For the Sake of the School

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER IX

  A January Picnic

  Winter in the Craigwen Valley, instead of proving a dreary season offrost or fog, was apt to be as variable as April. Sheltered by the tallmountains, the climate was mild, and though snow would lie on the peaksof Penllwyd and Cwm Dinas it rarely rested on the lower levels. Veryearly in January the garden at The Woodlands could boast brave clumps ofsnowdrops and polyanthus, a venturous wallflower or two, and quite ashow of yellow jessamine over the south porch. The glade by the streamnever seemed to feel the touch of winter. Many of the oak-trees kepttheir brown leaves till the new ones came to replace them, honeysuckletrails and brambles continually put out verdant shoots, the lastreaferns that grew near the brink of the water showed tall green frondsuntouched by frost, and the moss was never more vivid. The glen, indeed,had a special beauty in winter-time, for the bare boughs of the alderstook exquisite tender shades of purples and greys, warming into amber inthe sunshine, and defying the cunningest brush which artist could wieldto do them justice. By the middle of January the tightly rolled lambs'tails on the hazels were unfolding themselves and beginning to scatterpollen, and a few stray specimens of last summer's flowers, a belatedcampion or hawkweed, would struggle out from the rough grass under aprotecting gorse-bush. The days varied: rain, the penalty for livingnear mountains, often swept down the valley, bringing gloriouscloud-effects, and sending the stream swirling over its boulders with aboom of myriad voices. Sometimes the sudden swelling of its tributariesmade the Craigwen River overtop its banks, flooding the low-lyingmeadows till, augmented by the high tide, its waters filled the valleyfrom end to end like a lake. This occasional flooding of the marsh wasgood for the fields, and ensured a rich hay-crop next summer, so theschool felt it could enjoy the picturesque aspect without needing todeplore loss to the farmers.

  On the 21st of January Miss Teddington had a birthday. She would havesuppressed the fact altogether if possible, or treated it in quite asurreptitious and off-hand fashion, but with her autograph plainlywritten in forty-nine separate birthday-books the Fates were againsther. She was obliged to receive the united congratulations of theschool, to accept, with feigned surprise, the present which was offeredher, and to say a few appropriate words of appreciation and thanks. Shedid not do it well, for her manner was always abrupt, and even verged onthe ungracious, the greatest contrast to the bland and tactfulutterances of Miss Bowes.

  This year the annual ceremony was gone through as usual: Catherine, ashead girl, proffered the good wishes and the volume of Carlyle; LucyMorris, on behalf of the Nature Study Union, handed a bouquet ofpolyanthus, rosemary, periwinkle, pansies, and pink daisies culled fromthe garden, the earliness of which Miss Teddington remarked upon, asthough she had not watched their progress for the last week.

  "I'm very much obliged to you all," she said jerkily, lookingnevertheless as if she were longing to bolt for the door.

  But she was not yet to make her escape. There was another time-honouredceremony to be observed. All eyes were turned to Miss Bowes, who rose asusual to the occasion.

  "I think, girls," she said pleasantly, "that, considering it is MissTeddington's birthday, we ought to take some special notice of theoccasion. Suppose we ask her to grant a holiday, so that we may make anexpedition in her honour. Who votes for this?"

  Forty-nine hands were instantly raised, and forty-nine voices cried "Ido!" Miss Teddington, who utterly disapproved of odd holidays duringterm-time, submitted with what grace she could muster, and gave a ratherchilly assent, which was immediately drowned in a storm of clapping. Thegirls, who always suspected the Principals of an annual argument on thesubject, felt they had scored for this year at any rate, and werecertainly one holiday to the good.

  There was no question at all as to where they should walk. Every 21stJanuary, weather permitting, they turned their steps in the samedirection. On certain portions of the marsh, near the river, grew fieldsof wild snowdrops, and to go snowdropping before February set in was asmuch an institution as turning their money when they first heard thecuckoo, or wishing at the sight of the earliest white butterfly. As amatter of fact, though the delicate fiction of asking for the holidaywas preserved, it was such a _sine qua non_ that the cook was preparedfor it. She had baked jam tartlets and made potted meat the day before,and was already cutting sandwiches and packing them in greaseproofpaper. Every girl at The Woodlands possessed a basket, just as she owneda penknife or a French dictionary. It was equally indispensable. Shewould carry out her lunch in it, and bring it back filled with flowers,berries, or nature specimens, as the case might be. Each was labelledwith the owner's name, and hung in a big cupboard under the stairs. Someof the girls also used walking-sticks with crooked handles, which werefound convenient weapons for hooking down brambles or branches ofcatkins.

  Shortly after ten o'clock the school started, every Woodlander bearingher basket, containing sandwiches, two tartlets, an orange, and a smallenamelled drinking-mug. There were to be no camp-fires to-day, so coldwater from the stream would have to suffice, and would make tea all themore welcome when they returned home. It was quite a fine morning, withsudden gleams of sunshine that burst from the clouds and spread inlong, slanting, golden rays over the valley; just the kind of sky theearly masters of landscape painting loved to put in their pictures, witha background of neutral tint and a bright, scraped-out light in theforeground. The little solitary farms stood out white here and thereagainst the green of the fields, the pine-trees on the hill-sides showeddarkly in contrast to the bare larches. Cwm Dinas was inky purpleto-day, but Penllwyd was capped with snow. Miss Bowes, who was not agood walker, had not ventured to join the expedition, but MissTeddington strode along at the head of the party, chatting to some ofthe Sixth Form.

  "I'm sure she's wishing she were giving a Latin lesson instead," saidLizzie Lonsdale. "She looks rather grim."

  "Perhaps she's remembering she's a year older to-day," returned BethBroadway.

  "How old is she, do you think?" giggled Addie Knighton.

  "That, my child, is a secret that will never be divulged. I dare sayyou'd like to know?"

  "I should, immensely."

  "Then you won't be gratified, unless you go to Somerset House and hunther name up in the register of births. Even then you'd find itdifficult, for you don't know her Christian name, only her initial."

  "Yes; she never will write more than 'M. Teddington' in anybody'sbirthday-book. M might stand for Mary or Martha or Margaret orMillicent or anything. Doesn't even Miss Bowes know?"

  "If she does she won't tell. It's a state-secret."

  "Well, never mind; we call her Teddie, and that will do."

  Many were the ingenious devices which the girls had adopted for tryingto find out both Miss Teddington's Christian name and her age. Theyspoke of historic events that had happened before their parents had beenborn, fondly hoping she might betray some memory of them and commitherself. But she was not to be caught; she treated all events, howeverrecent or old, from a purely impersonal standpoint, and left them stillin the dark as to whether she was an infant in arms at the time or anadult able to enjoy the newspapers. On the subject of names she wasindifferent, and would express no opinion on the relative merits ofMary, Martha, Margaret, Millicent, Marion, Muriel, Mona, or Maud.

  "It's either plain Mary, or something so fearfully fancy she won't ownup to it," decided the girls.

  In whatever decade Miss Teddington's birthday placed her, this year shewas certainly in the prime of life and energy as concerned the school.Her keen eyes noticed everything, and woe betide the slacker who thoughtto escape her, and dared bring an unprepared lesson to class. Hersarcasms on such occasions made her victims writhe, though they were aptto be witty enough to amuse the rest of the form. Though, like JohnGilpin's wife, she was on pleasure bent to-day, she never for a momentforgot she was in charge, and kept turning to see that everybody wasfollowing, and nobody straggling far off in the rear.

  It was a three-mile walk from The Woodlands t
o the snowdropmeadows--first along the high road, with an occasional short cut acrossa field or through a spinney, then down a deep, narrow lane past a farm,where the sight of a new-born lamb (the first of the season) causedgreat excitement. Some of the girls, who loved old superstitions,pretended to divine their luck by whether it was standing facing them orotherwise when they first caught a glimpse of it; but, the generalverdict deciding that it was exactly sideways, they found it impossibleto give any accurate predictions for the future.

  "You'd better keep to something vague that can be construed two ways,like the Delphic Oracle or _Old Moore's Almanac_," laughed Ulyth.

  Once past the farm the walk began to grow specially interesting. Thedeep lane, only intended for use in summer, when carts brought loads ofhay from the marsh, was turned by winter rains into the bed of a stream.The girls picked their way at first along the bank, then by jumping fromstone to stone, but finally the water grew so deep it was impossible toproceed farther without wading. They had been in the same emergencybefore, so it did not daunt their enthusiasm. One and all they scaledthe high, wide, loosely built wall to their left. Here they could walkas on a terrace, with the flooded lane on one side and on the other therushing Porth Powys stream, making its hurrying way to join the CraigwenRiver. It was not at all an easy progress, for the wall was overgrownwith hazel bushes and a tangle of brambles, and its unmortared surfacehad deep holes, into which the unwary might put a foot. For severalhundred yards they struggled on, decidedly to the detriment of theirclothing, and rather encumbered by their baskets; then at last theyreached the particular corner they were seeking, and scrambled down intothe meadow.

  This field was such a favourite with the girls that they had come toregard it almost as their own property. Miss Teddington had found it outmany years ago, and its discovery was always considered a point in herroll of merit. It was an expanse of grassy land, bounded on one side bythe Porth Powys stream and on the other by a deep dyke, and leading downover a rushy tract to the reed-grown banks of the river. The view overthe many miles of marshland, with the blue mountains rising up behindand the silvery gleam of the river, was superb. The brown, quivering,feathery reeds made a glorious foreground for the amber and vivid greenof the banks farther on; and the gorgeous sky effects of rolling clouds,glinting sun, and patches of bluest heaven were like the beginning ofone of St. John's visions.

  Near at hand, dotted all over the field, bloomed the wild snowdrops inutmost profusion, with a looser habit of growth, a longer stalk, and awider flower than the garden variety. Lovely pure-white blossoms, withtheir tiny green markings, they stood like fairy bells among the grass,so dainty and perfect, it seemed almost a sacrilege to disturb them. Thegirls, however, were not troubled with any such scruples, and set towork to pick in hot haste.

  "I'm going down by the stream," said Ulyth; "one gets far the best thereif one hunts about, and I brought my stick."

  Rona, Addie and Lizzie joined her, and with considerable difficultyscrambled down to the water's edge. For those who preferred quality toquantity, and who did not mind getting torn by briers, this wasundoubtedly the place to come. In pockets of fine river-sand, theirroots stretching into the stream, grew the very biggest and finest ofthe snowdrops. Most of them peeped through a very tangle of brambles;but who minded scratched arms and torn sleeves to secure such treasures?

  "Look at these. The stalks must be nine inches long, and the flower'snearly as big as a Lent lily," exulted Ulyth. "I shall send them toMother, with some hazel catkins and some lovely moss."

  "Everybody will be sending away boxes to-night," said Addie. "Thepostman will have a load."

  "What's that?" cried Lizzie, for a sudden rush and scuffle sounded onthe other side of the stream, a rat leaped wildly from the bank, and ashaved poodle half jumped, half fell after it into the water.

  The rat was gone in an eighth of a second, but the dog found himself indifficulties. It was a case of "look before you leap", and a fat,wheezy, French poodle is not at home in a quick-rushing stream.

  "Oh, the poor little beast's drowning!" exclaimed Ulyth in horror.

  Rona, with extreme promptitude, had flown to the rescue. Close by wherethey stood the trunk of a half-fallen alder stretched out over thewater. It was green and slippery, and anything but an inviting bridge,but she crawled along it somehow, and, clinging with one hand, contrivedto reach the dog's collar with the other and hold him up. What she wouldhave done next it is impossible to say, for he was too heavy to lift inher already precarious position; but at that moment a gentleman,evidently in quest of his pet, parted the hazel boughs and took in thesituation at a glance.

  "Hold hard a moment," he called, and, scrambling down the bank, managedto make a long arm and hook his stick into the poodle's collar and dragthe almost strangled creature to shore.

  Until Rona had cautiously wriggled round on the bough, and crept backsafely, the spectators watched in considerable anxiety. They need nothave been alarmed, however, for after her many New Zealand experiencesshe thought this a very poor affair.

  The owner of the dog shouted his thanks from the opposite bank of thestream and disappeared behind the high hedge. The whole episode had nottaken five minutes.

  "Do you know who that was? It was Lord Glyncraig," said Addie in ratherawestruck tones.

  "Was it? Well, I'm sure I don't care," returned Rona a trifle defiantly."I'd have saved John Jones's dog quite as readily."

  "What a pity he didn't ask your name! He might have invited you to teaat Plas Cafn, then you'd have scored over Stephie no end."

  "I'm sure I don't want to go to tea at Plas Cafn, thank you," snappedRona, rather out of temper.

  "But think of the fun of it," persisted Addie. "I only wish they'd askme."

  "They won't ask any of us, so what's the use of talking?" said Lizzie."Let's go back to the others; it must be time for lunch."

  They found the rest of the girls seated on the wall, as being the driestspot available, and already attacking their packets of sandwiches. Somehad even reached the jam-tartlet stage.

  "It's a good thing we've each got our own private basket, or therewouldn't be much left for you," shouted Mary Acton. "Where have you beenall this while?"

  "Consorting with members of the Peerage," said Addie airily. "Oh yes, mydear girl! We've had quite what you might call a confidential talk downby the stream with Lord Glyncraig."

  "Not really?" asked Stephanie, pricking up her ears.

  "Really and truly! He's not your special property any longer. Rona hasquite supplanted you."

  "I don't believe it. You're ragging." Stephanie was rather pink andindignant.

  "Ask the others, if you want to know."

  No one was particularly sorry to take a rest after all the scrambling.The lunch tasted good out-of-doors, and the last tartlet had soondisappeared. Rona, perched on a tree-stump, began her orange, and tossedlong yellow strands of peel on to the bank below her.

  "Oh, stop that, before Teddie catches you!" urged Ulyth; but she was toolate, for Miss Teddington had already spied the offending pieces.

  "Who threw those?" she demanded. "Then, Rona Mitchell, you ought to beashamed of yourself. Go and pick them up at once, and put them insideyour basket. What do you think the field will look like if more thanfifty people strew it with orange-peel and sandwich-paper! We don't comehere to spoil the beautiful spots we have been enjoying. I should beutterly disgraced if the school behaved like a party of cheap-trippers.Woodlanders ought to respect all natural scenery. I thought you wouldhave learnt that by this time, but it appears you haven't. Don't forgetit again."

  Much crushed, Rona collected the peel, and, wrapping it carefully in herpiece of sandwich-paper, put it in the very bottom of her basket, undera layer of catkins. The girls had brought bobbins of thread with them,and were making their snowdrops into little bunches, with ivy leaves andlambs'-tails from the hazel. A few lucky explorers had even found somepalm opening on the sallows. Several had nature notes to contribute.Nellie Bar
low and Gladys Broughton had seen a real weasel, and plumedthemselves accordingly, till Evie Isherwood capped their story byproducing the remains of a last year's chaffinch's nest she had found ina tree.

  "If I said I'd seen a snake, should I be believed?" whispered Rona.

  "Certainly not. Everyone knows that snakes hibernate; so don't try iton," returned Ulyth, laughing.

  "Half-past two. We must be going back at once, girls, or there won't betime to send off your snowdrops," said Miss Teddington. "Pack yourbaskets and come along."