now torealize how much cause there was for alarm. She waylaid the doctor onhis arrival, and begged him to allow her to be of help.

  "If Auntie is really going to be ill like she was before, let me be hernurse," she implored. "I learnt a great deal at the ambulance classes,and I'd carry out every single thing you told me."

  "We'll see. I must examine my patient first," replied her old friend.

  Dorothy sat on the stairs waiting with a beating heart while Dr. Longtonwas in Miss Sherbourne's room. She sprang up eagerly as he came out, andaccompanied him to the porch. She hardly dared to ask for his verdict.

  "Yes, it's a nasty return of the old trouble," said the doctor. "I'mafraid she's in for a sharp attack, but luckily I was sent for in goodtime, and may be able to stave things off a little. So you're anxious totry your hand at nursing, young woman? Well, I don't see why youshouldn't. You and Martha can manage quite well between you, if you'llonly carry out my directions absolutely to the letter. When I suggestedsending for a trained nurse, your aunt was very much against theidea--begged me not to, in fact. Martha has a head on her shoulders, andyou're not a child now."

  "I shall soon be fifteen," said Dorothy, drawing herself to her fullheight.

  "Well, here's your chance to show what you're worth. If you can managein this emergency, I shall have some opinion of you. I can telephone tothe Nursing Institution if I find it's too much for you."

  "I hope that won't be necessary," replied Dorothy.

  In that one hour she seemed to have suddenly grown years older, and tohave taken up a new burden of responsibility. Martha hardly knew herwhen she entered the sick room, she seemed so unwontedly calm andresourceful, yet withal so gentle, so tactful, and so deft and clever indoing all that was required for the invalid.

  "I'd no idea the bairn could be so helpful," murmured Martha to herself."If she goes on as well as she shapes, we'll do without a nurse, andthat'll ease Miss Sherbourne's mind. She can't afford two guineas aweek, let alone the woman's keep, and it would worry her to think of theexpense. As far as I'm concerned I don't want a nurse in the house,making extra trouble and what waste goodness knows!"

  The first thing Dorothy did when she could be spared from AuntBarbara's room was to find her blotter and write a letter to VeraNorland. It ran thus:

  "DEAR VERA,--Can you take the part of 'Queen of the Daffodils' instead of me? My aunt is very ill, and I am afraid I shall not be able to come to school for a while, so I shall miss the rehearsals. I thought I had better let you know at once, so that you will have time to get your dress. "Sincerely yours, "DOROTHY GREENFIELD."

  She ran out herself and posted the letter, then came back and quietlysat down again by Aunt Barbara
's bedside. It cost her a great pang thusto give up her part in the festival, but once the irrevocable step wastaken, and the letter in the pillar box, she felt much better.

  "You've just got to forget about that pageant, Dorothy Greenfield," shesaid to herself. "You've been behaving abominably lately, and I'mthoroughly ashamed of you. Now's your chance indeed, as the doctor says.I only hope it hasn't come too late. Oh, you nasty, ungrateful, selfish,thoughtless thing, how I despise you!"

  As Dr. Longton had anticipated, Miss Sherbourne had a sharp attack ofher former complaint. For a week she lay very ill, and her two devotednurses hardly left her day or night. It was a new experience to Dorothyto have Aunt Barbara, who had been accustomed to do everything for her,lying helpless and dependent upon her care. It brought out the grit inthe girl's character, and made her see many things to which she hadbefore been blind. Hitherto Dorothy had not been at all zealous athelping in the house, but now she cheerfully washed plates and dishes,and did many other tasks that were distasteful to her.

  "'As one that serveth'" she often said to herself as she went about thedaily duties, trying to take her fair share of the trouble and helppoor, faithful Martha, whose devotion never slackened. She wore thelittle badge of the Guild constantly, that its remembrance might bealways with her. "'As one that serveth'; Miss Tempest said that themotto ought to mean so much in one's life," she thought. "I didn'tunderstand before, but I do now. When Auntie gets better, I'm going tobe very different."

  It was a joyful day for Martha and Dorothy when the doctor pronouncedMiss Sherbourne out of danger.

  "She has made a wonderful recovery," he said, "and if she only takesproper care of herself she ought to get on nicely now. She has had asplendid pair of nurses. Honestly, Dorothy, I never thought you would beable to manage without professional help. You've done very well, child,very well indeed."

  This was high praise from bluff old Dr. Longton, and Dorothy flushedwith pleasure. She was glad if she had been able, in the least degree,to return to Aunt Barbara any of the love and tenderness that the latterhad lavished upon her for more than fourteen years. The debt was stillso great, it seemed impossible ever to pay it back.

  Once the fever had left her, Miss Sherbourne made rapid progress, and bythe twelfth of May she was able to come downstairs for the first time.Dorothy made the little dining-room so gay with flowers for herreception that it looked like a May Day festival.

  "Why, sweetheart, this is the day of your school anniversary," said AuntBarbara, as she and Dorothy sat at tea. "You ought to have been acting'Queen of the Daffodils'."

  "Don't talk of that, Auntie! I got Vera to take it instead."

  Dorothy's eyes were full of tears.

  "I'm sorry you were disappointed, darling."

  "Auntie, it's not that; please don't misunderstand me. Ever since youwere ill I've wanted to tell you that I know now what a nasty,ungrateful wretch I've been. You've been working and toiling for me allthese years, and I took it just as a matter of course, and neverthought how much you were giving up for me. I'm going to work for younow. I'm afraid I can't do much at first--with money, I mean--but I'lltry my hardest at the Coll., and perhaps in a year or two I may be ahelp instead of a burden."

  "A burden you have never been, child," said Miss Sherbourne. "If I hadonly got well a little sooner, we would have made you the costume. Isent the articles off the afternoon I was taken ill, and a cheque forthem came a week ago."

  "Then you must spend it on yourself, please. No, I'm glad the daffodildress wasn't made. I should always have hated myself for having it."

  "But you've missed the whole festival," regretted Aunt Barbara.

  "Never mind, it's May Day here as well as at Avondale. Look at the lilacand the columbines, and this bowl of wallflowers! The air is so sweetand soft now, and there's a thrush's nest in the garden. All the harshwinds and the cold seem to be gone, and summer has come."

  "Yes, summer has indeed come," said Aunt Barbara, gazing, not at theflowers, but at Dorothy's face, where a new, softened look had replacedthe old frown of discontent.