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Title: Tom and Some Other Girls: A Public School Story

Author: Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

Illustrator: Percy Tarrant

Release date: April 16, 2007 [eBook #21102]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM AND SOME OTHER GIRLS: A PUBLIC SCHOOL STORY ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England





Tom and some other Girls
A Public School Story

By Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
________________________________________________________________________
You would be mistaken if you thought this was going to be a book about
a girl called Thomasina, for it is actually about a girl call Rhoda
Chester.  Rhoda has been brought up as the child of rich parents. Her
brothers have done well, but she has been kept at home, and has been
taught by governesses and other visiting tutors.  The German fraulein
goes to her own home in Germany for a holiday, where she gets married
and never comes back.

This prompts Mr Chester to consider sending Rhoda away to a boarding
school.  There is a discussion, Rhoda's mother not being at all in
favour of the idea, but Rhoda is keen to go.

They settle on a school.  Rhoda goes there, and enjoys herself, doing
well.  Tom and the other girls are of course her schoolmates.  But there
is to be an important exam, for which Rhoda overworks, to the point
where her brain  no longer works when she is in the examination hall.
So life is downward, instead of upward, she realises.  We will leave
you to read the rest of the story.  Vaizey is at her best again.  N.H.
________________________________________________________________________
TOM AND SOME OTHER GIRLS
A PUBLIC SCHOOL STORY

BY MRS. GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY



CHAPTER ONE.

A CHANGE.

"Yes, she must go to school!" repeated Mr Chester.

A plaintive sob greeted his words from the neighbourhood of the sofa.
For once in her life Mrs Chester's kindly, good-tempered face had lost
its smiles, and was puckered up into lines of distress.  She let one
fat, be-ringed hand drop to her side and wander restlessly over the
satin skirt in search of a pocket.  Presently out came a handkerchief,
which was applied to each eye in turn, and came away bedewed with tears.

"It will break my heart to part from her!" she faltered.  Her husband
laughed with masculine scepticism.

"Oh, nonsense, dear," he said; "hearts are not so easily broken.  You
are too sensible to grieve over what is for the child's good, and will
get used to the separation, as other mothers have done before you.  It
will be the making of Rhoda to leave home for a few years, to mix with
other girls, and find her level.  She is getting an altogether
exaggerated idea of her own importance!"

"Her level, indeed!  Find her level!  I should like to know the school
where you could find another girl like her!" cried the mother, in a tone
which showed plainly enough who was responsible for Miss Rhoda's
conceit.  The tears dried on her face for very indignation, and she sat
upright in her seat, staring across the room.

It was a gorgeous apartment, this drawing-room of Erley Chase, the
residence of Henry Chester, Esquire, and Marianne his wife; a gorgeous
room in the literal acceptance of the term, for each separate article of
furniture looked as if it had been chosen more from the fact of its
intrinsic value than for its usefulness or beauty.

Mr Chester, the son of a country clergyman, had considered himself
passing rich when a manufacturer uncle took him into his employ, at a
salary of £400 a year.  The first thing he did after this position was
assured was to marry his old love, the daughter of the village doctor,
with whom he had played since childhood; and the young couple spent the
first dozen years of their married lives very happily and contentedly in
a little house in a smoky manufacturing town.  The bachelor uncle was
proud of his clever nephew and fond of the cheery little wife, who was
always kind and thoughtful even when gout and a naturally irritable
temper goaded him into conduct the reverse of amiable.  When Harold was
born, and christened after himself, he presented the child with a silver
mug, and remarked that he hoped he would turn out better than most young
men, and not break his parents' hearts as a return for their goodness.
When Jim followed, the mug was not forthcoming; but when little Rhoda
made her appearance six years later he gave her a rattle, and trusted
that she would improve in looks as she grew older, since he never
remembered seeing an uglier baby.  He was certainly neither a gracious
nor a liberal old gentleman, but the young couple were blessed with
contented minds and moderate ambitions, so they laughed good-naturedly
at his crusty speeches, and considered themselves rich, inasmuch as they
were able to pay their way and were spared anxiety for the future.  And
then an extraordinary thing happened!  The old man died suddenly, and
left to his beloved nephew a fortune which, even in these days of
millionaires, might truthfully be called enormous.  Henry Chester could
not believe the lawyers when the amount of his new wealth was broken to
him, for his uncle had lived so unostentatiously that he had had no idea
of the magnitude of his savings.  The little wife, who had never known
what it was to spend sixpence carelessly in all her thirty-five years,
grew quite hysterical with excitement when an arithmetical calculation
proved to her the daily riches at her disposal; but she recovered her
composure with wonderful celerity, and expressed her intention of
enjoying the goods which the gods had sent her.  No poking in gloomy
town houses after this!  No hoarding of riches as the poor old uncle had
done, while denying himself the common comforts of life!  She herself
had been economical from a sense of duty only, for her instincts were
all for lavishness and generosity--and now, now!  Did not Henry feel it
a provision of Providence that Erley Chase was empty, and, as it were,
waiting for their occupation?

Her husband gasped at the audacity of the idea.  Erley Chase! the finest
place around, one of the largest properties in the county, and Marianne
suggested that he should take it! that he should remove from his fifty-
pound house into that stately old pile!  The suggestion appalled him,
and yet why not?  His lawyer assured him that he could afford it; his
children were growing up, and he had their future to consider.  He
thought of his handsome boys, his curly-headed girl, and decided proudly
that nothing was too good for them; he looked into the future, and saw
his children's children reigning in his stead, and the name of Chester
honoured in the land.  So Erley Chase was bought, and little Mrs
Chester furnished it, as we have seen, to her own great contentment and
that of the tradespeople with whom she dealt; and in the course of a few
months the family moved into their new abode.

At first the country people were inclined to look coldly on the new-
comers, but it was impossible to keep up an unfriendly attitude towards
Mr and Mrs Chester.  They were utterly free from affectation, and, so
far from apeing that indifference to wealth adopted by most _nouveaux
riches_, were so frankly, transparently enchanted with their new
possessions that they were more like a couple of children with a new toy
than a steady-going, middle-aged couple.  They won first respect, and
then affection, and were felt to be a decided acquisition to the well-
being of the neighbourhood, since they were never appealed to in vain in
the cause of charity.

In the days of her own short means, when she had been obliged to look
helplessly at the trials of her neighbours, Mrs Chester had solaced
herself by dreaming of what she would do if she had money and to spare,
and to her credit be it said, she did not forget to put those dreams
into execution when the opportunity arose.  The days are past when fairy
godmothers flash suddenly before our raptured eyes, clad in spangled
robes, with real, true wings growing out of their shoulders, but the
race is not dead; they appear sometimes as stout little women, in satin
gowns and be-feathered bonnets, and with the most prosaic of red,
beaming faces.  The Chester barouche was not manufactured out of a
pumpkin, nor drawn by rats, but none the less had it spirited away many
a Cinderella to the longed-for ball, and, when the Prince was found, the
fairy godmother saw to it that there was no lack of satin gowns, or
glassy slippers.  Dick Whittingtons, too, sitting friendless by the
roadside, were helped on to fortune; and the Sleeping Beauty was rescued
from her dull little home, and taken about to see the world.  It is
wonderful what fairy deeds can be accomplished by a kind heart and a
full purse, and the recipients of Mrs Chester's bounty were relieved
from undue weight of obligation by the transparent evidence that her
enjoyment was even greater than their own!

Harold went to Eton and Oxford, and Jim to Sandhurst; but Rhoda stayed
at home and ruled supreme over her mother, her governesses, and the
servants of the establishment.  Her great-uncle's wish had been
fulfilled, inasmuch as she grew up tall and straight, with a mane of
reddish-gold hair and more than an average share of good looks.  She was
clever, too, and generous enough to have acknowledged her faults if it
had for one moment occurred to her that she possessed any; which it had
not.  It was one of Mrs Chester's articles of faith that her daughter
was the most beautiful, the most gifted, and the most perfect of created
beings, and Rhoda agreeably acquiesced in the decision, and was pitiful
of other girls who were not as herself.  Every morning when she had not
a headache, and did not feel "floppy" or "nervey," she did lessons with
Fraulein, who adored her, and shed tears behind her spectacles when
obliged to point out a fault.  Then the two would repair together to the
tennis courts and play a set, the pupil winning by six games to love; or
go a bicycle ride, when Rhoda would practise fancy figures, while her
good, but cumbersome, companion picked herself up from recumbent
positions on the sidewalk, and shook the dust from her garments.  At
other times Rhoda would put on her riding habit and go a ride round the
estate, taking care to emerge from the west gate at the moment when the
village children were returning from school.  The little girls would
"bob" in old-fashioned style, and the boys would pull off their caps,
and Rhoda would toss her flaxen mane and acknowledge their salutations
with a gracious smile and a wave of the little gloved hand.  The
children thought she looked like a fairy princess, and no more dreamt
that she was of the same flesh and blood as themselves than did Miss
Rhoda herself.  Then came lunch, and more often than not some excuse for
getting off the hour's lessons with Fraulein before the "visiting
professors" arrived.  Music master, drawing master, French master--they
each came in their turn, and Rhoda exerted herself to do her best, as
she invariably did, given the stimulus of an audience, and was praised
and flattered to her heart's desire.  It was a happy life, and most
satisfactory from the girl's point of view; so that it seemed most
annoying that it should be interrupted, and by Fraulein too, who had
always been so meek and tractable!  Who could have imagined when she
went home for the summer holidays that an old love would appear and
insist upon marrying her out of hand?

"But what am _I_ to do?" cried Rhoda, when the news was first received;
and then, in stern disapproval, "I'm _surprised_ at Fraulein!  At her
age she should know better.  She always professed to be so devoted.  I
can't understand how she could make up her mind to leave me."

"It must have been a terrible trial to her, dearest," said Mrs Chester
soothingly, and she meant what she said.  How could any one prefer a
fat, long-haired, spectacled lover (all Germans were fat, long-haired,
and spectacled!) to her beautiful, clever daughter?  She sighed, once
for Rhoda's disappointment, and once again, and with an added stab, for
herself.

Several times lately Mr Chester had hinted that Rhoda was getting too
much for Fraulein, and should be sent to school, while Harold had
treacherously seconded his father with remarks of such brotherly candour
as made his mother hot with indignation.  Jim was mercifully away from
home, but even so it was two against one, and she instinctively felt
that Fraulein's defection would be seized upon by the enemy and the
attack pressed home upon the first opportunity.  And now it had come,
and there sat the poor, dear soul, shedding tears of anguish on her
lace-edged handkerchief, as she vainly tried to oppose the inevitable.

"I cannot, and will not, part from my child!"

"Nonsense, mother, you parted from me, and I shall take it as a personal
insult if you insinuate that you would feel Rhoda's absence more than
you did mine.  Remember how delighted you were when I came back!
Remember the holidays, how happy you were, how interested in all I had
to tell!"

Harold Chester crossed the room, and laid his hand on his mother's
shoulder with a kindly gesture.  He looked as if he were made on the
same principle as the other objects of _vertu_ in the room, and if Mrs
Chester had desired to possess "the most superfine specimen of sons and
heirs," she had certainly got her wish, so far as appearances were
concerned.  Harold was tall and fair, with aquiline features and a manly
carriage.  His hair would have curled if it had not been cropped so
close to his head; his clothes were of immaculate cut.  At twenty-five
he was known as one of the most daring sportsmen in the county, and if
he had not distinguished himself at college, he had, at least, scrambled
through with the crowd.  His mother declared with pride that he had
never given her an hour's anxiety since he had had the measles, and
thanked Heaven for her mercies every time she saw him ride off to the
hunt in his beautiful pink coat.  Harold was her first-born darling, but
Rhoda was the baby, and she could not bring herself to believe that her
baby was growing up.

"The child will fret and break her heart.  I don't care about myself,
but I will not have her made unhappy.  She has such a sensitive heart!"
She sobbed as she spoke, and Harold laughed.

"You trust me, mater; Rhoda is as well able to take care of herself as
any girl can be.  You will regret it all your life long if you keep her
at home now.  School is what she needs, and school she must have, if she
is to make a woman worth having.  She is a jolly little soul, and I'm
proud of her; but her eyes are so taken up admiring Miss Rhoda Chester
that she has no attention left for anything else.  Let her go, mother,
and find out that there are other girls in the world beside herself!"

"But the other girls will b-b-bully her.  They will make fun of her and
laugh at her little ways--"

"And a good--" Harold checked himself and said cheerily: "Rhoda won't
let herself be bullied without knowing the reason why, mother.  Whatever
faults she may have, no one can accuse her of lack of spirit.  I believe
she would like to go.  She has very few girl friends, and would enjoy
the new experience."

"We will tell her about it, and see what she says," said Mr Chester;
and at that very moment the door opened and Rhoda walked into the room.



CHAPTER TWO.

WHAT RHODA THOUGHT.

Father, mother, and brother looked at Rhoda, and felt a pardonable pride
in her appearance.  Her white evening frock showed off the fair
complexion and golden locks, and she carried herself with an erect,
fearless mien which made a pleasant contrast to the stooping backs and
shambling gait of most growing girls.  If she were not regularly pretty,
her air of assurance forced onlookers to think her so, despite their
better judgment, and there was about her a breezy atmosphere of health
and youth.  She looked from one to the other of the watching faces, and
smiled in a good-humoured, tolerant manner, which showed a dimple in the
round cheek.

"Hatching mischief!" she cried, nodding her head sagely.  "The way in
which your voices ceased as I entered the room was highly suspicious.
Never mind--I'll go to bed soon, and then you can talk at your ease.  It
_is_ awkward when birthdays are drawing near! ...  Chain bracelets are
very nice, with turquoises set here and there, and I rather like that
new edition of Shakespeare with a lot of dear little books fitted into a
case.  I don't object to brooches either, or ornaments for my room--"

"But, strange to say, we were not thinking of giving you anything!  We
were talking of a much more serious consideration than a birthday.  We
were talking of your Future Education," said Mr Chester, solemnly.  He
spoke so impressively, and with such very large capitals to the last two
words, that Rhoda was startled into attention, and turned her eyes upon
him in wonder.

"My--future--education?  Why, what do you--what am I going to do?"

"We have been considering the advisability of sending you to school.
You are nearly sixteen, and have been educated at home all your life,
and now that Fraulein cannot return I feel strongly that it would be for
your good to spend a couple of years at school among girls of your own
age.  Your mother naturally dreads the parting, and fears that you would
be unhappy, but Harold thinks that you would enjoy the experience.  What
is your own impression?  Do you dislike the idea, or feel inclined
towards it?"

Rhoda meditated, and her mother watched her with wistful eyes.  At the
first mention of the word "school" the girl had started with surprise,
and her eyes had looked wide and puzzled, but now as she stood
deliberating, it was not dismay, but rather pleasure and excitement,
that showed in her face.  The eyes gleamed complacently, the dimple
dipped, the fair head tilted itself, and Rhoda said slowly--

"I think I should--_like_ it!  It would be a--change!"

Alas for Mrs Chester, and alas for every mother in that sharp moment
when she realises that the nestling which she has been keeping so safe
and warm is already beginning to find the nest too narrow for its
ambitions, and is longing to fly away into the big, wide world!  Two
salt tears splashed on to the satin gown, but no one saw them, for the
girl was engrossed in her own feelings, while Mr Chester was saying
brightly--

"That's my brave girl!  I knew you would be no coward."

Harold watched his sister with mingled pity and amusement.

"They'll take it out of her!  They'll take it out of her!  Poor little
Ro!  Won't she hate it, and won't it do her good!" he said to himself,
shrewdly.  "And, after the first, I shouldn't wonder if she became a
prime favourite!"

Rhoda seated herself on a crimson plush chair, and folded her hands on
her knees, in an attitude of expectation.  She was an impetuous young
person, and could brook no delay when once her interest was aroused.
School having been mentioned as a possibility of the future, it became
imperative to settle the matter off-hand.

Which school?  When?  Who would take her?  What would she have to buy?
What were the rules?  When were the holidays?  How long would they be?
Where would she spend them?--One question succeeded another in
breathless succession, making Mr Chester smile with indulgent
amusement.

"My dear child, how can I tell?  So far it is only a suggestion.
Nothing is settled.  We have not even thought of one school before
another--"

"If she goes at all, I should like her to go to Miss Moorby's, at
Bournemouth," said Mrs Chester quickly.  "She only takes ten girls, and
I'm told it is just like a home--hot bottles in all the beds, and beef-
tea at eleven--"

"Mother!" cried Rhoda, in a tone of deep reproach.  Her eyes flashed,
and she drew herself up proudly.  "No, indeed!  If I go at all, I will
do the thing properly, and go to a real school, and not a hot-house.  I
don't want their old beef-tea and bottles.  I want to go to a nice, big,
sporty school, where they treat you like boys, and not young ladies, and
put you on your honour, and don't bind you down by a hundred sickening
little rules.  I want to go to,"--she drew a long breath, and glanced at
her mother, as if bracing herself to meet opposition--"to Hurst Manor!
There!  I've read about it in magazines, and Ella Mason had a cousin who
had been there, and she said it was--simply mag.!  She was Head Girl,
and ruled the house, and came out first in the games, and she said she
never had such sport in her life, and found the holidays quite fearfully
flat and stale in comparison."

"You don't become Head Girl all at once," interposed Harold, drily;
while Mrs Chester gave another sob at the idea that home could ever be
looked upon in so sad a light.

"Hurst Manor?" she repeated vaguely.  "That's a strange name.  I never
heard of the place before.  What do you know about it that makes you
want to go, darling?  Are you quite sure it is nice, and what is the
Head Mistress like, and how many young la-- girls does she take?  Not
too many, I hope, for I can't see how they can be properly looked after
when there are more than twenty or thirty.  I've heard terrible stories
of delicacy for life arising from neglect.  You remember poor, dear Evie
Vane!  Her glands swelled, and nobody noticed, and--"

"My glands never swell.  They know better.  Over two hundred girls,
mother; but they are divided into different houses, with a staff of
teachers in charge of each, so there's no fear of being neglected; and
it's much more fun living in a crowd.  I'm tired of talking to the same
people over and over again, and should love a variety.  Among the
hundred girls, one would be sure to find one or two whom one could
really like."

Harold laughed again, a sleepy laugh, which brought a flash into his
sister's eyes.  That was the worst of Harold; he was so superior!  He
never argued, nor contradicted, but he had a way of smiling to himself,
of throwing back his head and half shutting his eyes, which made Rhoda
feel as if throwing cushions at him would be the only adequate relief to
her feelings.  She glared at him for a moment, and then turned her back
on him in a marked manner and addressed herself to her father.

"You will write to Miss Bruce at once, won't you, father, and arrange
for me to go at the beginning of the term?"

"I will write for particulars, or, better still, your mother and I will
go down to see the place for ourselves.  I should like you to go to the
school you fancy, if it can be arranged, and I suppose this is as good
as any."

"Better!"  Rhoda declared rapturously, "a thousand times better!  Ella
Mason said so; and she knows, because her cousin's sisters have all been
at different schools--one at Cheltenham, one at Saint Andrew's, one at
Wycombe, and she declares that Hurst beats them all.  It must be so,
since it has adopted all the good ideas and abandoned the bad."  She
went on with a rambling statement which seemed to imply that Miss Bruce
had been in turn sole proprietor of each of these well-known schools
before abandoning them in favour of her new establishment; that Hurst
Manor buildings had been recently erected, at vast expense, to provide
every possible convenience for the pupils, and at the same time was a
nobleman's seat of venerable interest; that sports and games formed the
chief interest of the pupils, lessons being relegated to an appropriate
secondary position; while, astonishing to relate, the honours in all
University examinations fell to "Hurst girls," and every woman who had
made a name for herself had graduated from its ranks!  She detailed
these interesting items of information with sublime assurance; and, when
Harold mildly pointed out inconsistencies, retorted scornfully that she
supposed she might be allowed to know, since Ella's cousin had _said_
so, and she had been there, and seen for herself!  Mrs Chester
supported her by murmurs of assent, and little warning frowns to her
son, which in dumb language signified that he was to be a good boy, and
not aggravate his sister; and Mr Chester put his arm round her waist,
and looked down at her, half smiling, half pitiful.  The pitiful
expression grew, and became so marked that the girl gazed at him in
surprise.  Why did he look so sorry?  Was he already feeling the blank
which her absence would leave?  Did he fear that she would be home-sick,
and regret her hasty decision?  She stared into his face with her bright
blue eyes, and her father gazed back, noting the firm chin, the arched
brows, the characteristic tilt of the head.  This overweening confidence
of youth--he was asking himself earnestly--was it altogether a
misfortune, or but raw material out of which great things were to be
made in the future?  Was it not better to go forth to meet life's battle
with a light heart and fearless tread than trembling and full of doubt?
Surely it was better, and yet his heart was sore for the girl, as the
heart of a leader must be sore when he sends his soldiers to the front,
knowing that no victory is won without a cost, no fight without a scar.
Something very like a tear glittered in the father's eye, and at the
sight Rhoda's face softened into a charming tenderness.  She snuggled
her head into his neck, and rubbed her soft cheeks against his,
murmuring absurd little sentences of endearment, as to a child of two
years old.

"Whose pet is it, then?  Whose own precious?  The nicest old sweet in
the world."

Mr Chester pushed the girl aside, and put on a frown of portentous
ferocity to conceal the delight with which her demonstration had, in
reality, filled him.  He loved to feel the sweep of the crisp locks, the
touch of the soft cheek; he even appreciated, if the truth must be told,
being addressed as a "precious," but wild horses would not have induced
him to confess as much, and he made haste to leave the room with Harold
lest perchance any sign of his real feelings might betray themselves to
the sharp feminine eye.

Left alone with her mother, Rhoda clasped her hands behind her back, and
paced slowly up and down.  It was a relief, after all, to be rid of the
men, and be able to talk things over with a feminine hearer who never
brought forward inconvenient quibbles, who accepted statements as facts,
as of course they were, and agreed to propositions in a quiet,
reasonable manner.  Rhoda thought out several important matters in that
march to and fro, and announced the result in a decisive manner.

"I must have a complete new outfit!  I don't believe in taking half-worn
things.  You can send them away to that poor clergyman in Ireland, with
the five daughters.  Geraldine, isn't it, who `fits' my clothes?  Well,
Geraldine shall have my blue silk, and the fawn jacket, and the blouses,
and the grey dress.  If the arm-holes stick into her as much as they do
into me, she will wish I had never been invented.  She can have my best
hat, too, if she wants it.  I hate it, and at `Hurst' you never wear
anything but sailors', with the school colours.  There is a blue house,
and a pink, and a green, and a yellow, and a red; that's the way they
arrange in all big schools, and I only hope and pray it won't be my fate
to be yellow, or _what_ an image I'll look!  Other things being equal,
Mum dear, kindly say you think the blue house would be best for my
health and morals.  I want to live _in_, you understand, not _out_--
that's one point I have quite decided."

"In what, dearest?  Out of what?  I don't understand what you mean."

"In school itself.  There are three houses in the school building and
three in the grounds, and, of course, if you live `out' you have ten
minutes' walk over to classes, whatever the weather may be.  I should
object to shivering across the first thing in the morning in rain and
snow and getting all splashed and blown.  No one can call me a coddle,
but I _do_ like comfort, and it would be a dreadful fag--"

"I should think so, indeed; most risky!  I wouldn't hear of it for you.
If you go at all you must live in, and have a comfortable room, with a
fire in cold weather."

"Oh, well; I don't know if you can expect that.  We mustn't be too
exacting.  You will look after my clothes at once, mother, won't you?
for there will be so much to get.  I want things nice, you know!  I
should like the girls to see that I had decent belongings.  I love
having all the _little_ things complete and dainty.  I think girls ought
to be particular about them.  It's a sign of refinement.  I can't endure
shabby things round me."

"Of course not, darling; and there's no reason why you should.  Write
down a list of what you want, so that we shan't forget anything when we
are in town.  You shall have all you need; but, oh! dear me, I don't
know how shall I live when you have gone.  I shall break my heart
without you!"  And Mrs Chester's tears once more rolled down her
cheeks.  It seemed to her at this moment that the greatest trouble which
her happy life had known was this projected parting from her beloved
daughter.



CHAPTER THREE.

ANTICIPATIONS.

Two days later Mr and Mrs Chester started on their tour of inspection,
and Rhoda reflected that she could not employ herself better during
their absence than by preparing, so far as might be, for the life ahead.
She went upstairs to her own sitting-room, and made a sweeping survey
of her treasures.  The books in the hanging cases must, of course, be
left behind, since they were too numerous to carry.  She looked lovingly
at their bright gold and leather backs, and took down a special
favourite here and there, to dip into its contents.  The Waverley novels
ran in a long, yellow line across one shelf; Dickens, clad in red, came
immediately beneath; and a whole row of poets on the bottom shelf.
Wordsworth was a prize from Fraulein, but his pages were still stiff and
unread; Longfellow opened of himself at "Hiawatha"; while Tennyson, most
beloved of all, held half a dozen markers at favourite passages.  His
portrait hung close at hand, a copy of that wonderful portrait by Watts,
which seems to have immortalised all the power and beauty of the
strange, sad face.  Rhoda nicked a grain of dust from the glass surface,
and carefully straightened the frame against the wall, for this picture
was one of her greatest treasures, and respected accordingly.  Another
case held books of stories, ranging from the fairy tales of childhood to
the publications of last year; a third was devoted to bound volumes of
magazines, and a fourth to the less showy and interesting school-books.

"It's no use taking _you_!" said Rhoda scornfully.  "I expect you are
quite out of date.  You can stay here and rest, and when I come back
I'll point out your errors, and send you into the lumber-room to make
room for the new ones!"  Then she turned her attention to the
mantelpiece, on which reposed a quite extraordinary number of miniature
jugs.  Jugs, jugs everywhere, and nothing but jugs; blue jugs, yellow
jugs, brown jugs, red jugs; Worcester jugs with delicate white figures
against a background of blue; jugs worth a penny sterling at the village
emporium; plain jugs, iridescent jugs; jugs with one handle, with two,
with three, with none at all.  Their variety was as puzzling as their
number, but Rhoda gazed at them with all the pride of the collector.
"Jugs"--unrivalled by postcards, stamps, or crests--had been her mania
for a year on end, and the result was dear to her heart.  To find a new
jug to add to the collection had appeared one of the chief objects in
travelling; an expedition to town had been a failure or success,
according as it discovered jugs or no jugs.

In her anxiety for their safety she had even volunteered to dust her own
mantelpiece, and now, alas! she must leave them to the tender mercies of
Mary and her assistants!  It was a painful reflection, and after a
moment's consideration she determined not to risk it, but to store the
darlings away in some safe hiding-place until her return.

No sooner said than done.  Each little jug was wrapped in a separate
roll of tissue paper, fitted into a drawer of the writing-table, and
securely locked against invasion.  The process of "putting away" thus
begun extended itself indefinitely.  The photographs in their various
frames must be arranged and divided; nice relations and very dearest
friends, to be taken to school, disagreeable or "middling" relations,
and merely "dearest friends," to be laid aside in another drawer;
fragile ornaments to be hidden, in case they were broken; silver and
brass in case they tarnished; letters to be destroyed, to be tied up in
packets, to be answered before leaving home; pieces of fancy work to be
folded away, in case sacrilegious hands should dare to put them to any
other use than that for which they were intended.

Rhoda set to work with the energy of ten women, and worked away until
the once tidy room had become a scene of wildest confusion; until sofa,
table, and chairs were alike piled high with bundles.  Then of a sudden
her energy flagged, she grew tired and discouraged, and wished she had
left the stupid old things where she had found them.  It occurred to her
as a brilliant inspiration that there was no possible hurry, and that
sitting under the trees reading a book, and drinking lemon squash, was a
much more agreeable method of spending a hot summer's day than working
like a charwoman.  She carried her latest book into the garden
forthwith, ordered the "squash," and spent an hour of contented idleness
before lunch.

The story, however, was not interesting enough to tempt a second reading
during the afternoon, for the heroine was a girl of unimpeachable
character, who pursued her studies at home under the charge of a daily
governess, and such a poor-spirited creature could hardly be expected to
commend herself to a girl who had decided for two whole days to go to
the newest of all new schools, and already felt herself far removed from
such narrow experiences.  Rhoda cast about in her mind for the next
diversion, and decided to bicycle across the park to call upon the
Vicar's daughter the self-same Ella Mason who had been her informant on
so many important points.  Ella would be indeed overcome to hear that
Rhoda herself was to be a "Hurst" girl, and there would be an increased
interest in hearing afresh those odd pieces of information which had
fallen from the cousin's lips.

She felt a thrill of relief on hearing that her friend was at home, and
in finding her alone in the morning-room, which looked so bare and
colourless to eyes accustomed to the splendours of the Chase.  Something
of the same contrast existed between the two girls themselves, for while
Rhoda sat glowing pink and white after her ride, Ella's cheeks were as
pale as her dress, and her eyes almost as colourless as the washed-out
ribbon round her waist.  She was not a beauty by any means, but
unaffectedly loving and unselfish, rejoicing in her friend's news,
though it would deprive her of a favourite companion, and she was all
anxiety to help and encourage.  She knitted her brow to remember all
that the cousin had said of Hurst Manor, wishing only that she had
listened with more attention to those pearls of wisdom.

"Yes, she said that they did a great deal of Latin.  All the girls learn
it, and it seems to be looked on as one of the most important subjects.
They translate Horace and Livy and all kinds of learned books."

"Humph!  I shan't!" declared Rhoda coolly.  "I don't approve of Latin
for girls.  It's silly.  Of course, if you intend to teach, or be a
doctor, or anything like that, it may be useful, but for ordinary stop-
at-home girls it's nonsense.  What use would Latin be to _me_, I should
like to know?  I shall take modern languages instead.  I can read and
write French fluently, though it doesn't come quite so easy to speak it,
and German, of course, is second nature after jabbering with Fraulein
all these years.  I should _think_ in German if I would allow myself,
but I won't.  I don't think it is patriotic.  There is not very much
that any one can teach me of French or German!"

"Then what is the use of studying them any more?" inquired Ella, aptly
enough; but Rhoda was not a whit discomposed.

"My dear, it is ever so much pleasanter doing things that you
understand!  The first stages are such a grind.  Well, what next?  What
other subjects are important?"

"Mathematics.  Some of the girls are awfully clever, and are ever so far
on in Euclid.  I did one book with father; but it worried me so, and I
cried so much one day when he altered the letters and put the whole
thing out, that he grew tired, and said I could give it up.  You didn't
do any with Fraulein, I think?"

"No; it's a nuisance.  I wish I did now; but I'll have to begin at once,
that's all!  I'll get Harold's old books and cram up before I go, so
that I can just bring in an expression now and then, as if I knew all
about it.  Girls are so patronising if they think you are a beginner...
I'm pretty well up in history, and can say reams of poetry, and play,
and draw, and paint in water colours--"

"Ye-es!" assented Ella feebly.  She was afraid to say so much in words,
but her conviction was that her friend's methods of work would seem
strangely antiquated when contrasted with the vivid strength of the new
_regime_.  She recalled Rhoda's mild copies of village scenes, with
cottages in the foreground, trees to the rear, and a well-regulated
flight of swallows on the sky line, and mentally placed them beside her
cousin's vigorous sketches on the Slade system, where two or three lines
seemed to do the work of a dozen, and prettiness was a thing abhorred!
She remembered the lessons in theory and harmony, and trembled for her
friend's awakening.  "Yes," she repeated.  "Oh, of course; and then
there are other things besides lessons--a girl can make herself popular
by being pleasant and obliging, and the outdoor life is so fascinating.
Games every day, just as if you were boys, and each one trying to get
into a higher team, and as keen and enthusiastic as she can be.  You
_will_ enjoy the games, Rhoda!"

"Now that's just one thing I wanted to talk to you about!" cried Rhoda
earnestly.  "I'm glad you reminded me.  Of course, tennis and croquet
are all right.  I can play a _very_ good set, and beat most ladies at
croquet.  One time this summer I made five hoops in one turn, and took
my partner with me, but of course I don't do that _every_ day of the
week.  I'm all right for summer games, but winter is coming on, and I
shall have to play that horrid old hockey, and I haven't the remotest
idea how it is done.  I've never seen a match, but you have, and I want
you to tell me all about it, so that I may know what to do, and not make
an idiot of myself.  You went to the Betham ground when you were staying
there, and saw the girls' team play.  Go on!  Describe it!  Tell me all
about it, and everything they did!"

Ella drew a deep breath, and looked awed and important.

"Well! it was a county match, and one team wore white blouses and the
other pink.  They had on blue skirts, very short, and awful feet!  Some
had great pads on each ankle, and some had leggings, and some had
nothing at all.  I should have swathings of cotton wool a foot wide, for
it made my ankles ache just to see the sticks swinging about!  It was an
icy day; the wind went through us like knives and scissors, and we stood
on little planks of wood and shuddered, with furs up to our ears, but
they wore no hats or jackets, and their sleeves went flap, flap, as thin
as possible.  There was only one pretty one among them, all the rest
looked--hideous!  There was a goal at one end, _here_, and another,
_here_."  Ella drew a rough map of the ground on the back of an
envelope, and Rhoda looked on with breathless interest.  "This team
wanted to make a goal _here_, and the other side tried to prevent them.
They whacked with their sticks, and off went the ball, and each side
flew after it, trying to send it the way they wanted, and one poor,
wretched girl stood before each goal to prevent the enemy's ball from
entering.  I expected they would both die of consumption the next day,
but I met them out at tea, quite spry and lively, and they said they
didn't feel cold a bit.  I didn't believe them, but that's nothing.  An
umpire marched about in leggings, and blew a whistle, and called out
`Off side!  Off side!'"

"And what did he mean by that?"

Ella hesitated, uncertainly.  Her knowledge of the game was of the
slightest, but she was anxious to help her friend, and gallantly tried
to recall odd explanations.

"Oh, well, I think one of the wrong side hit, you know, and there is a
rule that you may not send the ball straight forward to one of your own
side, but must hit it back to some one behind you."

"But that's silly!  If you want to get on as fast as you can, why on
earth must you go _back_?  If they never hit forward, how can they win.
Do you mean to say they _never_ send it forwards towards the goal?"

"Oh, yes, yes!  One girl was splendid.  She hit magnificently.  She ran
like a man, and sent it flying before her, and made three goals
herself."

"Then how--why--what--what in the world did you mean by saying that you
_mustn't_ do it?" demanded Rhoda sternly, and Ella made a gesture as of
tearing her hair in confusion.

"I don't know!  It isn't easy to understand a game when you see only one
match.  I was confused myself, but I know each side tries for a
different goal, and there are `backs' and `half-backs' and `forwards,'
just as at football, and, whatever you do, you must not raise your stick
above your waist.  It's a murderous-looking game, anyhow.  I wondered
that they weren't all killed; and one girl's hand was bleeding horribly.
I asked her if it was very painful, and she stared and said, `Oh, I
hadn't noticed it!' and mopped it up with her handkerchief.  Awfully
callous, I call it."

"Oh, I don't know!" replied Rhoda, airily.  "Those flesh wounds don't
hurt.  I should never think of taking any notice of a little thing like
that.  Well, I can't say I am very much wiser for your instructions, my
dear, but I will pump Harold and see what I can get out of him.  I have
no doubt I could hit all right, for I have a quick eye, and if you can
play one or two games it helps you with the rest.  But I should be
pretty mad if I made a hit and they whistled at me and made me come
back.  I like to know what I am about."

"You had better be a goal-keeper," advised Ella, wisely; "you have no
running to do until the ball comes your way, and then at it you go,
tooth and nail!  Stop it somehow--anyhow--with your hands, your feet,
your skirt, your stick.  I believe there is an etiquette about it, don't
you know, as there is about all those things, and that it's more swagger
to stop it one way than another, but the main thing is to stop it
_somehow_, and that you simply must do!"

"Humph!  If you can!  What happens if you can't?"

"Emigrate to Australia by the first boat!  I should think so, at least,
to judge by the faces of the other girls when one poor creature _did_
let a ball in.  Feerocious, my dear! there was no other word for it.  My
heart ached for her.  But it was a stupid miss, for it looked so easy.
I felt sure I could have stopped it."

"It's all a matter of nerve.  If you lose your head you are sure to play
the fool at a critical moment.  Fraulein was like that.  The moment the
game went against her she began to hop about, and puff and pant, and
work herself into such a fever that she couldn't even see a ball, much
less hit it.  I kept calm, and so of course I always won."

It did strike Ella that victory under such circumstances would be easily
gained, but she was too loyal to say so, and Rhoda leant back against
the cushions of the sofa, and continued to discourse on games in
general, and school games in particular, with an air of such intimacy
and knowledge that no one would have suspected that the object of her
visit had been to listen, rather than to teach.

Ella listened meekly to a recital of what her friend intended to do, and
be; of the examinations she would pass, the honours she would gain; the
influence she would exercise over her fellows; and sighed to think of
her own limitations, and the impossibility of such a career ever falling
to her lot.  And then Rhoda rose, and put on her gloves preparatory to
saying good-bye.

"I shall come down to see you again, of course, but I shall be very
busy.  I am going to have a complete new outfit, and everything as nice
as possible."

"Ye-es," said the Vicar's daughter.

"I shall have all my best skirts lined with silk."

"Ah!" sighed Ella, and felt a pang of keenest envy.  She had never
possessed a silk lining in her life.  It seemed to her at times that if
she could only hear herself rustle as she walked, there would be nothing
left to wish for in life!

"They will think you are a Princess!" she said, and Rhoda smiled, and
did not attempt to deny the impeachment.



CHAPTER FOUR.

DEPARTURE.

Mr and Mrs Chester returned from their visit to Hurst Manor with
somewhat different accounts of the establishment.  The father was
delighted with all he had seen, thought the arrangements excellent, and
Miss Bruce a charming and lovable woman.  The mother did not see how
draughts were to be avoided in those long, bare passages, considered the
hours of work cruelly long, and was convinced that Miss Bruce could be
very stern if she chose.  Her husband laughed, and declared that a
school of two hundred girls would fare badly indeed if she could not,
and the maternal fears were silenced at once by his banter, and by
Rhoda's fearless confidence.

It was finally decided that the girl should join at the beginning of the
term, and preparations were set on foot without delay.  It was almost
like buying a trousseau, Rhoda declared; and certainly no bride-elect
could have taken a keener interest in her purchases.  The big, new box
with her initials on the side; the dressing-bag with its dainty
fittings; the writing-case and workbox; the miniature medicine chest
stocked with domestic remedies, in case she should feel feverish or
chilled, have earache, toothache, or headache; be threatened with sore
throat or swollen glands--they were all new possessions, and as such
afforded acute satisfaction, for though the wardrobe list was
disappointingly short, there were at least no restrictions as to
quality.

When the key was turned in her box Rhoda heaved a sigh of satisfaction
in the confidence that not one of the two hundred girls could possess a
better equipment than her own.  Then she looked round her dismantled
room, and felt a pang of depression.  It looked so _dead_--as if its
owner had already departed, and left it to its fate.  The wardrobe door
swung apart and revealed the empty pegs; the drawers were pulled open
and showed piles of torn-up letters; the carpet was strewn with pins.
All the treasured ornaments had been stored away, and the ugly ones
looked uglier than ever, as if infected by the general dejection.  In
story-books girls were wont to bid a sentimental adieu to their maiden
bowers before leaving for a new sphere, but Rhoda did not feel in the
least inclined to be sentimental; she took to her heels instead and ran
downstairs, only too glad to escape from her dreary surroundings, and
presently she and her mother _were_ driving towards the station on the
first stage of the eventful journey.

The village women stood at the doors of their cottages to put their
aprons to their eyes, and murmur, "Ay, poor dear!" as she drove past;
little Tommy Banks threw a nosegay of marigolds through the carriage
window, and waddled away, scarlet with confusion; and there was quite a
gathering of friends on the platform.

Ella had brought a box of home-made Fuller's sweets from herself and a
dainty copy of _The Christian Year_ as the Vicar's farewell offering;
Mrs Ross had a stack of magazines for reading on the journey, and
little Miss Jones, who owed all the comforts of life to Mrs Chester's
friendship, presented the most elaborate "housewife," stocked with every
necessary which it seemed probable that a girl at school would _not_
require.  It was all most touching and gratifying.  Even the station-
master came up to express his good wishes, and the one-eyed porter
blurted out, "Glad to see you back, Miss!" as if it were impossible to
suppress his feelings a moment longer.

Rhoda felt an insight into the feelings of Royalty as she stood at the
window of the carriage, graciously smiling and bowing so long as she
remained in sight, and when this excitement was over, another appeared
to take its place.  Mrs Chester was discovered to be crying in quite
uncontrolled fashion, and at the sight of her tears Rhoda put on her
severest air.

"Mother!  What are you doing?  You must _not_ cry!  Please remember that
in half an hour we shall be at Euston, and meet the school.  I should
never get over it if the girls saw my mother with a red face!"

Mrs Chester mopped her eyes obediently, and made a valiant effort to
regain her composure.  For herself, poor dear, she cared little about
appearances, but Rhoda had already exhibited an intense anxiety that she
should make a good impression on the minds of her future school-fellows.
Each separate article of clothing had been passed in review, while the
bonnet had been changed three times over before the critic was
satisfied.  It would never do to spoil an effect which had been achieved
with so much trouble; so the unselfish creature gulped down her tears,
and tried to talk cheerfully on impersonal topics, keeping her eyes
fixed on the landscape the while, lest the sight of her child might
prove too much for her resolution.

Rhoda was immaculate in blue serge coat and skirt, and sailor hat with a
band of school colours.  Nothing could have been simpler; but there are
ranks in even the simplest garments, and she was agreeably conscious
that her coat was not as other coats, neither was her skirt as other
skirts.  The hand of the Regent Street tailor was seen in both, and
there was a new arrangement of pleats at the back which ought in itself
to secure the admiration of the school!  She was all complacency until
Euston was reached, when the first glimpse at a group of "Hurst" girls
smote her to earth.  She had sewn the band on her hat upside down,
putting the wide stripe next the brim, which should by rights have been
the place of the narrow!  To the cold, adult mind such a discovery might
seem of trifling importance, but to the embryo school-girl it was
fraught with agonising humiliation.  It looked so ignorant, so stupid;
it marked one so hopelessly as a recruit; Rhoda's cheeks burned crimson;
she looked searchingly round to see if by chance any other strangeling
had fallen into the same error, but, so far as bands were concerned, she
was solitary among the throng.

A governess, seeing the two figures standing apart from the rest, came
forward and welcomed Rhoda with a few kindly words, but she was too busy
to spare time for more than a greeting.  Fresh girls kept arriving with
every moment--a crowd of brisk, alert, bustling young creatures,
skurrying along bags in hand, and bright eyes glancing to right and
left.  At every step forward there would come a fresh recognition, a nod
of the head, a wave of the hand, a quick "Halloa!" more eloquent than
elegant.  Rhoda felt a spasm of loneliness at the realisation that no
greeting waited for herself, and at the strangeness of the many faces.
She looked critically around and came to the most unfavourable
conclusions.

"I don't like that one--she's a fright!  I hate that one--she's so
affected.  Those two look common; I won't have anything to do with
_them_.  The big one with spectacles looks horribly learned.  The one
with the violin has a most unmusical face.  _She_ looks fit for
stratagems if you like!  The little one in brown is a cunning fox, I can
see it in her eyes.  Of all the plain, uninteresting, stodgy set of
girls--"

There was a movement inside the saloon carriage opposite, and a large
mamma clad in black, with a profusion of bugles, stepped on to the
platform and marched stolidly away.  She steered a course clear of the
crowd of girls, the ends of her mantle floating behind her, like a brig
in full sail before the breeze, while her poor little daughter hung out
of the doorway gazing after her, sobbing bitterly, and mouthing in
pathetic, helpless misery.

Mrs Chester began to cry at once in sympathy, and even Rhoda felt a
smarting of the eyes.  It was coming!  The crucial moment was at hand;
the bell was ringing, the girls were crowding into the carriages, the
governess stepped forward and spoke a warning word.

"You had better come now, dear!  Please take your seat."

Rhoda turned and bent her tall young head to her little mother, but
neither spoke--the tension was too great.  Mrs Chester's face was
tremulous with agitation, the girl's white and defiant.  Then she
stepped into the carriage and seated herself among the crowd of
strangers.  The girls were all silent now, pale of face and red of eye,
a few crying openly, the majority fighting against emotion.  The mothers
came to the edge of the platform, and stared in through the windows.

"It is like looking at animals in a cage," said Rhoda to herself, and
then the wheels began to move, she saw her mother's quivering face--saw
it from a distance--saw it no more--and realised for the first time,
with a great, bitter pang of anguish, the meaning of farewell!

She had not intended to cry, she had never believed it possible that she
_would_ cry, but it was hard work to resist it during the next half-
hour, when every second bore her further from home, and the strangeness
of her surroundings pressed more heavily upon her.  Other girls were
beginning to cheer up and exchange confidences with their companions,
but she had no one with whom to talk.  Two girls opposite--the foxey one
and the affected one--were chatting quite merrily together.  The
affected one, whose name appeared to be Hilda, had spent part of her
holiday at Boulogne, and was discoursing on the delights of Continental
bathing, while Foxey, not to be outdone, would have her know that
Scarborough kept pace with all the Continental methods.

Another girl made the harrowing discovery that she had left her
spectacles at home, and announced the same to a chum, who remarked that
it was "a ripping joke!"  The violin girl had had a bicycling accident,
and exhibited her scars with pride.  The shock of parting over, they all
seemed very happy together, very friendly, very absorbed; far too much
absorbed to notice a new-comer, or trouble themselves on her behalf.
The governess stood by Rhoda's side for a few minutes and made remarks
in an aggressively cheerful manner, but her reception was not
encouraging, and presently she went away, and did not return.

Rhoda looked at the pictures in her magazines, or pretended to look, for
her brain was so much occupied with other matters that she could not
grasp their meaning, and after five minutes' inspection would hardly
have been able to say whether she had been studying the features of a
country landscape or those of a society beauty.  Then she turned and
cautiously examined her neighbours.  The girl to the right was a square,
stolid-looking creature, square-faced, square-shouldered, with square
toes to her boots, and elbows thrust out on each side in square,
aggressive fashion.  Her eyes were small and light, and her nose a
defiance of classic traditions; the corners of her mouth turned down,
and she had at once the solemnest and the most mischievous expression it
is possible to imagine.  After a critical survey of her charms, Rhoda
felt that she was not the person with whom to force a conversation, and
turned her attention to the neighbour on her left.

A recruit, surely; for, though her hat-band was in order, there was in
her mien an absence of that brisk, independent air which seemed to
characterise the old Hurst girl.  A pretty damsel, too, with curling
hair and soft dark eyes, which at the present moment were bent in
elaborate scrutiny on the paper before her.  Rhoda noticed that it was
the advertisement page at which she was looking, and suspected a pre-
occupation kindred to her own.  She coughed slightly and ventured a
gentle question--

"Is this your first term at school?"

The dark-eyed girl turned a fleeting glance upon her, so fleeting that
it seemed as if she had never altered her position, and replied
monosyllabically:

"Yes."

"You are going up, like me, for the first time?"

"Yes."

"And you have never been to school before?"

"Yes."

"I mean a boarding school.  A big school like this, on all the new
lines?"

"Yes."

This was disconcerting!  What _did_ she mean?  It was her first term,
she was a new girl, and yet she had been up before!  What was the girl
thinking about!  She might really trouble herself to say more than one
single word.

"But you said--I understood you to say--"

Brown Eyes turned fiercely upon her, and fairly snapped in indignation.

"I don't care what I said, or what you understood.  Can't you _see_ I
want to be quiet?  Can't you leave me alone?  If I am a new girl, I
don't want to howl before all the others, do I!  Very well, then! don't
make me talk!  Read your book, and let me read mine."

"I _beg_ your pardon!" said Rhoda, in her most stately manner.  She took
up her magazine obediently, but now it was more impossible than ever to
read it, for she was tingling with mortification.  Such a snub from a
stranger, and when she was trying to be friendly too!  It would be a
long time before she troubled Brown Eyes again.  Her thoughts went back
regretfully to Ella, the loyal, the sympathetic, the faithfully
admiring.  If Ella were only here now, how different it would be!  Why
had she not thought of it before, and asked her parents to pay Ella's
fees, so that she might have the solace of her presence?  They would
have done it gladly, but, alas!  Ella could not have been spared from
home.  She had to help her mother; to be governess as well as pupil,
teaching the younger children for part of every day.  No!  Ella was
impossible; but the craving for companionship grew so intense that it
even conquered the dread inspired by her other companion, and
strengthened her to make yet another effort.

The train had just left a station whose name was familiar in her ears,
and she realised that they had crossed the boundary between two
counties, and were now in Blankshire, in which Hurst Manor itself was
situated.  To remark on this fact seemed an innocent and natural manner
of opening a conversation, so she turned towards Square Face, and said
brightly, "Now we are in Blankshire, I see!  I have never been here
before.  The country looks very pretty and undulating."

The girl turned and stared at her with a wooden stolidity of feature.
Seen at close quarters she appeared to Rhoda as at once the most
extraordinarily ugly and comical-looking creature she had ever beheld.
Her little eyes blinked, and the thin lips flapped up and down in an
uncanny fashion that refused to be likened to any ordinary thing.  There
was a moment's silence, then she repeated in a tone of the utmost
solemnity--

"The country is very pretty and undulating--you are quite right.  Your
remark is most apt!  May I ask if you would object to my repeating it to
my friend over here?  She would be so very much interested."

She was so preternaturally grave, that for a moment Rhoda was taken in
by the pretence, the next she flushed angrily, and tilted her head in
the air, but it was of no avail, for already the next girl was tittering
over the quotation, and turning to repeat it in her turn.  The simple
words must surely contain some hidden joke, for on hearing it each
listener was seized with a paroxysm of laughter, and face after face
peered forward to stare at the originator, and chuckle with renewed
mirth.  It was a good ten minutes before it had travelled round the
carriage and been digested by each separate traveller, and then, so far
from dying out, it acquired fresh life from being adapted to passing
circumstances, as when the train having stopped at a junction and moved
on again with a jerk, Square Face fell prone into her companion's arms,
and excused herself with a bland--

"Excuse me, dear.  It's my little way.  I _am_ so pretty and
undulating," and instantly the titters burst out afresh.

Rhoda's face was a study, but even as she sat fuming with passion, a
voice spoke in her ear from the side where Brown Eyes still studied her
advertisements.

"Laugh, can't you?" said the voice.  "Laugh, too, as if you enjoyed the
joke.  It's the only way.  They will go on all the more if they see you
are angry."

"I hate them all!" hissed Rhoda savagely, and the other heaved a sigh.

"Ah, so do I, but they shan't hate me if I know it!  I'm sorry I
snapped, but I'll talk now, and for pity's sake don't look so dismal.
Let us look over this paper together, and make remarks, and smile as if
we were enjoying ourselves too."

"I don't feel as if I should ever enjoy myself again.  It's hateful
going to school.  If I had known it was as bad as this I would never
have come."

"There's a lake in the grounds.  We will drown ourselves together after
tea, but in the meantime do please keep up appearances.  Don't give
yourself away before all these girls!"

Rhoda looked at her curiously, and felt a thrill of comfort at finding a
friend in the midst of her desolation.  "What is your name?" she queried
eagerly, and the dark eyes met hers in a solemn stare.

"Marah, for bitterness.  That's how I feel to-day, anyhow.  My
godmothers and godfather christened me Dorothy, and in festive moments I
have even answered to `Doll,' but I'd murder any one who called me that
to-day.  Now, I'll show you something interesting...  I've travelled on
this line before, and if you look out of the window you can catch a
glimpse of Hurst Manor as we pass the next station.  It stands in its
own grounds with nothing between it and the line.  Over there to the
right--you can't miss it if you keep your eyes open.  Now!  There!  That
gaunt, grey building."

Rhoda looked, and there it lay--a gaunt building, indeed, with row upon
row of tall, bare windows staring like so many eyes, and out-standing
wings flanked like sentinels on either side.  The poor recruit's face
lengthened with horror.

"It looks," she said dismally, "like a prison!  It looks as if when you
once got in, you would never never get out any more!"



CHAPTER FIVE.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

Ten minutes later the journey came to an end, and the girls surged out
on to the platform of the country station.  A line of waggonettes,
cheerfully denominated "Black Marias" by the pupils, was in waiting, and
with less confusion than might have been expected the girls divided into
different parties, and seated themselves in the carriages marked with
their own house colours.  Rhoda and her travelling companions, being all
"blue," were among the first to drive off, each girl clutching the
handbag which contained the immediate necessities of her toilet, and
chattering away at the pitch of her voice.  "Square Face" was evidently
the wag of the party, and was treated with an admiring deference which
seemed to bespeak a position of importance.  She was professionally
addressed as "Tom," and Rhoda from her seat opposite, read the words,
"Thomasina Bolderston," upon the label of the bag, and reflected that
she had never heard a name more entirely appropriate to its owner.  It
was at once so ugly, so uncommon, and so arresting to the memory, while
Tom herself, once seen, could never be forgotten, nor confounded with
another girl.  There she sat, the keen autumn air blanching her cheeks
and reddening her eyes, her arms crossed squarely over her bag, her lips
twitching with mischievous enjoyment.  She had but to roll her eyes, and
the girls went into fresh convulsions of laughter; and when, at the
entrance to "Hurst" grounds, she took out her handkerchief and affected
to sob, the merriment reached an almost hysterical pitch.  Rhoda,
however, failed to appreciate the humour of the joke, being inclined to
cry in good truth as the grim doorway yawned before her, and she caught
a glimpse of the chill, grey hall, so different from the glowing warmth
of her own dear home.

Dorothy gripped her arm in sympathetic fashion as they alighted and fell
into position in the long line of girls, who had suddenly thrown off
their hoyden airs, and assumed a demeanour of severe propriety.  The
queue wended its serpentine course down the hall itself, and across a
smaller corridor to the head of the great staircase, where stood a lady
in a black silk dress, and a cap with lavender ribbons, crowning bands
of iron-grey hair.  She was in reality small of stature, but she held
herself with an air which gave her the appearance of being six feet high
at least, and as she shook hands with each girl she addressed to her a
word of greeting.

"How do you do, Mary?  Glad to see you, Kathleen.  Hope you are better,
Ella.  Welcome back, Carrie!" and so on, and so on.  Occasionally there
came a hesitation, and the greeting terminated without a name being
added, but whenever this was the case there was a knitting of the brows
which showed distinct annoyance.  Miss Bruce evidently took a pride in
remembering her pupils, and was hard on herself for any forgetfulness.
When it came to the turn of the new girls, she detained them a moment to
hope they would be happy, before waving them forward with an encouraging
smile.

"That's what we call being `presented.'  She is the Queen, and on the
next landing are `the Lords,' and on the second `the Commons,'"
whispered a girl, who being herself only in her second term was not
averse from posing as preceptor.  Rhoda lifted her eyes and beheld an
array of governesses standing before her, shaking hands and welcoming
the pupils in their turn.  Some looked formidable and learned, some did
not.  Some had the orthodox braided locks and spectacles, some even
condescended to the frivolity of a `fringe,' but one and all bore
themselves with a dignity worthy of a foremost position in the newest of
all new schools.

Rhoda passed by as in a dream, and felt far more interest in "the
Commons," who were for the most part young women removed from girlhood
by so slight a barrier that there was a tone of comradeship in their
voices, a sympathetic understanding in their glance.  The sweetest
looking of all was evidently in special charge of the Blues, and, walked
by the side of the two new girls as the detachment filed along the
endless corridor towards its own apartments.

"You two are sisters?  No!  Ah, well, you must pretend you are, for a
day or two at least, until you get over the first loneliness.  Every one
feels lonely at first among such a crowd of strangers, but it soon
passes, and we are very happy together.  You must come and sit with me
in my little den sometimes.  I'll ask you to tea on Sunday, and you must
always come to me if you are in any difficulty.  In the meantime do as
the other girls do, and you will get along quite easily.  You are in the
same room.  Wash and get ready for tea at once.  The gong will ring in
half an hour, and after that your boxes will have arrived and you will
be able to unpack."

They reached the door of the dormitory as she finished speaking, and the
girls entered, trying not to feel as if they were being introduced to a
prison cell, or to be unduly cast down because they were separated by
half the length of the room.

"If we could have been next each other and just wobbled the curtain
occasionally it would have been friendly!" sighed Rhoda, sinking down on
the solitary chair and gazing forlornly round her new abode.  A bed, a
wash-stand, a chest of drawers with a glass on top, a small fixture
wardrobe, and about three yards of space on which to disport her own
fair self--different quarters, indeed, from her room at home, with its
spacious floor, its deep bay windows, its adjoining dressing-room and
bathroom!  When the curtains were drawn there was a feeling of cramped
confinement which was most depressing to the spirits; yet, as her eye
took in one detail after the other, Rhoda realised that there were
redeeming points in the situation.  Small as it was, the cubicle was
decidedly pretty, and blue enough to satisfy the blondest of mistresses.
Blue was the paint on the walls, blue the mat on the floor, blue and
white the coverlet on the bed, blue the quaintly shaped china on the
wash-stand.  She remembered with a thrill of satisfaction that her own
bags and cases were of the same hue, and took off her hat feeling that
she had found an oasis in the desert of life.

Half-an-hour seemed a long time to prepare for tea, when no change of
garment was possible, but it passed so quickly that the sound of the
gong came as a surprise, and she emerged from her retreat to find her
room-mates already filing towards the door.  Thomasina led the way,
staring at Rhoda's locks with an amusement which the girl found it hard
to fathom.  She had brushed out the curling mane with even greater care
than usual, and was conscious that it was as tidy as nature had intended
it should be.  Then why stare and smile?  She could not understand, but
Thomasina only said enigmatically--

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may!  Come on, Fuzzy!" and led the way out
into the corridor.

Lines of girls were appearing on every side--along this corridor, along
that, down narrow nights of stairs, around unexpected corners, all
converging steadily on the central staircase.  It was like a game of
"Follow my leader," and Rhoda could not but admire the ease and skill
with which "Tom" avoided collision, and marshalled her party to its own
table in the great dining-hall.  When every one was seated, and grace
said, the clatter of cups and saucers began, and Rhoda had her first
experience of a school meal.

Well! the tea was very welcome, and it certainly was hot, but somehow or
other it did not taste like the tea at home.  There was so much "cup"
about it--perhaps that was the explanation.  It was quite an effort to
get one's lips over the rim.  Thickness seemed to be the order of the
day when one looked from the china to the slices of bread and butter
piled in the many plates.  One such chunk would make a meal in itself,
thought Rhoda, nibbling fastidiously at the first slice, but whether
from the fatigue of the long journey or the stimulating effect of
companionship, her appetite seemed to be unusually keen, and when it was
finished she put out her hand to take a second slice.

Instantly Thomasina's voice rang out in warning.  "Stop that, Fuzzy!
That's forbidden!"  Rhoda stared at her in dignified displeasure.  "My
name happens to be Rhoda Chester!"

"Congratulate you, I'm sure.  Couldn't be sweeter; but you mustn't break
rules, Rhoda Chester, all the same.  The rule in this school is that no
girl helps herself at meals, or asks for more, or pays any attention to
her own plate."

"But if I am hungry?  If I _want_ more?  How am I to get it?"

"You must rely on the thoughtfulness and attention of your neighbours.
Each girl is supposed to look after those beside her, but if she forgets
you must starve in silence, knowing that you suffer in a good cause.  I
find myself that a slight nudge applied to the elbow just as the cup is
being carried to the mouth is a useful and judicious reminder...  Let me
press a piece of plum-cake upon you, Miss Chester!"

She held out the plate of bread with her squarest smile, and Rhoda
smiled back with a curious sense of elation.  She questioned herself
curiously as to its cause, and made the surprising discovery that it was
because Thomasina had spoken to her, and showed some faint signs of
friendliness!

Tea over, there was another game of "Follow my leader," to the top story
of the building this time, where all the length of a corridor was lined
by baggage, with the mysterious addition of a flat wicker clothes-basket
beside each trunk.  The house-mistress, Miss Everett, was flitting to
and fro, and explained to the bewildered new girls that as the cubicles
afforded no room for the accommodation boxes they must unpack upstairs,
and carry down their possessions to store in drawers and wardrobes.

For the next hour and a half, therefore, the curious scene was witnessed
of sixty pupils staggering downstairs in turns under the weight of heavy
baskets of clothes, and meeting with sundry adventures by the way.  Lazy
girls gave themselves the usual additional share of trouble by
overweighting their load and toppling it over on the floor; hasty girls
tripped on the stairs and collapsed in a heap, with a rain of boots
falling on their head and pins showering broadcast through the
banisters; careless girls took a rest to ease aching backs, then nipped
up the wrong basket and bore it away, to reappear ten minutes later,
puffing and injured, and receive indignant reproaches from the rightful
owners.

Rhoda worked with a will, undisturbed by any such interruptions.  It was
with the unconsciousness of habit that she shook out her silk-lined
skirts, on lifting them from the box, but the rustling sound could not
be mistaken, and instantly she was aware that the girls on either side
were mincing round in affected fashion, shaking out their own skirts,
and simpering meaningly in her direction.

At the first glance from her eyes they became statues of propriety, but
she felt their ridicule, and catching the giggles of laughter which
followed her retreat blushed over cheek and neck in an agony of
mortification.

After all, was it appropriate to bring fine clothes to school?  Where
the rules of the house were plain living and high thinking, was it not
better to dress accordingly?  Might not display savour of ignorance, of
lack of perception, of--oh, horrors!--of snobbishness itself?

The new dresses hung neglected on their pegs, and Rhoda put on a silk
blouse with her serge skirt, and walked down to supper in mental
sackcloth and ashes.

But here was a pleasant surprise!  The room was not grey any longer, but
flooded with rosy light from the pink-hued shades which covered the
electric burners.  The girls, too, were no longer clad in dark blue as
in a uniform, but shone forth in blouses of brilliant hues, pink, blue,
red, and white alternating gaily, with an occasional green or yellow to
add to the variety.  There was in the atmosphere an indefinable air of
relaxation, of rest after labour, which added tenfold to the brightness
of the scene.  What if on each plate there was only a morsel of fish,
not half enough to satisfy clamourous appetites, there was unlimited
bread and jam to follow, and if cocoa was not the drink of all others
which one would have chosen, it was at least wholesome and satisfying.
Rhoda ate and was thankful, and felt ready for bed even before the
summons came.  Several times during the day, when her feelings had
threatened to become too keen for endurance, but pride had forbidden
outward demonstration, she had cherished a determination to cry
comfortably in bed; but when the time came she was so sleepy, so
exhausted with excitement, the bed was so unexpectedly sympathetic, that
she forgot her resolution, and, snoodling down on the pillow, fell
swiftly and happily asleep.



CHAPTER SIX.

TOM'S RULE.

The next moment, as it seemed, there came the roll of a distant gong,
and instantly there burst into life a score of jangling bells, clanging
and tinkling over one's very head in a manner calculated to destroy the
strongest nerves.  Rhoda felt an agonised certainty that the Chase was
on fire, and springing up was confronted by the blue walls of her little
cubicle.  Memory came back then, and with a pang of regret she lay back
in bed, listening to the succession of groans, yawns, and sighs which
arose from every corner of the room.

They were so eloquent that one could almost _see_ the sleepers
stretching themselves in turn, blinking heavy lids, and rubbing
dishevelled locks like so many sleek, lazy kittens.  For a moment no one
spoke, then began a chorus of lamentations.

"Seven o'clock!  It can't be true.  I haven't slept a wink all night!"

"I've been getting up at half-past eight all the holidays, and having a
cup of tea in bed before that.  It's killing going back to this!"

"Wait till the mornings are dark, and the water is frozen in the jugs;
that's the time it is really fun.  This is a mere trifle."

"It's not a trifle at all.  I'm a growing girl, and need sleep.  If Miss
Bruce had any heart she would see it, and give me an excuse."

"She'll give you a mark instead, if you are not quick.  Hurry up now!
No laggards!" cried Thomasina's voice, in answer to which there came
still louder groans, and the creaking of bedsteads as one girl after
another rose to her feet.

Rhoda rose with the rest, and for ten minutes there was silence, broken
only by the splashing of water.  Then suddenly the air was filled with a
deep, melodious roll, at which, as at a signal, Thomasina appeared from
her lair--beautiful in a magenta dressing-jacket, and hair coiled in a
tight little knot at the top of her head--and opened wide the door of
the dormitory.  Rhoda, peering from between her curtains could see other
doors opening all the way down the corridor, and bare arms hastily
withdrawn from view, while all the time the music swelled into fuller
force, and pealed over the great, silent house like some majestic
wakening voice.

"What is it?" she queried breathlessly, and Thomasina answered from
behind her curtain:

"The organ, of course.  The organ in the hall.  One of the music
mistresses plays a voluntary every morning ten minutes after we get up,
and the choir sings a hymn.  You will hear them presently.  Each house
takes it in turn to do choir duty.  It's the Greens this week."

As she spoke the first note of the hymn sounded, and the words rose
clearly on the air:--

  "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty,
  Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.
  Holy, holy, holy, Merciful and Mighty,
  God in Three Persons, Blessed Trinity!"

The clear voices were softened by distance into almost angelic
sweetness, the treble rang true and sweet against the harmonious
background of alto; the organ sank to a flute-like softness.  It was an
unexpected and beautiful beginning to the day's work, and the tears
started to Rhoda's eyes as she listened, for she was of an emotional
nature, quick to respond to any outside influence.  She followed each
line of the hymn with devout attention, and when it was finished knelt
down beside her bed to offer a prayer, which was much longer and more
fervent than it would have been ten minutes before.  She prayed for
strength, for guidance, and--with a remembrance of yesterday's trials--
for patience too, that she might be able to take a joke in good part,
and not value too highly her own dignity, and finally rose from her
knees in a glow of virtuous resolution.

No sooner was she out of her cubicle than the blow descended.  With the
glow of good resolution still upon her, she was tried--and fell!

Thomasina regarded her critically, and said, with a cool assurance more
maddening than downright rudeness:

"That coiffure is very becoming, Fuzzy, but it won't do here.  Go back
to your den, and plait it in a pigtail like mine!"

The glare of indignation, of scorn, of outraged dignity in Rhoda's eyes
was beyond description.  She straightened her back into a poker of
obstinacy, and replied--

"I shall do no such thing!  I shall wear my hair as I choose, and as I
have always worn it."

"No you won't, my dear.  Pigtails are the rule in this establishment,
and pigtails you must wear so long as you are within its walls."

"If a teacher tells me to wear one, I shall obey.  If it is a rule, some
one in authority will tell me.  I won't be ordered by you."

There was a gasp of astonishment throughout the room, and one head after
another peered out to stare at the rebellious spirit who dared to defy
that important personage, the Head Girl.

Thomasina closed her eyes and smiled in maddening fashion.

"That's where you make your mistake, sweet love, for it's just exactly
what you've got to do!  I'm Head Girl, and don't you forget it.  The
Queen on her throne is not more absolute than I am in this room.  If you
don't do what I tell you, it will be my painful duty to report you for
insubordination, and it is a sad thing for a girl to get a mark on her
first day.  I must trouble you for that pigtail, if you please."

She was speaking the truth, that was evident!  Confirmation was written
on every watching face, in every warning frown.  Rhoda's pride battled
with a sense of helplessness so acute that she had much ado not to burst
into tears on the spot.  The two girls stood confronting each other, the
new-comer flushed and quivering, like a beautiful young fury, with her
flaxen hair streaming over her shoulders, and her blue eyes sending out
sparks of fire; Thomasina composed and square, with her lips pursed up
in a good-humoured, tolerant smile.

"Hurry up!" she said, and Rhoda whisked round and dashed behind her
curtain, which flew out behind in an aggrieved fashion, as if unused to
be treated with such scant courtesy.  The next few moments seemed to
have concentrated in them a lifetime of bitterness.  The comb tugged
remorselessly through the curling locks, but the physical pain passed
unnoticed; it was the blow to pride which hurt--the sharp, sharp stab of
finding herself worsted, and obliged to give in to the will of another.
It was nothing at that moment that the pigtail was ugly and unbecoming;
Rhoda would have shaved her head and gone bald for ever if by this means
she could have escaped that verdict; but to appear again before all the
girls with that hateful, hateful wisp hanging down her back--she felt as
if she would die rather than do it; yet would it not be even more
degrading to wait for a summons?  She stalked forth, straight and
defiant, and was received with a bland smile.

"Pretty fair for a first attempt.  Plait it down further next time.  I
must have my girls neat and tidy.  Now then, forward please--Right,
left! right, left!"

The order was accompanied by a tap on the shoulder, which put the
finishing touch to Rhoda's exasperation.  She stepped into her place in
the queue, trembling from head to foot, and with a painful throbbing in
her head which was something new in her healthy experience.  Immediately
in front marched a tall, straight form, whom at first she failed to
recognise, but at the head of the staircase there came a temporary wait,
and then the head was turned towards her, and, behold, it was Dorothy
herself, pigtailed like the rest, and looking curiously reduced without
the background of hair.

"Morning!" she cried cheerily, and Rhoda gasped a breathless question.

"You too!  Did she tell you?  I never heard--"

"Didn't give her a chance!  Heard her ordering you, and nipped mine up
in a trice.  Treat it as a matter of course, and don't seem to mind--
that's the tip!  Only get yourself disliked by making a fuss."

"I know, but I _can't_ help it," sighed Rhoda dismally.

"I'm not used to bullying, and it makes me wild.  My head's splitting.
I feel all churned up."

"Worse troubles at sea!" said Dorothy shortly, and after that there was
no more chance of conversation, for the queue moved on again, and they
were separated at breakfast as at dinner the night before.  Thomasina
sat opposite to Rhoda, and pressed the various dishes upon her good-
temperedly, ignoring all causes of discord, an attitude which, if she
had only known it, but added to the score against her, for pride forced
a haughty "No, thanks," whilst appetite prompted "Yes, please."  To sit
with empty plate, and see others feast on bread and marmalade is no
slight trial when one is fifteen and a-hungred, but no one urged Rhoda
to change her mind, or thought it possible to succeed where the Head
Girl failed.

There were no regular lessons during the morning, but a great deal of
confusing moving to and fro from one class-room to another, to go over
preliminary arrangements, and receive instructions from the mistresses.
Sometimes the new girls were ignored altogether, and then they felt
worms, and ready to sink through the earth; sometimes they were
questioned as to their attainments, and then the very walls seemed to
have ears, and their replies echoed through a deadly silence.  Dorothy
attained a fair level throughout, and reaped neither praise nor blame,
but Rhoda knew alternate rapture and despair, as Mademoiselle and
Fraulein beamed approval, and the "class-mistress" put up her eye-
glasses and regarded her as one might regard a wild animal at the Zoo,
upon hearing that she had "done" no Latin or mathematics.

"You will not do much good at this school without them," she said,
severely.  "They are the most important subjects.  I advise you to give
all the time you can spare to working them up, and to get, if possible,
some coaching during the holidays.  That is, of course, if you wish to
excel."

If she wished to excel!  _If_, indeed!  Did any one suppose for a moment
that Rhoda Chester would be content to remain among the rank and file?
Did they think that she could continue to be ignored, and live!  Ten
thousand times no!  "A day would come!" as Disraeli had said.  They
thought just now that she was nobody, but in time to come the school
would know her name, would be proud of it, would boast of it to other
schools.  Rhoda reared her head and smiled complacently, and the class-
mistress noted the action, and made a mental note that the new pupil
must be "kept down."

The morning seemed very long, but it came to an end at last with a
blessed ten minutes "off" before preparing for dinner.  The other girls
hurried to their cubicles, but Rhoda waylaid Miss Everett in the
corridor, and appealed to her in breathless eagerness.

"You said I was to come to you in any difficulty...  I want to know if
it is necessary for me to wear my hair like this?  I never do it at
home, and I'm sure my mother wouldn't like it.  Is it really the rule?"

"I'm afraid it is," said Miss Everett kindly.  "You don't like it, eh?
Well, I don't wonder!  I shouldn't myself, in your place; but you see,
dear, bending over desks, and running about at games, loose hair gets in
the way, and cannot possibly be kept tidy.  It seems an arbitrary rule,
but there's reason in it, as there is in all the rules if you think them
out, and it doesn't apply to every day.  On Thursday evening we have
`Frolics,' and then you can wear it loose, and put on your prettiest
things.  There is always something going on--concerts, dances, or
theatricals--and Miss Bruce likes the girls to look bonnie and festive.
On Sundays, too, you can go back to your mop if you choose.  I hope you
will, for I like to see it.  I have a little sister with hair just like
yours."

She laid her hand affectionately on the curly head, and the touch of
kindliness acted as balm to Rhoda's sore heart.  Her eyes glistened with
unshed tears, and she said huskily:

"I'll do anything _you_ tell me.  I won't mind; but that Thomasina--
she's hateful!  I can't stand being ordered about by a girl of my own
age."

"Ah-h!" cried Miss Everett, and sighed as at the recurrence of a well-
known trouble.  "Well, you know, Rhoda, you must get over that feeling,
and conform to the rules of the school.  Thomasina is a great help to
me, and makes a capital `head girl.'  You see, dear, I have no time to
look after these details.  The girls think that they are busy, but long
after they are asleep at night I am slaving away correcting exercises.
Oh such piles of books! it makes me tired even to see them.  I'll do
what I can for you, but you mustn't expect too much; and after all, in a
week or ten days you will have mastered the rules, and the difficulty
will be over.  You wouldn't make a fuss for one week, would you?  Stay!
There is one thing I _can_ tell you now, and that is that you won't be
allowed to wear those slippers any longer.  I'll give you an order, and
you can go downstairs to the bureau and get a pair of school shoes like
the other girls wear."

Rhoda gasped with dismay.

"What!  Those frightful things with square toes and no heels!  Those
awful tubs that Thomasina waddles about in!"

Miss Everett laughed gaily.  She was only a girl herself, and she cast a
quick glance up and down the corridor to see if any one were coming
before she drew aside her skirt to exhibit her own flat feet.

"They _are_ awful!  I love pretty shoes, too; and the first time I wore
these I--I _cried_!  I was very home-sick, you see, and nervous and
anxious about my work, and it seemed the last straw.  Never mind! it's
only a little thing, and on Thursday you shall wear your very best pair
and I'll wear mine, and we'll compare notes and see which is the
prettier."

To say that Rhoda adored her is to state the matter feebly.  She could
have knelt down in the passage and kissed the ugly little feet; she
could have done homage before this young mistress as before a saint;
when the light streamed out of a window and rested on her head, it
seemed to take the form of a halo!

She went meekly downstairs, procured the shoes, and carried them into
Dorothy's cubicle, to display before the eyes of that horrified young
woman.

"There!  We've got to wear those, too!  It's the rule.  Miss Everett
told me, and gave me an order to get them.  You had better ask her for
one before Thomasina gets a chance."

Dorothy looked at her solemnly, and measured the slipper against her own
neat shoe; then she took off the latter and held the two side by side.
One was arched and slim, the other flat and square; one had French heels
and little sparkling buckles, the other was of dull leather, unrelieved
by any trace of ornament.

"Here's deggeradation!" she sighed hopelessly.  "Here's deggeradation!"



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE RECORD WALL.

There was no end to the surprises of that wonderful school!  When Rhoda
returned to her cubicle to get "tidy" for dinner, she washed, brushed
her hair, put an extra pin in her tie to make sure that it was straight,
wriggled round before the glass to see that belt and bodice were
immaculately connected, put a clean handkerchief in her pocket, nicked
the clothes-brush over her skirt, and, what could one do more?  It
seemed on the face of it that one could do nothing, but the other girls
had accomplished a great deal more than this.  Rhoda never forgot the
shock of dismay which she experienced on first stepping forth, and
beholding them.  It was surely a room full of boys, not girls, for
skirts had disappeared, and knickerbockers reigned in their stead.  The
girls wore gym. costumes, composed of the aforesaid knickers, and a
short tunic, girt round the waist with a blue sash, to represent the
inevitable house colour.  Thomasina's aspect was astounding, as she
strode to and fro awaiting the gathering of her forces, and the new
girls stared at her with distended eyeballs.  Rhoda had registered a vow
never to volunteer a remark to the hateful creature; but Dorothy
stammered out a breathless--

"You never said--We never knew--Is it a _rule_?"

"Not compulsory, or I would have told you; you may do as you please.
They wear gyms, at Wycombe in the afternoon, and we have adopted the
idea to a certain extent.  Most of the girls prefer it for the sake of
the games, for it is so much easier to run about like this.  For myself,
I affect it for the sake of appearances.  It is so becoming to my
youthful charms."

She simpered as she spoke, with an affectation of coyness that was
irresistibly amusing.  Dorothy laughed merrily, and Rhoda resisted doing
the same only by an enormous effort of self-will.  She succeeded,
however, in looking sulky and bad-tempered, and went downstairs feeling
quite pleased with herself for resisting an unworthy impulse.

All the old girls were in gym. costume, and a quaint sight it was to
watch them descending the great central staircase.  Lanky girls, looking
lankier than ever; fat girls, looking fatter than ever; tall girls
magnified into giantesses; poor little stumpies looking as if viewed
through a bad piece of window glass.  Plump legs, scraggy legs, and legs
of one width all the way down, and at the end of each the sad,
inevitable shoe, and down each back the sad, inevitable pigtail!  Now
and again would come a figure, light and graceful as a fawn, the
embodiment of charming youth; but as a rule the effect was far from
becoming.

Rhoda's criticisms, however, were less scathing than usual, for she
herself was suffering from an unusual attack of humility!  If any reader
of this veracious history has to do with the management of a self-
confident, high-spirited girl, who needs humbling and bringing to her
senses, let the author confidently recommend the pigtail and flat-heeled
system!  To fasten back a mane of hair is at once to deprive the culprit
of one of her most formidable means of defence.

She has no shelter behind which to retire, as an ambush from the enemy;
she has nothing to toss and whisk from side to side, expressing defiance
without a word being uttered.  The very weight of the pigtail is a
sobering influence; its solemn, pendulum movement is incompatible with
revolt.  As for the slippers--well, try heel-less shoes yourself, and
test their effect!  They bring one to earth, indeed, in the deepest
sense of the word.  All very well to mince about in French shoes, and
think "What a fine girl am I," but once try mincing in flat, square
soles, and you will realise that the days are over for that kind of
thing, and that nothing remains but humility and assent!

Dinner over, the girls adjourned into the grounds; but as games, like
lessons, could not be begun without some preliminary arrangement, most
of the pupils contented themselves with strolling about, in twos and
threes, exchanging confidences about the holidays and hatching plans for
the weeks to come.  Rhoda and Dorothy were standing disconsolately
together, when Miss Everett flitted past, and stopped for a moment to
take pity on their loneliness.

"What are you two going to do?  You mustn't stand here looking like
pelicans in the wilderness.  You must walk about and get some exercise.
I'm too busy to go with you myself, but--er--Kathleen!"  She held up her
hand in summons to the second-term girl who had volunteered information
about the Lords and Commons--"Here, Kathleen, you remember what it is to
be a new girl; take Rhoda and Dorothy round the grounds, and show them
everything that is interesting.  Have a brisk walk, all of you, and come
back with some colour in your cheeks!"

She was off again, smiling and waving her hand, and the three girls
stood gazing at each other in shy, uncertain fashion.

"Well," said Kathleen, "where shall we go first?  The Beech Walk, I
suppose; it's half-a-mile long, so if we go to the end and back we shall
have a constitutional before looking at the sights.  The grounds are
very fine here, and there is lots of room for all we want to do.  You
can find a sunny bit, or a shady bit, according to the weather, but it's
only on really scorching days that we are allowed to lounge.  Then
there's a scramble for hammocks, and the lucky girls tie them on to the
branches of trees, and swing about, while the others sit on the grass.
Once or twice we had tea under the trees, and that was fine, but as a
rule they keep you moving.  Games are nearly as hard work as lessons!"

"But you needn't play unless you like?"

"Oh, yes, you must; unless you are ill or tired.  You can get off any
day if you don't feel well, but not altogether.  And you would not wish
to either.  It would be so horribly flat!  Once you are into a team, you
are all anxiety to get into another, and I can tell you when you see
your remove posted up on the board, it is b-liss!--perfect bliss!"

The recruits laughed, and looked at their new friend with approving
glances.  She was, so far, the only one of the girls who had treated
them on an equality, and gave herself no air of patronage, and they were
correspondingly appreciative.  They asked eagerly in which games she had
won her remove, and Rhoda, at least, was disappointed at the answer.

"Cricket!  That's the great summer game.  I've three brothers at home,
and used to practise with them sometimes to make an extra one.  They
snubbed me, of course: but I'm not a bad bat, though I say it myself."

"And what about tennis?"

"Um-m!"  Kathleen pursed up her lips.  "We have courts, of course, but
its rather--_Missy_, don't you think?  The sports captains look down on
it, and so, of course, it's unpopular.  The little girls play
occasionally.  It keeps them happy."

This was a nice way to speak of a game which had been for years the
popular amusement of young England!  Rhoda was so shocked and
disappointed that she hardly dared mention croquet, and it seemed,
indeed, as if it would have been better if she had refrained, for
Kathleen fairly shouted at the name.

"My dear, how can you!  _Nobody_ plays croquet except old tab-- I mean
ladies who are too old to do anything else.  Miss Bruce plays sometimes
when she has the vicar's wife to tea.  We hide behind the bushes and
watch them and shake with laughter.  _Croquet_, indeed!  I should like
to see Tom's face if you mentioned croquet to her!"

"It's a matter of perfect indifference to me what Miss Bolderston
thinks," said Rhoda, loftily; but she veered away from the subject of
games all the same and tackled lessons instead.

"Are you working for any special examination, or just taking it easily?"

"I'm going in for the Oxford Senior in summer.  My birthday is so
horribly arranged that it comes just one week before the limit.  A few
days later would give me a year to the good, but as it is it's my last
chance.  If I can only scrape through in preliminaries I am not afraid
of the rest, but I am hopelessly bad in arithmetic.  I add up with all
my fingers, and even then the result comes wrong; and when so much
depends upon it I know I shall get flurried and be worse than ever."

"The great thing is to keep cool.  If you don't lose your head, I
shouldn't wonder if the excitement helped you.  Say to yourself, `_Don't
be a fool_!' and _make_ yourself keep quiet," quoth Miss Rhoda, with an
air of wisdom which evidently impressed her hearers.  They glanced first
at her and then at each other, and the glance said plainly as words
could speak that here was a girl who had strength of mind--a girl who
would make her mark in the school!

"I'll try!" said Kathleen, meekly.  "I am terribly anxious about this
exam., for if I do well and pass better than any one else in the school
I shall get a scholarship of £40 towards next year's fees.  That would
be a great help to my parents, for they are poor, and have only sent me
here that I may have a chance of getting on and being able to teach some
day.  I should be so thankful if I could help, for it's horrid to know
the people at home are stinting themselves for your sake.  I lie awake
at nights imagining that the report is in, and I am first, and then I
write a long letter home and tell them about it.  Each time I invent a
fresh letter, and they are so touching, you can't think!  I cried over
one, one night, and Tom came round to see what was the matter.  At other
times I imagine I'm plucked, and I go cold all over; I think I should
_die_!  Never mind, nine months yet!  I'll work like a slave, and if I
_do_ fail no one can say it's my own fault."

"You won't fail.  Don't imagine anything so horrible!  You will get over
your nervousness and do splendidly, and write your letter in real
earnest," cried Dorothy cheerily.  "I am going in for the Oxford too,
but you need fear no rival in me.  I am one of those deadly,
uninteresting creatures, who never reach anything but a fair medium.
There isn't a `distinction' in me, and one could never be first at that
rate.  A scrape-through pass is all _I'm_ good for!"

"I could get two distinctions at once!  I know more German and French
than ninety girls out of a hundred.  Two distinctions!  It's a big
start.  I wonder--I wonder if I could possibly be first!" said Rhoda to
herself, and her breath came fast, and her cheeks grew suddenly hot.
"Nine months!  Nine months!"  If she studied hard, and worked up the
subjects on which she was behind, might she not have a chance with the
rest?  The first girl!  Oh, if only it could be possible, what joy, what
rapture!  What a demonstration of power before the school.  She went off
into a blissful dream in which she stood apart, receiving the
congratulations of Miss Bruce and her staff, and saw Thomasina's face
regarding her with a new expression of awe.  Then she came back to real
life, to look remorsefully at her new friend, and notice for the first
time her pinched and anxious air.

"But I would give Kathleen the money.  I want nothing but the honour,"
she assured herself, shutting her mind obstinately against the
conviction that such a division might not be altogether easy to arrange.
"And Dorothy is going in, too; lots of girls are going in, so why
should not I?  And if I enter I must do my best; nobody could object to
that!"

Nevertheless there was an unaccountable weight on her heart, which made
it a relief when the subject dropped, and Kathleen began to point out
the various out-buildings scattered over the grounds.

"That's the pavilion.  We keep all the games there, and it's so nicely
furnished.  There is quite a pretty sitting-room, and a stove, and all
the materials for making tea.  On Saturday afternoons the winning teams
may stay behind and have tea there by themselves, and buy cakes from the
housekeeper.  It's ripping!  We look forward to it as the Saturday
treat, and aren't you just mad if your side loses!  That's the joiner's
shop.  You can have lessons if you like, and learn to make all sorts of
things; but I've no ambition to be a carpenter, so I don't go...  That's
a summer-house, but it's so earwiggy that we leave it alone...  That was
meant to be a swimming-bath, but the water comes straight from a well,
and it is so deadly cold that the girls got cramp, and Miss Bruce
forbade them to use it any more.  It looks wretchedly deserted now.  If
you want to be miserable all by yourself you couldn't have a better
place.  It's so still and dark, and the birds have built their nests in
the corners, and come suddenly flying past, and frighten you out of your
wits...  Those little patches are the girls' own gardens.  You can have
lessons in gardening, and get a prize if you are clever.  I don't go in
for that either, for it's an extra expense."

"Oh, I must have a garden!" cried Rhoda quickly.  "I adore flowers, and
they could send me cuttings from home.  I always had my own garden, but
I didn't do the work, of course.  I just said how it was to be arranged,
and what plants I wanted, and every one admired it, and said how
successful it was.  I had big clumps of things, you know; not one
straggling plant here and another there, but all banked up together.
You should have seen my lily bed!  I made the men collect all the odd
bulbs and plant them together, and they were a perfect show.  The scent
met you half-way down the path; it was almost overpowering.  And then I
had a lot of the new cactus dahlias, and left only about two branches on
each, so that they came up like one huge bush with all the lovely
contrasting colours.  Many people say they don't like dahlias, but that
is only because they haven't seen them properly grown."

"Oh well, I loathe them myself, and I always shall do.  You never get
any satisfaction out of them, however pretty they may be, for as soon as
people see them, they begin groaning and saying, `Oh, dear, dear, autumn
flowers already!  How sad it is.  Winter will soon be upon us.'"
Dorothy sniffed derisively.  It was evident that no support was to be
expected from her on the dahlia question, and Rhoda felt that only time
and experience could prove to her the folly of her position.

When all the out-buildings had been explained, Kathleen led the way down
a winding path which seemed to lead to nowhere in particular, but rather
to come to an abrupt _cul-de-sac_ in the shape of a high grey wall.  Her
companions wondered at her choice, but she went forward with an air of
determination, so that there was nothing left but to follow, and hope
soon to return to more interesting scenes.  When she came to the end of
the path, however, she stood still and began to smile with a most
baffling air of mystery.  What did it mean?  What were they expected to
see?  The girls wheeled to and fro, looked at the paths, the beds, the
flowers, frowned in bewilderment, and then suddenly lifted their eyes to
the wall, and uttered simultaneous exclamations of surprise.

The wall was dotted over with little tablets of stone, on each of which
was a neatly engraved inscription, and each inscription bore the name of
a girl at its head.  Rhoda craned forward and read first one and then
another:

"...Winifred Barton, joined Hurst Manor, September, 189--, left
Christmas, 189--.  The youngest pupil who ever obtained honours in
Mathematics in the Oxford Local Examinations."

"Elizabeth Charrington, an old pupil of the school, obtained First Class
in the Honours School of Modern History at Oxford."

"Eleanor Newman, joined Hurst Manor, September, 189--, left Mid., 189--.
Beloved by her fellow-students as the kindest and most loyal of
friends, the most unselfish of competitors.  Held in grateful
remembrance for the power of her influence and example."

"Fanny Elder.  For two years Games President of the school.  Winner of
the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Tournament, 189--.  Holder of Edinburgh Golf
Cup, 189--.  A just and fearless sportswoman..."

The list of names went on indefinitely, but Rhoda had read enough to
inflame curiosity, and wheeled eagerly round to confront Kathleen.

"What is it?  What does it mean?  Who puts them up?  Is it just the
cleverest girls?--"

"It's the Record Wall!" said Kathleen.  "We are very proud of our Record
Wall at Hurst.  The cost of these tablets is paid by the pupils
themselves, and they are put up entirely at their discretion.  The
teachers have nothing to do with it.  If a girl has distinguished
herself at work, but is conceited and overbearing, and makes herself
disliked, no one wants to put up a tablet to _her_; so it is really a
testimony to character, as well as to cleverness.  Eleanor Newman was
quite stupid, they say.  I never knew her.  She never passed a single
examination, nor took a prize nor anything, yet every one loved her.
She was a little, fair thing, with curly hair too short to tie back, and
soft, grey eyes.  She wasn't a bit goody, but she always seemed waiting
to do kind things, and make peace, and cheer the girls when they were
home-sick.  And no one ever heard her say a cross word, or make an
uncharitable remark."

"And did she die?" croaked Rhoda solemnly.  A long experience of girls'
stories had taught her that when girls were sweet and fair, and never
said an unkind word, they invariably caught a chill, and died of rapid
consumption.  She expected to hear the same report of Eleanor Newman,
but Kathleen replied briskly:

"Die!  Not a bit of it.  She married, at nineteen, a doctor down in
Hampshire, and brought him to see the school on their honeymoon.  The
Greens escorted her in a body to the Record Wall, and when she saw her
own name she covered her face with her hands, and flew for her life.
And her husband looked quite weepy.  The girls said he could hardly
speak!"

"Ah-h!" sighed Rhoda, and was silent.  She felt "weepy" too, filled with
a sudden yearning, a sudden realisation of want.  Eleanor Newman had
risen to heights to which she could never attain.  "A little, fair
thing, and almost stupid," yet her school-fellows loved her, and
immortalised her name in words of grateful loyalty.  She sighed again,
and yet again, and heard Kathleen's voice cry sharply--

"Oh, I look at that empty space, and wonder if this time next year I
shall read there that I have passed first, and won the Scholarship.  I
wonder if ever, ever there will be a tablet with my name upon it!"

"I expect there will be," said Dorothy.  "It's a lovely idea, and I can
imagine every girl longing to see her name on the scroll of honour; but
for my own part I never shall.  Not for this child!  There is no hope
for me, unless they put me up as `a good little tortoise who never fell
asleep.'  The worst of it is that in real life the hare keeps awake too,
and spoils one's chance.  I must be content to bloom, in obscurity--`A
violet by a mossy dell, half hidden from the eye'--"

But Rhoda already saw a new tablet twinkling on the empty space, a
tablet recording phenomenal success and distinction, and the name at the
head of the inscription was not "Kathleen Murray," but one much more
familiar in her ears!



CHAPTER EIGHT.

AN ENCOUNTER.

Sunday afternoon was hopelessly wet; but the fact was less regretted
than usual, as from three to four was the time put aside for writing
home.  So far a postcard to announce safe arrival had been the only word
written, and each girl was eager to pour forth her feelings at length,
to tell the latest news, and report changes of class.  The two new-
comers had a score of complaints and lamentations to record, and Rhoda,
at least, entered unhesitatingly into the recital.

She had never been so miserable in her life.  The girls were hateful,
domineering, and unfriendly--Miss Bruce had spoken to her three times
only--the food was good enough in its way, but so plain that she simply
longed for something _nice_; the lessons were difficult, the hours
unbearably long.--It took three whole sheets to complete the list of
grievances, by which time her hand was so tired that she read it over by
way of a rest, with the result that she was quite astonished to discover
how miserable she had been!  Everything she had said was true, and yet
somehow the impression given was of a depth of woe which she could not
honestly say she had experienced.  Perhaps it was that she had omitted
to mention the alleviating circumstances--Miss Everett's sweetness,
Fraulein's praise, hours of relaxation in the grounds, signs of
softening on the part of the girls, early hours and regular exercises,
which sent her to the simple meals with an appetite she had never known
at home.  Five days at school, and on the whole there had been as much
pleasure as suffering.  Then, was it quite fair to send home such a
misleading account?

Rhoda drew from her pocket the latest of the five loving letters penned
by the maternal hand, and read it through for the dozenth time.  Sunday
was a lonely day for new-comers, and the period occupied by the sermon
in church had been principally occupied by Rhoda in pressing back the
tears which showed a presumptuous desire to roll down her cheeks and
splash upon her gloves.  It had been a sweet consolation to read over
and over again the words which showed that though she might be one of a
crowd at "Hurst," she was still the treasured darling of her home.
There was nothing original in the letter; it simply repeated in
different words the contents of its four predecessors--sorrow for her
absence, prayers for her welfare, anxiety for the first long letter.

"I can hardly wait until Monday morning.  I am so longing to know how
you are faring!"  Rhoda read these words, and looked slowly down upon
her own letter.  Well! it would arrive, and the butler would place it on
the breakfast-table, and her mother would come hurrying into the room,
and seize it with a little cry of joy.  She would read it over, and
then--then she would hand it to her husband, and take out her
handkerchief and begin to cry.  Mr Chester would pooh-pooh her
distress, but she would cry quietly behind the urn, and despite his
affectation of indifference he, also, would look worried and troubled;
while Harold would declare that every one must go through the same stage
before settling down, and that Rhoda might be expected to "make a fuss."
She had been so spoiled at home!

Rhoda dug her pen into the blotting-paper, and frowned uneasily.  Five
days' experience at school had impressed her with the feebleness of
"making a fuss."

"If you are hurt--bear it!  If you are teased--look pleasant!  If you
are blamed--do better next time!  If you feel blue--perk up, and don't
be a baby!"  Such were the Spartan rules of the new life, and an
unaccustomed shame rose up in her mind at the realisation of the
selfishness and weak betrayal of that first home letter.  Was it not
possible to represent the truth from the bright side as well as the
dark, to dwell on the kindnesses she had received, and leave
disagreeables untold?  Yes, it _was_ possible; she would do so, and save
her dear ones the pain of grieving for her unhappiness.  So the thick
sheets were torn across with a wrench, which made Thomasina look up from
her desk.

As a head girl, "Tom" possessed a study of her own, to which she had
prepared to depart earlier in the afternoon, but had been persuaded to
stay by the entreaties of her companions.

"Tom, don't go!  Don't leave us!  It's a wet day, and so dull--do stay
with us till tea-time.  You might!  You might!" urged the suppliant
voices, and so Tom sat down to her desk in the house-parlour which was
the property of the elder Blues, and indited letters on blue-lined,
manly paper, with a manly quill pen.

As her eyes rested on the torn letter and on the clean sheet of paper
drawn up for a fresh start, she smiled, a quiet understand-all-about-it
smile, which Rhoda chose to consider an impertinent liberty.  Then down
went her head again, and the scrape, scrape of pens continued until four
o'clock, by which time the girls were thankful to fold the sheets in
their envelopes and make them ready for post.  Rhoda read over her
second effort in a glow of virtue, and found it a model of excellence.
No complaints this time, no weak self-pity; but a plain statement of
facts without any personal bias.  Her father and mother would believe
that she was entirely contented; but Harold, having been through the
same experiences, would read between the lines and understand the
reserve.  He would say to himself that he had not expected it of Rhoda,
and that she had behaved "like a brick," and Harold's praise was worth
receiving.

Altogether it was in a happier frame of mind that Rhoda left her desk
and took her place in one of the easy chairs with which the room was
supplied.  From four to five was a free hour on Sundays, and the girls
were allowed to spend it as they liked, without the presence of a
teacher.

This afternoon talk was the order of the day, each girl in turn relating
the doings of the holidays, and having her adventures capped by the next
speaker.  Thomasina, however, showed a sleepy tendency, and kept dozing
off for a short nap, and then nodding her head so violently that she
awoke with a gasp of surprise.  In one of these intervals she met
Dorothy's eyes fixed upon her with a wondering scrutiny, which seemed to
afford her acute satisfaction.

"Ah!" she cried, sitting up and looking in a trice quite spry and wide-
awake.  "I know what you are doing!  You are admiring me, and wondering
what work of nature I most resemble.  I can see it in your face.  And
you came to the conclusion that it was a codfish!  No quibbles, please!
Tell me the truth.  That was just exactly it, wasn't it?"

"_No_!" cried Dorothy emphatically, but the emphasis expressed rather
contrition for a lost opportunity than for a wrongful suspicion.  "No, I
did not!" it seemed to say, "How stupid not to have thought of it.
You--really--are--extraordinarily like!"

"Humph!" said Thomasina.  "Then you are the exception, that's all.  All
the new-comers say so, and therein they err.  It's not a cod at all,
it's a pike.  I am the staring image of a pike!"

She screwed up her little eyes as she spoke, and pulled back her chin in
a wonderful, fish-like grin which awoke a shriek of merriment from the
beholders.  Even Rhoda laughed with the rest, and reflected that if one
were born ugly it was a capital plan to accept the fact, and make it a
joke rather than a reproach.  Thomasina was the plainest girl she had
ever seen, yet she exercised a wonderful attraction, and was infinitely
more popular among her companions than Irene Grey, with her big eyes and
well-cut features.

"Next time you catch a pike just look at it and see if I'm not right,"
continued Tom easily.  "But perhaps you don't fish.  I'm a great angler
myself.  That's the way I spend most of my time during the holidays."

"I don't like fishing, its so wormy," said Irene, with a shudder.  "I
like lolling about and feeling that there's nothing to do, and no
wretched bells jangling every half-hour to send you off to a fresh
class.  `Nerve rest,' that's what _I_ need in my holidays, and I take
good care that I get it."

"I don't want rest.  I want to fly round the whole day and do nice
things," said a bright-eyed girl in a wonderful plaid dress ornamented
with countless buttons--"lunches, and teas, and dinners, and picnics,
and dances, and plays.  I like to live in a whirl, and stay in bed to
breakfast, and be waited on hand and foot.  I don't say I _get_ it, but
it's what I would have if I could."

"Well, I'm a nice, good little maid who likes to help her mother and be
useful.  When I go back I say to her, `Now don't worry any more, dear;
leave all to me,' and I run the house and make them all c-ringe before
me.  Even the cook is afraid of me.  She says I have such `masterful
ways.'"

The speaker was a tall, fair girl, with a very large pair of spectacles
perched on the bridge of an aquiline nose.  She looked "masterful"
enough to frighten a dozen cooks, and made a striking contrast to the
next speaker, a mouse-like, pinched little creature, with an air of
conscious, though unwilling, virtue.

"I spent the last half of these holidays with a clergyman uncle, and
helped in the parish.  I played the harmonium for the choir practice,
and kept the books for the Guilds and Societies.  His daughter was ill,
and there was no one else to take her place, so, of course, I went at
once.  It is quite a tiny little country place--Condleton, in
Loamshire."

"What!" cried Rhoda, and sat erect in her seat sparkling with animation.
"Condleton!  I know it quite well.  I often drive over there with my
ponies.  It is only six miles from our place, and such a pretty drive.
I know the Vicarage quite well, and the Church, and the funny little
cross in the High Street!"

She spoke perfectly simply, and without thought of ostentation, for her
parents' riches had come when she herself was so young that she had no
remembrance of the little house in the manufacturing town, but looked as
a matter of course upon the luxuries with which she was surrounded.  It
never occurred to her mind that any of her remarks could be looked upon
as boasting, but there was a universal glancing and smiling round the
room, and Thomasina enquired gravely:

"Do you drive the same pair every day?"

"Of ponies?  Oh, yes, generally," replied Rhoda innocently.  "They are
frisky little things, and need exercise.  Of course if we go a very long
way, I give them a rest next day and drive the cobs, but as a rule they
go out regularly."

Thomasina shook her head in solemnest disapproval.  "That's a mistake!
You should change _every_ day.  The merciful man is merciful to his
beast.  I can't endure to see people thoughtless in these matters.  My
stud groom has special orders _never_ to send out the postilions on the
same mounts oftener than twice a week!"

There was a moment's pause, and then a shriek of laughter.  Girls threw
themselves back in their seats, and held their sides with their hands;
girls stamped on the floor, and rolled about as though they could not
contain their delight; girls mopped their eyes and gasped, "Oh, dear!
oh, dear!" and grew red up to the roots of their hair.  And Rhoda's face
shone out, pale and fixed, in a white fury of anger.

"You are a very rude, ill-bred girl, Thomasina Bolderston!  I made an
innocent remark, and you twist it about so as to insult me before all
the house!  You will ask my pardon at once if you have any right
feeling."

"I'm the Head Girl, my dear.  The Head Girl doesn't ask pardon of a
silly new-comer who can't take a joke!"

"I fail to see where the joke comes in.  If you are Head Girl a dozen
times over, it doesn't alter the fact that you don't know how to behave.
You have bullied me and made me miserable ever since I came to this
school, and I won't stand it any longer, and so I give you notice!"

"Much obliged, but it's no use.  The rules of this school are that the
pupils must obey the Head Girl in her own department, and there can be
no exception in your favour, unpleasant as you find my yoke."

"When _I_ am a Head Girl I shall try to be worthy of the position.  I'll
be kind to new girls, and set them a good example.  I'll not jeer at
them and make them so wretched that they wish they never had been born!"

Thomasina leant her head on her hand, and gazed fixedly into the angry
face.  She made no reply, but there was no lack of speakers to vindicate
her honour.  Sneering voices rose on every side in a clamour of
indignant protest.

"When _she_ is Head Girl indeed!  It will be a good time before _that_
happens, I should say."

"Not in our day, let us hope.  We are not worthy to be under such a
mistress."

"Oh my goodness, what a pattern she will be; what a shining example!
You can see her wings even now beginning to sprout."

"Nonsense, child!  It's not wings, it's only round shoulders.  These
growing girls _will_ stoop.  You had better be careful, or you will be
set in order next."

Rhoda looked across the room with smarting, tear-filled eyes.

"Don't alarm yourselves; I wouldn't condescend to bandy words.  You are
like our leader--not worthy of notice!"

"Look here, Rhoda Chester, say what you like about us, but leave
Thomasina alone.  We will not have our Head Girl insulted, if we know
it.  If you say another word we will turn you out into the passage."

"Thank you, Beatrice; no need to get excited; I can fight my own battles
without your help.  This little difference is between Rhoda and me, and
we must settle it together.  I think we could talk matters over more
comfortably in my study, without interrupting your rest hour.  May I
trouble you, Miss Chester?  Three doors along the passage.  I won't take
you far out of your way!"

Thomasina rose from her seat, and waved her hand towards the door.  She
was all smiles and blandness, but a gasp of dismay sounded through the
room, as if a private interview in the Head Girl's study was no light
thing to contemplate.

Rhoda's heart beat fast with apprehension.  What was going to happen.
What would take place next?  It was like the invitation of the spider to
the fly--full of subtle terror.  Nevertheless, her pride would not allow
her to object, and, throwing back her head, she marched promptly, and
without hesitation, along the corridor.



CHAPTER NINE.

HAVING IT OUT.

Thomasina led the way into her study, and shut the door behind her.  It
was a bare little room, singularly free from those photographs and nick-
nacks with which most girls love to adorn a private sanctum.  It looked
what it was--a workroom pure and simple, with a pile of writing
materials on the table, and the walls ornamented with maps and sheets of
paper, containing jottings of the hours of classes and games.  On the
mantelpiece reposed a ball of string, a dogskin glove, a matchbox, and a
photograph of an elderly gentleman, whose pike-like aspect sufficiently
proclaimed his relationship.  There were three straight-back chairs,
supplied by the school, and two easier ones of Thomasina's own
providing, both in the last stages of invalidism.

The mistress of this luxurious domain turned towards her visitor with a
hospitable smile.

"Sit down," she cried, "make yourself comfortable.  Not that chair--the
spokes have given way, and it might land you on the floor.  Try the
blue, and keep your skirts to the front, so that it won't catch on the
nails.  I can't think how it is that my chairs go wrong.  I'm always
tinkering at them.  Nice little study, isn't it?  So cosy!"

"Ye-es!" assented Rhoda, who privately thought it the most forlorn-
looking apartment she had ever seen, but was in no mood to discuss
either its merits or demerits.  It was in no friendly spirit that she
had paid this visit; then why waste time on foolish preliminaries?  She
looked expectantly at Thomasina, and Thomasina stood in front of the
chimney-piece with both hands thrust into the side pockets of her
bicycling skirt, jingling their contents in an easy, gentlemanly
fashion.  From her leathern band depended a steel chain which lost
itself in the depths of the right-hand pocket.  Rhoda felt an
unaccountable curiosity to discover what hung at the end of that chain
and rattled in so uncanny a fashion.

"Well!" began Thomasina, tilting herself slowly forward on the points of
her flat, wide shoes, "Well, and now about this little matter.  I asked
you to step in here because I think differences of opinion are more
easily settled without an audience, and as it were, man to man."  She
buried her chin in her necktie, and gazed across the room with a calm,
speculative glance.  The likeness between her and the pike-like
gentleman grew more startling every moment.  "Now, we have known each
other barely a week, and already I have offended you deeply, and you,
without knowing it, have hit me on a tender spot.  It is time that we
came to an understanding.  Before going any further, however, there are
one or two questions I should like to ask.  You have had time to notice
a good many things since you arrived.  You have seen me constantly with
the girls.  Do they dislike me?  Do they speak of me hardly behind my
back?  Do they consider me a bully or a sneak?  Should you say on the
whole that I was popular or unpopular?"

"Popular!" said Rhoda firmly.  Whatever happened she would speak the
truth, and not quibble with obvious facts.  "They like you very much."

"And you wonder how they can, eh?  Nevertheless it's true.  I'll tell
you something more.  I'm the most popular Head Girl at Hurst.  You ask
the other colours to-morrow, and they'll tell you to a man that you are
lucky to have me.  Very well then, Rhoda, who's to blame if you think
the opposite?  Yourself, and nobody but yourself, as I'll proceed to
prove.  You come to school with a flourish of trumpets, thinking you are
doing us a mighty big favour by settling among us, and that you are to
be allowed to amble along at your own sweet will, ignoring rules you
don't like, graciously agreeing to those you do, and prepared to turn
into a wild cat the first moment any one tries to keep you in order.
Then, when you are unhappy, as you jolly well deserve to be, you turn
and rend me, and say it is my fault.  If all the new girls behaved as
you have done, I should have been in my little tomb long ago, and you
would have some one else to deal with.  It seems to me, my dear, that
you don't recognise my duties.  I am placed in a position of authority,
and am bound to enforce the rules.  If the girls are obedient, well and
good; if they kick, well and good also.  _I break 'em in_!  I'm going to
break _you_ in, Rhoda Chester, and the sooner you realise it the happier
you'll be."

Rhoda looked at her fully, with a firmness of chin, a straightness of
eye, which argued ill for the success of the project.

"You will never break me in, as you call it, by domineering, and
treating me like a child."

"I know it, my dear.  I haven't been studying girls all these years
without learning something of character.  Some fillies you can drive
with a snaffle, others need the curb.  You drive yourself, and
understand what I mean.  I can see quite well that you are a proud,
sensitive girl, with a good heart hidden away behind a lot of nonsense.
If it were not for that heart I shouldn't trouble myself about you, but
simply give my orders, and see that they were obeyed.  But there's
nothing mean about me, and I'd scorn to take an unfair advantage.  Now,
I'll tell you straight that I have come to the conclusion that I judged
you wrongly about that pony business, and that you didn't mean to brag.
I saw by the way you flared out that you were really hurt, and I was
sorry.  I've no pity on brag, but when I judge a girl wrongly I feel
sick.  If it's any relief to your mind to know it, I believe that little
episode upset me more than it did you.  When you said I was not worthy
of my position, and made new-comers wretched, you hit me very hard,
Rhoda, very hard indeed!"

She stopped short and jingled furiously at her chains, then suddenly
looked up, gave a roguish smile, and cried, insinuatingly--

"There, I've done my part.  I've acknowledged I was wrong.  You are no
coward, so you will do as much!  You will admit that you have been a
difficult subject, won't you now?"

Rhoda looked at her and hesitated.  She cleared her throat and
determined to speak openly, and then suddenly, suddenly, something
swelled at her throat, and she heard her own voice say chokingly:

"I suppose I've been stupid...  I've never been accustomed to be--
ordered about!  I'm sorry if I was disagreeable, but I never, never
meant to--give myself airs!"

"But you did though, all the same," cried Thomasina briskly.  "Bless me,
yes!  The way you came into a room, the way you walked out, the way you
looked at your food, and turned it over on your plate, the way you eyed
the other girls up and down, down and up--it all said as plainly as
print `I'm Her Royal Highness of Chester, and I won't have any dealings
with the likes of _You_!'  If you had been a Princess of the blood you
couldn't have put on more side, and so, of course, we judged your words
by your actions, and thought you were bragging when you meant nothing of
the sort.  Now, just make up your mind, like a sensible girl, to forget
your own importance, and don't always be on the lookout for insults to
your dignity.  Your dignity will look after itself if it's any good, and
you'll be a heap happier if you give up coddling and fussing over it all
day long.  There was that little matter of the pigtail the other
morning!  It wasn't my wish that you should tie back your hair.  I don't
mind telling you that it's much less becoming than it was, but I was
simply acting as the mouthpiece of Miss Bruce, as you might have known
if you had taken one minute to consider.  Your friend, Dorothy What-
ever-she-calls-herself, behaved like a sensible girl, and did as she was
told without making a fuss, but you must needs work yourself into a
fury.  You'll have a fit one of these days if you are not careful.  You
are just one of those fair, reddy people who are subject to apoplexy, so
don't say I didn't warn you.  When we went down to breakfast I tried to
be friendly, just to show there was no ill-feeling, and you went and
starved yourself rather than accept a crumb from my hands.  It reminded
me awfully of my little cousin of three.  When he is made to do what he
doesn't like, he refuses to eat his bread and milk.  He seems to think
he is punishing us somehow; but, bless your heart, _we_ don't mind!  We
know he is strong and hearty, and that it will do him no harm to starve
once in a way.  I wasn't in the least anxious about you, but I don't
want you to go on feeling wretched in my house, so I'll do my best to
consider your feelings.  I warn you, however, I can't stop chaffing.  If
I think of a funny thing to say, I _must_ say it or burst, and if you
don't like it you can comfort yourself by thinking that it's for your
good, and will teach you to control your temper.  If you get offended
after this, the more fool you, for I tell you straight there will be no
ill-feeling in my mind, nothing but simple, pure buffoonery."

Rhoda smiled feebly.  The cool, unemotional tones of the other had
effectually dried her tears, but the softened expression remained, and
her voice had almost an humble intonation.

"I'll try.  I know I am touchy, but I shan't mind so much now that you--
that you have explained!  I think you have been very generous."

"All right," interrupted Thomasina briskly.  "Don't gush.  I loathe
gush.  That's all right, then, and I'll tell the girls I was wrong just
now.  They will all treat you decently if I tell them to; so behave
sensibly, and don't be a young jackass, and all will be well."

"I--er, I _beg_ your pardon!"

"Don't mention it!"  Thomasina beamed amiably over her shoulder.
"Jackass, I said--don't be a jackass!  The gong will ring in ten
minutes, so you'd better be off to your room.  Pleased to have seen you!
Good afternoon.  Come again another day!"



CHAPTER TEN.

HARD WORK.

From that day forward matters moved more smoothly for Rhoda.  Dorothy
reported that Tom had returned to the house-parlour to explain her
regret at having misjudged a new-comer, and her desire that her
colleagues would second her effort to make Rhoda happy, and, as usual,
Tom's word was law.  That very evening several of the girls took an
opportunity of exchanging friendly remarks with Rhoda, while at supper
an amount of attention was bestowed upon her plate which was positively
embarrassing.  It was a delightful change, but through all the relief
rang the sting of remembering that it had been accomplished by
Thomasina, not herself; that the new friendliness was the result of
Thomasina's orders rather than her own deserts.  To her fellow-students
she was still an insignificant new-comer, with no claim to distinction.
If she excelled in one subject, she was behind in the next, while at
games she was hopelessly ignorant.  It was wormwood and gall to be
obliged to join the "Bantlings" at hockey, and be coached by a girl of
twelve; but Rhoda set her teeth and determined that if pluck and energy
could help, it would be a short time indeed before she got her reward.
Oh, those first few games, what unmitigated misery they were!  The ankle
pads got in her way, and made her waddle like a duck, and when at last
she began to congratulate herself on overcoming the first difficulty,
they tripped her up, and landed her unexpectedly on the ground.
Although she was repeatedly warned to keep her stick down, it seemed to
fly up of itself, and bring disgrace upon her; and then, alas! the ball
followed its example, bounded up from the ground, and landed neatly on
her cheek immediately beneath her left eye.  A hideous swelling and
discolouration was the result, but after the first rush to see that the
damage was not serious, no one seemed in the least agitated about the
mishap.  Erley Chase would have been convulsed with panic from attic to
cellar, but Thomasina only struck an attitude, and exclaimed, "Oh! my
eye!" and even Miss Everett smiled, more in amusement than horror, as
she cried, "In the wars already, Rhoda?  You _have_ begun early."  Mrs
Chester would hardly have recognised her darling in the knickerbockered
girl, with her curly mane screwed into a pigtail, her dainty feet
scuffling the ground, and her face disfigured by a lump, which changed
to a different colour with each new dawn.  If she could have had a
glimpse of her during that tragic period it is certain that Rhoda's term
at "Hurst" would have been short indeed: but she was not informed of the
accident, while each letter showed an increasing interest in work and
play.  Rhoda had put her back into her studies, and worked with an
almost feverish earnestness.  The hours of preparation were all too
short, but she found a dozen ways of adding to their length, so that
from morning to night her brain was never allowed to rest.  She grew
white and tired, and so perceptibly thin that Miss Bruce questioned her
class-mistress as to the change in her appearance.

"She is an ambitious girl," was the reply, "and does not like to feel
behind.  She is working hard, and making progress; but she never
complains, or appears to feel ill."

"Oh, well, everything in moderation.  See that she is not overworked.
There will be no time gained in that way," said the principal, and
forthwith banished the subject from her busy brain.  There came a day,
however, half way through the term, when Rhoda collapsed, and found it
impossible to rise from her bed.  Three times over she made the effort,
and three times sank back upon her pillow faint and trembling, and then
in despair she raised her voice, and wailed a feeble "Tom!"

Tom came promptly, buttoning her magenta jacket, and went through a most
professional examination.

"To the best of my judgment," she announced finally, "you are sickening
for scarlatina, tonsilitis, and housemaid's knee, but if you stay in bed
and have an invalid's breakfast I should say you would be fairly
convalescent by twelve o'clock.  Snoddle down, and I'll see Nurse as
soon as I'm dressed, and put her on the track."

"I want Miss Everett!" sighed Rhoda plaintively, and Tom gave a grunt of
assent.

"I expect you do.  All the girls want her when they are ill.  She's no
time to spare, but I'll tell her, and probably she'll squeeze in five
minutes for you after breakfast.  You are not going to die this time, my
dear, so don't lose heart.  We shall see your fairy form among us before
many hours are past!"

Perhaps so.  Nevertheless it _was_ good to be coddled once more, to lie
snugly in bed and have a tray brought up with a teapot for one's very
own self, and egg, and fish, and toast--actually toast! instead of thick
slices of bread-and-scrape.  The luxury of it took away one's breath.
It was pleasant, also, to have Nurse fussing around in motherly fashion,
and hear her reminiscences of other young ladies whom she had nursed, in
days gone by, and brought back from the jaws of death.  From her manner,
it is true, she did not appear to suffer any keen anxiety about her
present patient: but, as Rhoda looked at the empty dishes before her,
she blushingly acknowledged that, after all, she could not have been so
ill as she had imagined.

After breakfast came Miss Everett, sweet as ever, and looking
refreshingly pretty in her pale blue blouse and natty collar and cuffs.
If one did not know to the contrary, she would certainly have been
mistaken for one of the elder girls, and her manner was delightfully
unprofessional.

"Well, my poor dear, this is bad news!  I _was_ sorry when Tom told me.
What is it?--headache--back-ache--pain in your throat?"

Rhoda stretched herself lazily and considered the question.

"A kind of general all-overishness, if you know what that means.  I feel
played out.  I tried to get up, but it was no use, I simply couldn't
stand.  I feel as if I had no back left--as weak as a kitten."

Miss Everett looked at her quietly, then her eye roved round the room
and rested meaningly on half-a-dozen pieces of paper fastened up in
conspicuous positions.  One sheet was tacked into the frame of the
looking-glass, another into a picture, a third pinned against the
curtain, and each was covered with Rhoda's large writing, easily legible
across the few yards of space: Rules of Latin Grammar, List of
Substantives, Tenses of Verbs--they stared one in the face at every
turn, and refused to be avoided.  Miss Everett laid her hand upon the
bed, and something rustled beneath her touch.  Yet another sheet had
been concealed beneath her pillow.

"Oh, Rhoda!" she cried, reproachfully; "oh, Rhoda!"

The girl put on an air of protest.

"What?  There's no harm in it, is there?  I can't catch the others up
unless I work hard.  I have not enough time in preparation, so I put
these up and learn them while I dress and undress, and every time I come
in to prepare for a meal.  You have no idea what a lot I get through.
And I keep a list in my pocket too, and take it out at odd moments.
Miss Murray is surprised at the way I am getting on."

"I have been surprised too, to see you look so ill, with such white
cheeks and heavy eyes.  I understand it now."

"But, Miss Everett, I _must_ work.  I _must_ get on!  If I am behind I
_must_ catch up.  Even if I am tired I must get on in my class."

"Why?"

Why?  Why must she get on?  It was such an extraordinary question to
come from a teacher, that Rhoda could only gasp in bewilderment--"Why?
You ask _why_?"

"Yes, I do.  One has always some object in work.  I wondered what yours
might be.  Why are you so terribly anxious to come to the front?"

A dozen answers rose to Rhoda's lips.  To impress Thomasina; to show her
that if I do think a good deal of myself, it's not without a cause...
To take the conceit out of the girls who patronise me.  To be able to
patronise in my turn, and not remain always insignificant and
powerless...  To show Harold how clever I am, and to have my name put on
the Record Wall when I leave! ...  They were one and all excellent
reasons, yet somehow she did not care to confide them to Miss Everett.
Instead, she hesitated, and answered by another question.

"I suppose you think there is a wrong and a right motive?  I suppose you
think mine is the wrong one.  What is the right, then?  I'm ill, and
reduced in my mind, so it's a good time to preach; I'll listen meekly!"

"And disagree with every word I say," cried Miss Everett laughing.  "No,
no, Rhoda, I never preach.  I know girls well enough to understand that
that doesn't pay.  There are some secrets that we have to find out for
ourselves, and it is waste of time telling the answers before the hearer
is ready to receive them; only, when one has oneself suffered from
ignorance, and sees another poor dear running her head against the wall,
one is sorry, that's all, and one longs to point out the danger signals.
Find out, dear, what your motive is, and be satisfied that it's a good
one.  Meantime, I'm going to take away these papers.  Do you see?
Every--single--one!"  She walked round the room, confiscating the lists,
and putting them in her pocket with an air of good-natured
determination.  "Let that tired head rest, and believe me, my dear, that
your elders understand almost as much about girls as you do yourself.
We are never blamed for under-working at Hurst, and you may take for
granted that the hours for work are as long as you can stand.  The short
time spent in your cubicle is not intended for work, but for rest--of
all kinds!"

Rhoda blushed guiltily.  During the first days at school the morning
hymn had been both a delight and stimulus.  She had listened to the
words with a beating heart, and whispered them to herself in devout
echo; they had seemed to strike a keynote for the day, and send her to
work full of courage; but, alas! for weeks past the strains had fallen
on deaf ears, and the lips had been too busy conning Latin substantives
to have leisure for other repetition.  Her sense of guilt made her meek
under the confiscation of her lists, and pathetically grateful for the
kiss of farewell.

"Thank you for coming.  I know you are busy, but I wanted you so!  It's
nice to see you; you look so sweet and pretty!"

"Oh, you flatterer!  I'm surprised at you.  As if it matters what a
staid old teacher looked like; I'm above such silly vanities, my dear."

She looked, however, extremely pleased, quite brisked up in fact, and so
delightfully like a girl that Rhoda took heart of grace, and enquired:--

"I wish you would tell me _your_ object!  That wouldn't be preaching,
and you are so young to be working so hard!  I have often wondered--"

"Ah!" cried Miss Everett, and a curious look passed over her face--half
glad, half sad, wholly proud.  "I'll tell you my object, Rhoda--it's my
brother, Lionel!  I have an only brother, and he is a genius.  You
remember his name, and when you are an old lady in a cap and mittens you
can amuse other old ladies by telling how you once knew his sister, and
she prophesied his greatness.  At school he carried all before him, and
he is as good as he is clever, and as merry as he is good.  He won a
scholarship at Oxford, but that was not enough.  My father is the vicar
of Stourley, in D--shire, and has such a small stipend that he could not
afford to help him as much as was needed.  Then I wrote to Miss Bruce,
and asked her if she could give me an opening.  She is an old family
friend, and knew that I had done well in examinations and was good at
games (the younger teachers here must be able to play with the girls--
it's one of the rules), so she gave me my present position, and I am
able to help the boy.  He went up last year and did famously, but I have
had sad news this week.  He had been obliged to go home and convalesce
after an attack of influenza, and is so weak still that the doctor says
he will want any amount of rest and feeding up before he can go back.
So you see I am more thankful than ever to be able to help!"

"I don't see it at all," said Rhoda bluntly.  "I should be mad.  What's
the good of your slaving here if, after all, he can't get on with his
work?  You might as well be comfortably at home."

"Rhoda!  Rhoda! be quiet this moment.  It's bad enough to fight against
my own rebellious feelings without hearing them put into words.  I won't
stay another moment to listen to you!"

She gave a playful shake to the girl's shoulder, and ran out of the
room, while Rhoda "snoddled" down to think over the conversation.

"Well, then, I suppose her motive is love--love for her brother, and--
er--thinking of him before herself.  She comes here and slaves so that
he may have his chance.  She is an angel, of course, an unselfish angel,
and I'm a wretch."  She lay still for a few moments, frowning fiercely,
then suddenly the bedclothes went up with a wrench--"I don't care--she's
ambitious too!  She thinks he is clever, and wants him to be great!
Well, so do I want to be great!  If it isn't wrong for one person, it
can't be for another.  My motive is _success_, and I'll work for it till
I drop!"



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

TOM'S EXAMINATION.

A day in bed renewed Rhoda's energy, and she took up her work with
unabated fervour.  The "lists" were, perhaps, less conspicuously
displayed than before, but were none the less in readiness when needed,
and if Miss Everett disapproved, the Latin mistress was all praise and
congratulation.

"I certainly have a gift for languages, and with lessons during the
holidays I shall soon be steaming ahead," Rhoda told herself proudly.
"I'll ask mother to let Mr Mason coach me.  He is a splendid teacher,
and if I have an hour a day I shall learn a lot.  Won't the girls stare
when I come back, and go soaring up the class!  I shouldn't wonder if I
got a remove.  It will be impossible to work up to Thomasina and her
set, but at any rate I'll be past the baby stages, and not disgrace
myself in the examinations."

All the world seemed bounded by examinations at present.  Thomasina and
the elder girls working steadily towards the goal of the "Matric";
Kathleen and her friends dreaming night and day of the "Oxford"; while
nearer at hand loomed the school examinations, which ended the term.
Rhoda was in a fever of anxiety to acquit herself well in the eyes of
her companions on this occasion, and could think, speak, and dream of
nothing else.  Even her joy of getting her remove from the "Bantlings"
into a higher team was swallowed up in the overwhelming interest, while
Dorothy was filled at once with admiration and disgust at the monotony
of her conversation.

"I don't know, and I don't care!" she replied callously, when anxiously
consulted about a point in mathematics.  "I've come out to play, and I'm
not going to rack my brains for you or anyone else.  You are getting a
regular bore, Rhoda!  It's like walking about with `Magnall's
Questions.'  Let's talk about frolics, or holidays, or something nice,
and not worry about stupid old lessons."

Well!  Rhoda told herself, it was no wonder if Dorothy _were_ medium, if
this was the way she regarded her studies.  If she took no more interest
than this in the coming contest, what could she expect from the result?
She would be sorry, poor dear, when she saw her name at the bottom of
the list!  There was no help to be expected from Dorothy; but Rhoda
stored up a few knotty questions, and took the first opportunity of
asking Tom for a solution.  She had discovered that Tom liked nothing
better than to be consulted by the younger girls, and had a tactful way
of asking help in return, which took away the sense of obligation.

"Oh, by-the-by," she would call to Rhoda, in her elegant fashion, "you
are a bit of a German sausage, aren't you?  Just read over that passage
for me.  I've been puzzling over it for the whole of the evening," and
then would follow some blissful moments, when Rhoda would skim lightly
over the difficulty, and feel the eyes of the girls fixed admiringly
upon her.

In the present instance a wet Saturday afternoon afforded a good
opportunity for the desired questioning.  The Hurst girls did not stay
indoors for an ordinary drizzle, but this was a downpour of so hopeless
a character that even the most enthusiastic athletes felt that the
house-parlour was preferable to the soaking, wind-swept grounds.  They
gathered together, stoked up the fire, and prepared to spend the two
hours' leisure as fancy should dictate, some girls reading, some sewing,
and some making themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit,
and doing nothing at all with every appearance of enjoyment.

"If we had only some chestnuts," said one of the lazy ones, "how happy
we might be!  I have a wild craving for chestnuts.  It came over me
suddenly just now, sitting looking at that fire."

"I think," said Irene Grey solemnly, "it's very sad, but I do think a
school like this makes one horribly greedy.  You get so tired of the
food, and have such a longing for something that _isn't_ wholesome.  I
assure you, my dears, there have been occasions when the centre table
has had beef, while we have had mutton, when I could have wept--simply
wept!  I should like to order a meal regardless of everything but what I
like--lobster mayonnaise, and salmon, and veal cutlets, and ice pudding,
and strawberries and cream, and fizzy lemonade.  That would be something
like a dinner--better than old joints and milk puddings!"

The girls groaned in sympathy, and Rhoda took advantage of their
absorption to cross to Tom's desk and consult her quietly on the knotty
points.  The solutions were remarkably simple--when you knew them!--and
Tom delivered herself solemnly on the subject.

"You don't think, my dear; you don't reflect.  Your brain would help you
out, but you don't give it a chance.  It's what I am always saying to
this room--it's not cram you need, it's intelligence!  Use your reason!
Cultivate your faculties!  Now, then, I'll tell you what I'll do!"--she
raised her voice suddenly, and swung round in her seat.  "I'll give you
girls an examination myself.  You need some practice before the real
business begins, and it will be just the thing for this wet afternoon.
Get out your books and pencils and I'll dictate the questions.  It's to
be a `General Intelligence' paper, and the examiner's instructions are--
use your wits!  They will not be the ordinary blunt, straightforward
questions manufactured by the masculine mind, and intended mainly for
the coarse, masculine ability, but full of depth and subtlety, so that
they will require careful consideration.  If you go scribbling down your
answers before you have read the questions, you'll be sorry, that's all;
but don't say you were not warned.  Now, then, are you ready? ...  We
will begin our studies to-day, young ladies, with a problem in
calculation!"  She deepened her voice into such an accurate imitation of
the Arithmetical Mistress as filled her listeners with delight.
"Attention to the board!--If a room were 20 feet long, 13 feet broad, 11
feet high, and 17 feet square, how much Liberty wall-paper 27 inches
wide would be required to paper it, allowing 5 feet square for the
fireplace and seven by three for the door?"

The girls wrote down the question, not, however, without some murmurs of
protest.

"If there is one kind of sum I hate more than another, it's these horrid
old wall-papers!" declared Bertha Stacey.  "I shall never be a paper-
hanger, so I don't see why I should worry my head.  I don't call _this_
General Intelligence."

"I expect we shall have a taste of most subjects; but really, Tom,
really now--the room could not be 17 feet square if your other
measurements were right!" argued Irene, who knew arithmetic to be her
strong point, and was not sorry to impress the fact on her companions.
"You have made a mistake."

She expected the examiner to be discomfited, but Tom fixed her with a
glittering eye, and demanded if perchance she had _seen_ the room in
question, since she was so positive.

"No, of course not, but then-- You know quite well--"

"Well, I _have_, so perhaps you will allow me to know better.  Go on,
young ladies, and the next one who dares to raise any objections gets
ten bad marks to begin her list.  I must have perfect submission.  Five
minutes allowed for working!"

The time proved all too short for some of the workers, for the less
expert they were the more elaborate became their calculations, until
page after page was filled with straggling figures.  Thomasina made a
round of inspection, frowning over each book in turn, protesting,
scolding, marking the result with a big black cross.  According to her
verdict everyone was wrong, although five girls had arrived at the same
result; and Irene obstinately disputed the decision.

"I _know_ it is right!  Work it for yourself, and see.  It's a simple
enough sum, and any one could tell--"

"That's apparently just what they can't do!  I don't deny that you may
be correct in the broad, vulgar sense, but that is not enough for me.  I
expect you to grasp the inner meaning.  Now the _real_ answer to this
question is that there can be no answer!  To a perceptive mind it would
be impossible to reply without further information.  It entirely depends
on how the paper is cut out, and the amount of waste incurred in
matching the pattern!"

The girls shrieked aloud in mingled protest and delight.  It was too
bad; it was ripping, it was mean; it was killing; they all spoke
together and at the pitch of their voices, and alternately abused and
applauded until they were tired.  The _denouement_ had taken them by
surprise, though in truth they knew their Head too well to have taken
the examination seriously.  When Tom played schoolmistress there was
bound to be a joke in ambush, and they settled down to question number
two with minds alert for a trap.

"We will now, young ladies, take an excursion into the realms of
Literature, and test your insight into human nature.  I will ask you, if
you please, to compare the respective characters of Alfred the Great and
Miss Charlotte Yonge--`Jo March' and Joseph Chamberlain--four great,
and, it will be obvious to all, strongly-defined personalities.  I shall
be interested to hear your distinctions!"

It appeared, however, as if there would be little to interest, for most
of the girls stared blankly into space, as if powerless to tackle such a
subject.  Rhoda was one of the few exceptions, and scribbled unceasingly
with a complacent sense of being on her own ground until the limit of
time was reached.  Tom had evidently noticed her diligence, for she
called out a peremptory, "Rhoda, read aloud your answer!" which was
flattering, if at the same time slightly alarming.

"Ahem--er--er--in the historical character of Alfred the Great we find
combined the characteristics of courage and simplicity.  He waged a long
and unequal fight, and was equally inspired by failures or success.

"In the person of Miss Charlotte Yonge we discover the same virtues, but
in a softer and more feminine mould.  Her heroes are for the most part
refined and cultivated young men, actuated by the highest motives--"

"Stop!  Stop!" screamed Thomasina desperately.  "For pity sake spare us
the rest.  Such deadly propriety I never encountered!  It reminds me of
the Fairchild family at their very worst.  If _that's_ the sort of thing
you are going to write, Rhoda, I pity the poor examiners.  And what do
you mean by Alfred fighting?  He was a most peaceful creature, so far as
I have heard!"

"Thomasina! the war with the Danes--all those years!  You must
remember!"

"I don't remember a thing about it.  How could a man fight the Danes
living in a peaceful retreat in the Isle of Wight, as Tennyson did
for--?"

Tennyson!  Tennyson!  Who spoke of Tennyson?  Oh! it was too bad; too
mean!  How on earth could anyone be expected to guess that Tom had meant
Tennyson, when she had expressly said Alfred the Great?  Rhoda protested
loudly, and the other girls backed her up; but Tom was obdurate.

"And isn't Tennyson known as `Alfred the Great' as well as the other
crittur?  It is just another example of want of intelligence!  You read
the words, and never trouble about the connection.  Who in their sane
senses would ask you to compare a warrior king with old Miss Yonge?  A
little reflection would have saved you from the pitfall into which you
have all fallen headlong.  Five bad marks each!  Now, then, for the next
two.  What have you got to say about the two Joes?"

Very little apparently.  No one had tackled the comparison in Rhoda's
grandiose fashion, but a few pithy sentences were to be found scribbled
on the sides of exercise books.  "Jo March was very clever, and my
father says Mr Chamberlain is, too!" from one dutiful pupil.  "Jo March
was a darling, and Chamberlain is not," from another of Radical
principles.  "Both wore eye-glasses, and wrote things for magazines,"
and other such exhaustive criticisms.

"You are _all_ plucked in Literature," announced Thomasina, solemnly,
"and I am deeply pained by the exhibition!  I will give you one more
chance in Arithmetic before going on to the higher branches, because, as
you are aware, this is a most vital and important subject.  Write down,
please: A and B each inherited thirty thousand pounds.  A invested his
capital in gold-mine shares to bring in eighteen per cent, interest.  B
put his money into the Post Office Savings Bank, and received two and a
half per cent.  State to three places in decimals the respective wealth
of each at the expiration of twenty-seven years!"

"Er--with what deduction for current expenses?" queried Irene, with an
air.  She had been snubbed once, but was not in the least subdued.
"What were their current expenses?"

"There were none!"

"Thomasina, what bosh!  There _must_ have been.  They couldn't live on
nothing."

"Well, they did, then.  Since you are so particular, I may tell you that
they were in prison!  They had their wants supplied by their native
land."

"I'm not going to do sums about convicts!  My mother wouldn't like it,"
said Dorothy, shutting up her book with a bang.  She leaned forward, and
whispered in Rhoda's ear, "Don't bother; it's only another joke.  What's
the use of worrying for nothing?"

"It's practice," said Rhoda, and away went her pencil, scribbling,
calculating, piling up row upon row of figures.  To her joy the answer
came out the same as Irene's, which surely must prove it right; yet, as
Dorothy had prophesied, Tom was once more sweeping in denunciation,
"Wrong!  Wrong!  All wrong!  The gold-mine failed, and left A a pauper,
while B lived happily ever after.  You are old enough to know that gold-
mines that pay eighteen per cent, invariably _do_ fail and ruin their
shareholders; or if you don't, you may be thankful to me for telling
you.  I must say, young ladies, you are coming exceedingly poorly
through my test.  I cannot congratulate you on your insight.  I doubt
whether it is any use examining you any further."

"Oh, yes, let us have the higher branches, Tom!  Do let us have the
higher branches!  Who knows?  Perhaps we may distinguish ourselves at
last.  Give us another chance!" pleaded the girls, mockingly; and, thus
challenged, Tom could not but consent.  She tackled Zoology, and giving
the three divisions of Plantigrada, Pinnigrada, and Digitigrada, added a
list of animals to be classified accordingly.  When it is said that the
list included such widely diverging creatures as "A camel-leopard, a
duck-billed platypus, Thomasina Bolderston, and Spring-heeled Jack," it
can be imagined with what zest the pupils began their replies.

Tom professed to be mortified beyond endurance to find her fairy tread
unanimously classed under the first heading, and begged the Blues to
take notice that if any girl pined to call her "splay-footed" to her
face she might do so, and take the consequences!  No one accepted the
challenge, however; so she proceeded to Latin, and, with much jingling
of keys, gave out a sentence for translation:--

"Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem."  The girls smiled at
this, confident of their powers.  The students at Hurst prided
themselves on their Latin, and could have stood a much severer test
without wavering.  The seniors did not trouble to write their answers,
but waited complacently until the time came when they should have an
opportunity of airing their proficiency.  It never came, however, for
Tom chose to disappoint expectations by reading aloud her own
translation from her position in front of the fire.

"Memento--remember; mentem--and mind; servare--to hold up; aequam--your
mare; in rebus arduis--going up hill.  That translation, young ladies,
was given by an undergraduate in the University of Oxford.  He
afterwards rowed stroke in the 'Varsity boat, and was the best billiard
player of his year, so it would ill become us to dispute his
conclusions.  You will observe the valuable moral lessons inculcated in
the words, and, I trust, take them to heart--`Remember and mind--'"

A laugh sounded from the direction of the door, and there stood Miss
Everett, looking round with mischievous eyes.  Rhoda noted with relief
that she looked brighter than for days past, as if some good news had
arrived from the home about which she was so anxious.

"This sounds improving," she cried, merrily.  "Thomasina holding a Latin
class!  I am glad you have found such an exemplary way of passing the
afternoon.  I am afraid you must stop, however, as the gong will ring in
five minutes, and meantime I must break up the class.  I want,"--her eye
roved enquiringly round the room--"I want Rhoda!"

"Certainly, Miss Everett.  Anything to oblige you.  Rhoda, my love, you
have my permission to retire," drawled Thomasina, wagging her head in
languid assent, and Rhoda left the room in no little wonder as to the
reason of the summons.

Arrived in the corridor, Miss Everett laid both hands on the girl's
shoulders, and asked a quick, laughing question:--

"What about that hamper?"

"Hamper?" echoed Rhoda.  "Hamper?"  Her air of bewilderment was so
unaffectedly genuine that the other's expression became in turn doubtful
and uncertain.

"Yes, yes, the hamper!  The hamper of good things that has just arrived
for my brother.  I thought you--"

"I know nothing about it; truly I don't!  I wish I did, but--"

"But, my dear girl, it came from your home.  There was a game label upon
it, with your father's name in print--`From Henry Chester, Erley Chase.'
There cannot be two Henry Chesters living at houses of the same name."

"Ah!" exclaimed Rhoda, and her face lit up with pleasure.  "It's mother!
Of course it's mother!  It's just the sort of thing mother would do.  I
told her that your brother had been ill, and that you were anxious about
him, and so she set to work to see how she could help.  That's just like
mother, she's the kindest dear!  I believe she sits down in her armchair
after breakfast every single morning, and plans out how many kind things
she can do during the day."

"Bless her heart!" cried Miss Everett devoutly.  "Well, Rhoda, she
succeeded this time.  My mother has written me all about it.  It was a
dull, wet day, and Lionel seemed depressed, and there was nothing nice
in the house, and nothing nice to be bought in the little village shops,
and she was just wondering, wondering how in the world she could cheer
him, and manufacture a tempting lunch out of hopeless materials, when
tap-tap-tap came the carrier's man at the door.  Then in came the
hamper, and Lionel insisted upon opening it himself, and was so
interested and excited!  There were all sorts of good things in it--
game, and grapes, and lovely, lovely hot-house flowers filling up the
chinks.  They were all so happy!  It was such a piece of cheer arriving
in that unexpected fashion, and mother says the house is fragrant with
the scent of the flowers.  Lionel arranged them himself.  It kept him
quite happy and occupied.  How can I thank you, dear?"

"Don't thank me.  It was not my doing.  It's mother."

"But how did your mother know where we lived?  How did she know who we
were?"

"Well!"  Rhoda smiled and flushed.  "Naturally I tell her the news.  I
suppose I must have mentioned that your father was Vicar of Stourley.  I
don't remember; but then I've so often written about you, and she would
naturally be glad to do anything she could, for she knows you have been
kind to me, and that I'm very--fond of you!"

Miss Everett bent down quickly, and kissed her on the cheek.

"And my people knew who Mr Chester was because I've written of you, and
they know that you have been kind to _me_, and that I'm fond of you,
too.  Oh Rhoda, you don't know how lonely it feels to be a teacher
sometimes, or how grateful we are to anyone who treats us as human
beings, and not as machines.  You don't know how you have cheered me
many a time."

"But--but--I've been tiresome, and stupid, and rebellious.  I've given
you lots of trouble--"

"Perhaps, but you have been affectionate too, and seemed to like me a
little bit, in spite of my lectures; and if it had not been for your
kind words the hamper would never have come, so I insist upon thanking
you as well as your mother.  Many, many thanks, dear!  I shall always
re--" She stopped short suddenly, her attention arrested by the scraping
of chairs within the parlour, and concluded in a very different tone,
"The girls are coming!  For pity's sake don't let Tom find us
sentimentalising here!  Fly, Rhoda, fly!" and off she ran along the
corridor, flop, flop, flop, on her flat-soled shoes, as much in fear of
the scrutiny of the head girl as the youngest Blue in the house!



CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOME AGAIN.

The week of examination passed slowly by, and the morning dawned when
the all-important lists were to be read aloud.  The girls were tired
after the strain, the teachers exhausted by the work of reading over
hundreds of papers, and it was consequently a somewhat pale and
dejected-looking audience which assembled in the Hall to hear the
report.

Rhoda sat tense on her seat, and puzzled for some moments over the
meaning of a certain dull, throbbing noise, before discovering that it
was the beating of her own heart.  It seemed to her morbid sensitiveness
that every eye was upon her, that everyone was waiting to hear what
place the new girl had taken.  When Miss Bruce began to read she could
hardly command herself sufficiently to listen, but the first mention of
her own name brought her to her bearings with a shock of dismay.  After
all her work, her care, her preparation, to be so low as this, to take
so poor a place!  The mortification was so bitter that she would fain
have hidden herself out of reach of consolation, but to her surprise, so
far from condoling, teachers and pupils alike seemed surprised that she
had done so well.

"You have worked admirably, Rhoda.  I am pleased with you," said Miss
Murray.

"Well done, Fuzzy!" cried Tom, and even Miss Bruce said graciously:

"Very good progress for a first term, Rhoda!"

It was evident from their manner that they meant what they said, and
another girl might have gleaned comfort from the realisation that she
had expected too much of her own abilities.  Not so Rhoda!  It was but
an added sting to discover that she had been ranked so low, that an even
poorer result would have created no astonishment.  She was
congratulated, forsooth, on what seemed to her the bitterest
humiliation!  If anything was needed to strengthen the determination to
excel at any and every cost, this attitude of the school was sufficient.
In the solitude of the cubicle she vowed to herself that the day should
come, and that speedily, when she would be estimated at her right value.
She stood in the damp and cold gazing up at the Record Wall, and
renewed the vow with fast-beating heart.  The sun struggled from behind
the clouds and lit up the surface of the tablets, and the Honours girl,
and the B.A. girl, and the girls who had won the scholarships, seemed to
smile upon her and wish her success, but Eleanor Newman's name was in
the shade.  The sun had not troubled to light it up.  She was "stupid,"
and had never won a prize.

The last two days were broken and unsatisfactory, and Rhoda longed for
the time of departure to arrive; yet it was not without a pang of regret
that she opened her eyes on the last morning, and gazed round the little
blue cubicle.  It was delightful to be going home, yet school had its
strong points, and there were one or two partings ahead which could not
be faced without depression.  How nice it would be if she could take all
her special friends home--Dorothy and Kathleen, and Miss Everett, and--
yes!  Tom herself; for, wonderful to state, she was unaffectedly sorry
to part from Tom.  What fun they would have had running riot in Erley
Chase, and summoning the whole household to wait on their caprices!

The gong rang, and all the little bells followed suit in their usual
objectionable fashion, but the girls yawned and lay still for another
five minutes, aware that leniency was the order of the day.  The roll of
the organ and the first two lines of the hymn found them still in bed,
and the words were clearly distinguishable:--

  Awake my soul, and with the sun, Thy daily course of duty run--

"How stupid!" commented Rhoda to herself.  "`Course of duty' on the very
day we are leaving school.  What a ridiculous choice!" and then she
tumbled out of bed and listened no more.

The rest of the morning seemed a comical Alice-in-Wonderland repetition
of the day of arrival.  The same long queues were formed to march down,
instead of upstairs; the teachers stood on the landings to say good-bye,
instead of welcome; the "Black Marias" bore the pupils to, instead of
from, the station, where the saloon carriages stood waiting as before.
The Blues crowded into one carriage, and Tom seated herself by Rhoda,
and with twinkling eyes called attention to the undulating beauty of the
landscape.  It was all exactly the same, yet delightfully different, for
now there was no shyness nor restraint, but the agreeable consciousness
of liberty to chaff in return, and be as cheeky as one chose.

There was unceasing talk on the journey, yet each girl realised as the
train steamed into Euston that she had forgotten to say the most
important things, and was divided between regret and anxiety to look out
for friends waiting on the platform.  Rhoda had heard that Harold was to
meet her, and presently there he was--handsomer than ever, or looking so
after the three months' separation, and as immaculate as if he had
stepped out of the traditional bandbox.

"There he is!  That's Harold!  That's my brother!" she cried, with a
thrill of pride in the tall, frock-coated figure; and Thomasina looked,
and rolled her little eyes to the ceiling.

"What a bee-ootiful young man!  A perfect picter!  Give him my fond
love, Fuzzy, and say that I am desolated not to be able to stay to make
his acquaintance, but I must make a bolt for my train."

She seized her bag as she spoke and hurried to the door, prepared to
jump on to the platform at the first possible moment, while her
companions impatiently followed in her wake.  Rhoda had a vague
recollection of promising to write regularly to half a dozen girls, and
then she was shaking hands with Harold, and laughing in pure joy at
seeing the familiar face.

"Here I am!  Here I am!  I have come back at last!"

"So I see!"  He swept a glance over her, half smiling, half startled.
"Awfully glad to see you.  Got your luggage in the van, eh?  Don't know
how on earth we shall get hold of it in this crowd.  What an--excuse
me!--an appalling set of girls!"

"I thought so too, at first, but they look different when you know them.
Some of them are sweet, and awfully pretty."

"Humph!" said Harold, sceptically.  "They are not conspicuous.  I don't
see a decent-looking girl anywhere, except--who's the girl in the grey
hat?"

"That's Miss Everett, our house-mistress, the one I'm so fond of--the
one who has the invalid brother, you know, to whom mother sent the
game!"

"Teacher, is she?  I thought she was a pupil.  Sorry for her, poor
little thing, if she has to manage a lot of girls like you.  Ha!  `R.C.'
That's your box at last.  I'll get a porter to put it on a four-
wheeler.  Watch where I go, and keep close behind."

He strolled forward, and such was the effect of his imposing appearance
and lordly ways, that the porters flew to do his bidding, and piled the
luggage on the cab, while others who had been first on the scene were
still clamouring for attention.  Rhoda glanced proudly at him as they
drove away together, but the admiration evidently was on one side, for
he frowned, and said critically--

"You--er--look pale!  You have lost your colour!"

"I've been working hard."

"You have grown thinner!"

"Games, I suppose.  We are always running about."

"Er--what has become of your hair?"

Rhoda first stared, and then laughed.

"Oh, my pigtail!  I forgot that you hadn't seen it.  I hated it too, at
first, but I've grown accustomed to it, and find it very comfortable.
It worries me now to have my hair blowing about and tickling my face."

"All the same, my dear, you had better untie it before we get home.  We
will lunch at the Station Hotel, and you can comb it out there.  It will
give the mater a shock if she sees you looking so changed.  She would
hardly know you, I think."

The tone of disapproval hit hard, and to hide her chagrin Rhoda adopted
an air of indifference.

"Oh, we don't trouble ourselves about appearances at Hurst.  So long as
we are comfortable we are satisfied.  If a girl worries to dress up, we
chaff her unmercifully."

"The more foolish you!  I hope and pray, Rhoda, that you are not going
to develop into one of the strong-minded young women one meets nowadays,
who seem to spend their lives in trying to be as much like men as
possible.  It will be a mistake if you do.  Be as learned as you like,
and as sensible as you like, and as hardy as you like--that is all to
the good--but, for pity's sake, be pretty too, and dainty, and feminine!
We don't want to have all our womenkind swallowed up in athletes,
warranted to be `hard kicks,' or `useful forwards!'  We want them to
play the ornamental part in life, and be pretty, and sweet, and
attractive."

"Ha, ha, yes!  That's the man's point of view!" quoth Rhoda loftily, and
her brother smiled good-naturedly as the cab stopped before the hotel.

"It is, my dear, that's very certain; and as you will probably meet a
good many men as you go through life, you might as well study their
opinion.  It may be regrettable, but it is certainly true, that you will
have more influence if you are agreeable to look at.  You would have
more influence over _me_ at this moment if you would kindly walk
upstairs and make yourself look--er--a little more like your old self!"

"Oh, I don't mind.  Anything to please you!" said Rhoda carelessly, and
strode upstairs after the chambermaid, smiling to herself in lofty
superiority at Harold's "dandy ways."  She did not smile, however, when,
on coming suddenly in front of the mirror, she caught a full-length
reflection of herself, for her brother's presence had unconsciously
altered her point of view, so that she saw herself no longer from the
standpoint of Hurst Manor, but that of Erley Chase.  Yes, Harold was
right!  It was not only the pigtail; there was an indefinable difference
in her whole appearance.  The clothes were the same, the girl was the
same, but there was no longer the immaculate neatness, the dainty care,
the well-groomed look which had once characterised her.  In her usual
impetuous fashion, she had rushed from one extreme to the other; in
discarding vanity, had run perilously near neglect.

"I look a nasty, horrid, hidjus fright!" she cried aloud, staring in
disgust at the unwelcome vision.  "I couldn't have believed it--really I
couldn't!  It's the fault of those horrid little cubicles with the glass
stuck in the darkest corner.  Harold was right.  Mother would have been
shocked."

She slipped off coat and hat, and with the aid of the well-stocked
dressing-bag went through such a process of dusting, brushing, and
combing-out as she had not known for weeks past.  Finally the old Rhoda
seemed to smile upon her in response, in her own eyes at least, but when
Erley Chase was reached some hours later Mrs Chester was far from
satisfied with her darling's appearance.  Her anxious eyes took in at a
glance every change in the beloved features, and nothing could shake her
conviction that the child had been starved and overworked.  An elaborate
system of coddling was inaugurated, to which Rhoda submitted with
wonderful meekness.

Oh, the delight at being home again, of being loved and fussed over, and
indulged in one's pet little weaknesses!  How beautiful everything
looked; the richly-furnished rooms, the hall with its Turkey carpet and
pictured walls; the dinner table with its glittering glass and silver!
How luxurious to awake in her own pretty room, to hear the fire
crackling in the grate, and to sit up in bed to drink the early cup of
tea!

"I never realised before how nice home was!" sighed Rhoda to herself,
and for four whole days she succeeded in forgetting all about school,
and in abandoning herself to the enjoyment of the festivities of the
season.

Christmas Day once over, however, recollections came back with a pang,
and she was all eagerness to begin the proposed lessons with the Vicar.
To her surprise, father and mother looked coldly upon the project, and
so far from admiring her industry thought it a pity to introduce work
into the holidays.  It needed a hard struggle to induce them to consent
to three lessons a week instead of six, and she had to face the
certainty that private study would be made as difficult as possible.
Even Harold elevated his eyebrows and enquired, "Why this tremendous
hurry?" as if he had never been to a public school himself and known the
necessity for advance.

Rhoda betook herself to the faithful Ella in no very gentle mood, and
stormed about the small Vicarage garden like a young whirlwind.

"Well, I must say grown-ups are the most tiresome, aggravating,
unreasonable creatures that were ever invented!  First they want you to
work, and urge you to work, and goad you to work, and `Oh, my dear, it
would do you all the good in the world to compete with other girls,' and
then, the moment you take them at their word and get interested and
eager, round they turn, and it's, `Oh the folly of cram!  Oh the
importance of health!'  `Oh what does it matter, my dear good child, if
you _are_ a dunce, so long as you keep your complexion!'  No, I'm not
angry, I'm perfectly calm, but it makes me _ill_!  I can't stand being
thwarted in my best and noblest ambitions.  If I had a daughter, and she
wanted to cram in her holidays, I'd be proud of her, and try to help,
instead of throwing hindrances in the way.  It's very hard, I must say,
to get no sympathy from one's nearest and dearest.  Even your father
looked at me over his spectacles as if I were a wild animal.  I thought
he would have been pleased with my industry."

"He is; I know he is; but he thinks you may overdo it.  You know, Rhoda,
you _are_ impetuous!  When you take up an idea you ride it to death, and
in lessons that doesn't pay.  Slow and sure wins the--"

"Rubbish!  Humbug!  It will never win my race, for I have a definite
time to run it in, and not a day more.  It has to be a gallop, and a
pretty stiff one at that.  For goodness' sake, Ella, don't _you_ begin
to preach.  You might be grown-up yourself, sitting there prosing in
that horribly well-regulated fashion."

"I'm not well-regulated!" cried Ella, incensed by the insinuation.  "I
was only trying to calm you down because you were in such a temper.
What is the use of worrying?  You have got your own way; why can't you
be happy?  Leave the wretched old Latin alone, and tell me about school.
There are a hundred things I am longing to hear, and we have not had a
proper talk yet.  Tell me about the girls, and the teachers, and the
rules, and the amusements, and what you like best, and what you hate
worst."

It was a "large order," as Harold would have said, but Rhoda responded
with enjoyment, for what can be pleasanter than to expatiate on one's
own doings to a hearer with sufficient knowledge to appreciate the
points, and sufficient ignorance to prevent criticism or undue
sensitiveness as to consistency of detail!

Rhoda told of the chill, early breakfasts, of the seven o'clock supper
when everything looked so different in the rosy light, especially on
Thursdays, when frolics and best clothes were the order of the day; of
Miss Mott, with her everlasting "Attention to the board"; the Latin
mistress, with her eye-glasses; Fraulein, with a voice described by Tom
as sounding "like a gutter on a rainy day"; and of Miss Everett,
sweetest and best-loved of all.  Lastly she told of the Record Wall, and
Ella was fired, as every girl hearer invariably was fired, with interest
and emulation.

When Rhoda went off to her lesson in the study the poor little stay-at-
home recalled the words of Eleanor Newman's inscription, and capped them
by one even more touching:

"Ella Mason, a student of exceptional promise, voluntarily relinquished
a career of fame and glory to be a cheerful and uncomplaining helper at
home."  Alas, poor Ella! at the word "cheerful" her lips twitched, and
at "uncomplaining" the big tears arose and trickled down her cheeks!

For the rest of the holidays Rhoda worked more persistently than anyone
suspected, with the exception of her tutor, who invariably found the
allotted task not only perfectly accomplished, but exceeded in length.
Even making allowances for the girl's undoubted gift for languages, he
was amazed at her progress, and complimented her warmly at the close of
the lessons, watching with half-amused, half-pitying eyes the flush of
pleasure on the girl's cheeks.

"You are very ambitious, Rhoda.  Very anxious to distinguish yourself?"

"Yes."

"Well, well! you are young.  It is natural.  Remember only that there
are different kinds of success, and aim for the best.  When I was your
age I had dreams of a deanery or a bishopric, but I have remained all my
life in this sleepy village.  My college companions have soared over my
head, yet I can never feel myself an unsuccessful man.  I have had great
compensations, and have discovered that obscurity has many lessons which
I needed badly to learn.  Don't be too anxious for honour and glory;
there are other things better worth having!"

"The worst of old people is--they _will_ preach!" said Rhoda to herself
as she walked home across the Park.  "He is a good old thing, the Vicar,
but a terrible bore.  Unsuccessful!  I should think he _is_
unsuccessful, with half-a-dozen children, and that wretched little bit
of a house, and a poor stipend.  No wonder he gets prosy.  Young people
understand young people best, and Miss Everett was quite right when she
said it was no use trying to stuff lessons down your throat until you
were ready to swallow them.  If all the fathers, and mothers, and
brothers, and vicars in the world were to lecture me now, and tell me to
take it easy, and not to worry about the examination, it would have no
effect.  In another two days I go back to school, and then--then--" She
stood still in the midst of the bare, wintry scene, and clasped her
hands together passionately.

"Rhoda Chester, you must work, you must win!  If you don't do well in
that examination, it will break your heart!"



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"IF I PASS--"

The Christmas holidays were over, the Easter holidays were over, and
spring was back once more.  On the slope over which the new students had
gaily tobogganed two months before the primroses were showing their
dainty, yellow faces, and the girl gardeners were eagerly watching the
progress of their bulbs.  Hearing that other plots boasted nothing rarer
than pheasant eye and Lent lilies, Rhoda had promptly written home for a
supply of Horsfieldi and Emperor, which were expected to put everything
else in the shade, but, alas! they were coming up in feeble fashion, and
showed little sign of flowering.  "Another year," the gardener said,
"they would do better another year!  Bulbs were never so strong the
first season."  Whereat Rhoda chafed with impatience.  Always another
time, and not _now_!

Always postponement, delay, uncertainty!  Try as she might, checks
seemed to be waiting on every side, and she could never succeed in
distinguishing herself above her fellows.  In moments of depression it
seemed that she was as insignificant now as on the day when she first
joined the school; but at other times she was happily conscious of a
change in the mental attitude towards herself.  Though still far from
the front, she was recognised as a girl of power and determination; an
ambitious girl, who would spare no work to attain her end, and who
might, in the future, become a dangerous rival.  Dorothy had long ago
thrown up the unequal fight, and even Kathleen had moments of doubt,
when she said fearfully to herself, "She is cleverer than I am.  She
gets on so well.  Suppose--just suppose..."

With milder weather, cricket had come into fashion, and on the occasion
of the first pavilion tea the Blues turned up in force.  Thomasina sat
perched in manly attitude on the corner of the table, where, as it
seemed to the onlooker, every possible hindrance was put in the way of
her enjoyment of the meal.  Irene Grey presided at the urn, Bertha
handed round the cups, and a bevy of girls hung over the cake basket,
making critical and appreciative remarks.

"Bags me that brown one, with the cream in the middle!  I've tried those
macaroons before--they are as hard as bricks!"

"I wish they would get cocoa-nut cakes for a change; I adore cocoa-nuts,
when they are soft and mushy.  We make them at home, and they are ever
so much nicer than the ones you buy!"

"That's what they call plum-cake, my love!  Case of `Brother, where art
thou?' like the Friday pudding.  Those little white fellows look
frightfully insipid.  What Rhoda would call a `kid-glove flavour,' I
should say."

Every one laughed at this, for it was still a matter of recent
congratulation in the house that Rhoda Chester had invented an
appropriate title for a certain mould or blancmange, which appeared at
regular intervals, and possessed a peculiar flavour which hitherto had
refused to be classified.

In a moment of inspiration, Rhoda had christened it "Kid-Glove Jelly,"
and the invention had been received with acclamation.  Did she say she
had never distinguished herself, had never attracted attention?  No,
surely this was wrong; for in that moment she had soared to the very
pinnacle of fame.  So long as the school endured, the name which she had
created would be handed down from generation to generation.  Alas, alas!
our ambitions are not always realised in the way we would choose!  When
one has pined to be in a first team, or to come out head in an
examination, it is a trifle saddening to be obliged to base our
reputation on--the nickname of a pudding!

Rhoda smiled brightly enough, however, at the present tribute to her
powers, and passed her cup for a third supply with undiminished
appetite.  She had been playing with her usual frantic energy, and was
tired and aching.  Her shoulders bent forward as she sat on her chair;
she shut her eyes with a little contraction of the brows; the dimple no
longer showed in her cheek; and when Bertha upset the tray upon the
floor, she started with painful violence.  Her nerves were beginning to
give way beneath the strain put upon them; but, instead of being warned,
and easing off in time, she repeated obstinately to herself:--"Three
months more--two and a half--only two!--I can surely keep up for eight
weeks, and then there will be all the holidays for rest!"

It seemed, indeed, looking forward, as if the world were bounded by the
coming examination, and that nothing existed beyond.  If she succeeded--
very well, it was finished!  Her mind could take in no further thought.
If she failed--clouds and darkness! chaos and destruction!  The world
would have come to an end so far as she was concerned.

It filled her with surprise to hear the girls discuss future doings in
their calm, unemotional fashion; but though she could not participate,
the subject never failed to interest.  The discussion began again now,
for it was impossible to keep away from the all-engrossing subject, and
the supposition, "If I pass," led naturally to what would come
afterwards.

"If I do well I shall go up to Newnham, and try for the Gilchrist
Scholarship--fifty pounds a year for three years.  It's vacant next
year, and I don't see why I shouldn't have it as well as anyone else,"
said Bertha, modestly, and Tom pounded the table with her heels.

"Go in, my beauty, go in and win!  I only wish you could wait a few
years until I am there to look after you.  I am going to be Principal of
Newnham one of these fine days, and run it on my own lines.  No work,
and every comfort--breakfast in bed, and tea in the grounds--nothing to
do but wait upon me and pander to my wishes!"

"I daresay!  So like you, Tom!  You would be a terror, and work the
girls to death.  You are never tired yourself, so you would keep them
going till they dropped.  I pity the poor creatures who came under your
rule, but most likely you will never be tried.  You may be first
mistress, or second, or third, but it's not likely you'll ever be a
Principal!"

"It's not likely at all, it's positive sure," retorted Tom calmly.
"Principals, like poets, are born not made, and the cause can't afford
to lose me.  I don't say for a certainty it will be Newnham; it may
possibly be Girton, or Somerville, or Lady Margaret Hall, but one of the
two or three big places it's bound to be.  No one shall call me
conceited, but I know my own powers, and I intend that other people
shall know them too.  Education is my sphere, and I intend to devote my
life to the advancement of my sex.  Pass the cake, someone!  I haven't
had half enough.  Yes, my vocation is among women.  You will hardly
believe me, my dears, but men don't seem to appreciate me, somehow!
There is a `Je-ne-sais-quoi' in my beauty which doesn't appeal to them a
mite.  But girls adore me.  I've a fatal fascination for them which they
can't withstand.  There's Rhoda there--she intended to hate me when she
first came, and now she adores the ground I tread on.  Don't you, Fuzzy?
You watch her smile, and see if it's not true!  Very well, then; I see
plainly what Providence intends, and I'm going straight towards that
goal."

"And it is what you would like?  You would choose it if you had the
choice?"

"Rather, just!  It's the dream of my life.  There is nothing in all the
world that I should like so much."

Pretty Dorothy sighed, and elevated her eyebrows.

"Well--I wouldn't.  I enjoy school very much, and want to do well while
I am here, but when I leave, I never want to do another hour's study.
If I thought I had to teach, I should go crazy.  I should like to have a
good time at home for a few years, and then--yes, I should!--I should
like to marry a nice man who loved me, and live in the country--and have
a dear little home of my own.  Now, I suppose you despise me for a poor-
spirited wretch; but it's true, and I can't help it."

But Tom did not look at all scornful.  She beamed at the speaker over
her slice of plum-cake, and cried blandly--

"Bless you, no!  It's quite natural.  You are that sort, my dear, and I
should not have believed you if you had said anything else.  You'll
marry, of course, and I'll come and visit you in the holidays, and
you'll say to `Him,' `What a terrible old maid Thomasina has grown!' and
I'll say to myself, `Poor, dear old Dorothy, she is painfully domestic!'
and we will both pity each other, and congratulate ourselves on our own
escape.  We have different vocations, you and I, and it would be folly
to try to go the same way."

"You are happy creatures it you are _allowed_ to go your own way," said
Bertha sadly.  "I'm not, and that's just the trouble.  I'm not a star,
like Tom, but I love work, and want to do some good with my education.
I should be simply miserable settling down at home with no occupation
but to pay calls, or do poker work and sewing; yet that's what my
parents expect me to do.  They are rich, and can't understand why I
should want to work when there is no necessity.  I may persuade them to
send me abroad for a year or so for languages and music, but even then I
should be only twenty, and I can't settle down to vegetate at twenty.
It's unreasonable to send a girl to a school where she is kept on the
alert, body and mind, every hour of the day, and then expect her to be
content to browse for the rest of her life!  Now, what ought one to do
in my position?  _I_ want one thing; _they_ want another.  Whose duty is
it to give way?"

She looked at Tom as she spoke, but Tom swung her feet to and fro, and
went on munching plum-cake and staring into space with imperturbable
unconsciousness.  Bertha called her sharply to attention.

"Tom! answer, can't you?  I was speaking to you."

"Rather not, my dear.  Ask someone else; some wise old Solomon who has
had experience."

"No, thank you.  I know beforehand what he would say.  `Submission, my
child, submission!  Parents always know best.  Young people are always
obstinate and hot-headed.  Be ruled!  Be guided!  In time to come you
will see'--Yah!" cried Bertha, with a sudden outburst of irritation.
"I'm sick of it!  I've had it dinned into my ears all my life, and I
want to hear someone appreciate the other side for a change.  I'm young;
I've got all my life to live.  If I were a boy I should be allowed to
choose.  Surely! surely, I ought to have _some_ say in my own affairs!
Don't shirk now, Tom, but speak out and say what you think.  If you are
going to be a Principal you ought to be able to give advice, and I
really do need it!"

"Ye-es!" said Tom slowly.  "But you needn't have given me such a poser
to start with.  It's a problem my dear, that has puzzled many a girl
before you, and many a parent, too.  The worst of it is that there is so
much to be said on both sides.  I could make out an excellent brief for
each; and, while I think of it, it wouldn't be half a bad subject to
discuss some day at our Debating Society: `To what extent is a girl
justified in deciding on her own career, in opposition to the wishes of
her parents?'  Make a note of that someone, will you?  It will come in
usefully.  I'm thankful to say my old dad and I see eye to eye about my
future, but if he didn't--it would be trying!  I hate to see girls
disloyal to their parents, and if the `revolt of the daughters' were the
only outcome of higher education I should say the sooner we got back to
deportment and the use of the globes the better for all concerned.  But
it wasn't all peace and concord even in the old days.  Don't tell me
that half a dozen daughters sat at home making bead mats in the front
parlour, and never had ructions with their parents or themselves!  They
quarrelled like cats, my dears, take my word for it, and were ever so
much less happy and devoted than girls are now, going away to do their
work, and coming home with all sorts of interesting little bits of news
to add to the general store.  It's impossible to lay down the law on
such a question, for every case is different from another, but I think a
great deal depends on the work waiting at home.  If a girl is an only
daughter, or the only strong or unmarried one, there is no getting away
from it that her place is with her parents.  We don't want to be like
the girl in _Punch_, who said, `My father has gout, and my mother is
crippled, and it is so dull at home that I am going to be a nurse in a
hospital!'  _That_ won't do!  If you have a duty staring you in the face
you are a coward it you run away from it.  An only daughter ought to
stay at home; but when there are two or three, it's different.  It
doesn't take three girls to arrange flowers, and write notes, and pay
calls, and sew for bazaars; and where there is a restless one among
them, who longs to do something serious with her time, I--I think the
parents should give way!  As you say, we have to live our own lives,
and, as boys are allowed to choose, I think we should have the same
liberty.  I don't know how large your family is, Bertha, or--"

"Three sisters at home.  One engaged, but the other two not likely to
be, so far as I can see, and Mother quite well, and brisk, and active!"

"Well, don't worry!  Don't force things, or get cross, and they'll give
in yet, you'll see.  Put your view of the case before them, and see if
you cannot meet each other somehow.  If they find that you are quiet and
reasonable they will be far more inclined to take you seriously, and
believe that you know your own mind.  That's all the advice I can give
you, my dear, and I'm afraid it's not what you wanted.  Perhaps someone
else can speak a word in season!"

"Well, I side with the parents, for if the rich are going to work, what
is to become of the poor ones like me, who are obliged to earn their
living?" cried Kathleen, eagerly.  "Now, if Bertha and I competed for an
appointment, she could afford to take less salary, and so, of course--"

"No, no!  That's mean!  I do beg and pray all you Blues that, whatever
you do, you never move a finger to reduce the salaries of other women!"
cried Tom fervently.  "If you don't need the money, give it away to
Governesses' Institutions--Convalescent Homes--whatever you like; but,
for pity's sake, don't take less than your due.  For my own part, I must
candidly say that when I am Principal I shall select my staff from those
who are like Kathleen, and find work a necessity rather than a
distraction.  It seems to me, if I were rich and idle, I could find lots
of ways of making myself of use in the world without jostling the poor
Marthas.  I could coach poor governesses who were behind the times, but
couldn't afford to take lessons; I'd translate books into Braille for
the blind; I'd teach working boys at their clubs, and half a dozen other
interesting, useful things.  There's no need to be idle, even if one
_does_ live at home with a couple of dear old conservative parents.
Where there's a will there's a way!"

"But I want it to be my way!" sighed Bertha, dolefully.  Like the
majority of people who ask for advice, she was far from satisfied now
that she had got it.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE "REVELS."

One of the Hurst Manor institutions was a whole holiday on the first
Saturday in June, which was technically known as "Revels."  The holiday
had been inaugurated partly to celebrate the coming of summer, and
partly as a kindly distraction for the students, who at this season of
the year were apt to be too absorbingly engrossed in the coming
examinations.  Old pupils declared that at no other time was the
Principal so indulgent and anxious to second the girls' fancies, while
the particular form of entertainment was left entirely to their
discretion.  When the programme was drawn up it was submitted to Miss
Bruce for approval, but, as she had never been known to object, the
consultation was more a matter of form than necessity.

To Rhoda's surprise, she found her name among those of the General
Committee posted on the notice board, and the delight and pride
consequent thereon diverted her thoughts into a new channel, and were as
good as a tonic to her nervous system.  It was a compliment to have been
chosen, for the dozen girls had been drawn from all five houses, and
Irene Grey and herself were the only representatives of the Blues.

"It's a beauty competition, evidently.  Can't think why they haven't
asked me!" was Tom's comment; but Rhoda felt convinced that she had been
selected because of the dramatic abilities which she had exhibited on
more than one of the Thursday "Frolics," and was not far wrong in her
surmise.  She had, in truth, a keen eye for effect, a power of
manufacturing properties, and of learning and even inventing suitable
rhymes, which were invaluable in organising an entertainment.

"And besides," said the Games Captain to her Secretary, "there's her
back hair!  She has really admirable back hair!"

The Committee held their meetings in the study of the Head Green, and
anxiously discussed their programme.  On previous years they had held
Gymkhanas and various kinds of picnics, but the ambition was ever to hit
on something so original and startling as to eclipse all that had
previously been attempted.  They racked their brains and gazed
helplessly at the ceiling, while the Chairwoman begged for remarks,
after the manner of all Committees since the world began.  Then, at
last, someone hazarded a suggestion, someone else took it up and added a
fresh idea; and the ball, once set rolling, grew bigger and bigger,
until, at last, there it was, complete and formed before them!  It was a
charming programme--quite charming!  They were full of admiration for
their own cleverness in inventing it, and away they flew, smiling and
confident, to consult Miss Bruce in her sanctum.

The Principal read the sheet handed to her, and the corners of her lips
twitched in humorous fashion.  She looked across at the twelve eager
young faces, and smiled a slow, kindly smile.

"It sounds _very_ charming!" she said; "I am sure it would be most
entertaining, but--would it not involve a great deal of preparation?  Do
you think you have realised how much work you will have?"

"Oh yes, Miss Bruce, but we can manage it easily!" cried the Chairwoman.
"We can get as many helpers as we like in game hours, and you always
allow us an afternoon off to make preparations."

"Certainly, certainly!  You can do nothing without time.  Very well,
then, if you think you can manage, I have no objection.  You have my
permission to ask the carpenter and gardeners to help you, and if
anything is needed, one of the governesses shall go into town to make
your purchases."

Nothing could have been more gracious.  The Committee gave a unanimous
murmur of acknowledgment, and were immediately smitten with
embarrassment.  So long as one has something to say it is easy to retain
self-confidence, but, when the business is finished, the necessity of
saying good-bye and beating a retreat becomes fraught with terror to the
timid guest.  The girls felt that it would be discourteous to retire
without speaking another word, but what to say they could not think, so
they huddled together beside the door, and waited to be dismissed, which
they presently were in the kindest of manners.

"I shall look forward with great pleasure to the performance.  Success
to your efforts!  You will have plenty to do, so I won't detain you any
longer.  Good afternoon!"

The Committee retired in haste, gasped relief in the corridor, and
promptly set about collecting forces for the furtherance of its aim.
They enlisted the sympathies of the workmen engaged in the grounds,
selected parties of amateur gardeners to supplement their efforts, and
chose the forty prettiest girls in the school to be on the "acting
staff."  Each new worker was pledged to secrecy, as surprise was to be
the order of the day, and a certain portion of the grounds was marked
off by placards bearing the announcement that "Trespassers would be
persecuted!"  A casual observer might have imagined a slip of the pen in
this last word, but the girls knew better.  It would be persecution,
indeed, and of no light nature, which would be visited upon a willing
violator of that order.

For the next ten days preparations went on busily, both outdoors and in
the various studies.  Lessons, of course, could not be interrupted, but
the hours usually devoted to games, added to odd five minutes of
leisure, made up a not inconsiderable total.  The onlookers reported
eagerly among themselves that the dancing mistress had been pressed into
the service, and that sundry mysterious boxes had been sent to the
leading members of the Committee from their various homes.  Everyone was
agreed that "It" was to be very grand, and they prepared to enjoy the
entertainment in a hearty, but duly critical fashion; for when we
ourselves have not been asked to take part in an enterprise, pride has
no better consolation than to think how much more successful it would
have been in happier circumstances!

The Committee announced that, should the weather prove unpropitious, a
modified form of the proposed entertainment would be given in Great
Hall, but no one seriously contemplated such a catastrophe.  Providence
was so invariably kind to "Revels" that the oldest student could not
recall a day that had been less than perfect, and this year was no
exception to the rule.  The air was soft, the sky was blue, the grass,
unscorched as yet by the heat of summer, of a rich emerald green, the
sunshine sent flickering shadows over the paths; it was one of those
perfect days when our native land is seen at its best; and when England
is at her best, go east or west, or where you will, you can find no
place to equal it!  Every single inmate of school came down to breakfast
with a smile on her face, for this was a day of all play and no work,
and as the formal entertainment did not take place until three o'clock,
the whole morning remained in which to laze after one's heart's desire.
Even the Committee were so well on with their preparations that by
eleven o'clock they were free to join their friends, and Rhoda looked
eagerly round for Miss Everett.  No one had seen her, however, and a
vague report that she was "headachy" sent the searcher indoors to
further her inquiries.  She found the study door closed, but a faint
voice bade her enter, and there on the sofa lay Miss Everett with a
handkerchief bound round her head.  She looked up and smiled at Rhoda's
entrance, and said immediately:

"Do you want me, dear?  Can I do anything to help you?"

"So likely that I would let you, isn't it?" returned Rhoda scornfully.
"What is the matter?  Is your head bad?"

"Yes!  No!  It isn't really so very bad, but one seems to give way when
there is nothing to do.  If it had been an ordinary day I should have
gone on with my work, and even played games.  I have managed to get
through many a time when I've been worse than this; but it's a luxury to
lie still and rest.  I--I'm enjoying it very much!"

"You look like it!" said Rhoda shortly, noting with sharp eyes the
flushed cheeks, the drops of tell-tale moisture on the eyelashes.  "This
room is like an oven, and it will get worse and worse as the day goes
on.  Now, it's my turn to order you about, and you've got to obey.  Get
up and put on your hat, and come out with me!"

"Rhoda, I can't!  It's cruel!  I can't walk about.  Do--do let me rest
when I get a chance.  I'm _so_ tired!"

"You are not going to walk about; you are going to rest better than you
could ever do here, so don't worry and make objections.  Here's your
hat, and here's my arm, and please come along without any more arguing.
You'll be thankful to me when I get you nicely settled!"

"_When_!" echoed Miss Everett ungratefully; but she was too languid to
oppose the girl's strong will, so she sat up, put on her hat, and
allowed herself to be led downstairs and into the grounds.  The girls
were scattered about under the trees, but Rhoda skirted round the paths
so as to avoid them as much as possible, and presently came to a
sheltered spot, where Dorothy lay swinging to and fro in a most superior
Canadian hammock which had been sent from Erley Chase at the beginning
of the summer weather.  She peered over the edge as footsteps approached
and Rhoda cried briskly:

"Tumble out, Dorothy!  I said you could have it until I needed it
myself, and I want it now for Miss Everett.  She has a headache, and is
going to rest here until lunch.  Now then, I'll shake up the pillows,
and if you don't say it is the most delicious hammock you ever lay in, I
shan't think much of your taste.  I'll put up the parasol and tuck it
into the ropes--so!--that you may feel nice and private if anyone
passes.  Now then, how's that?  Isn't that comfy?  Isn't that an
improvement on the stuffy little study?"

Miss Everett rested her head on the cushion, and drew a long breath of
enjoyment.

"It's--beautiful!  It's perfect.  I'm so happy!  I never want to move
again."

"You are not to move until I tell you.  Go fast asleep, and I'll promise
faithfully to wake you in time for lunch.  We must have you well for the
afternoon, you know.  I'd be heart-broken if you didn't see me in my
grand--.  Never mind, that's a secret, but you _will_ rest, won't you?
You will be good, and do as you are told?"

"Kiss me!" replied Miss Everett simply, lifting her dark eyes to the
girl's face with an appeal so sweet that it would have touched a heart
of stone.  No sooner was the kiss given, than down fell the eyelids, and
Rhoda crept away realising that sleep, the best of medicines, was indeed
near at hand.  She herself spent a happy morning lying flat on her back
on the grass in company with half a dozen other girls, discussing the
affairs of the world in general, the blatant follies of grown-ups, and
the wonderful improvements which would take place when they in their
turn came into power.  Rhoda was specially fervid in denunciation, and
her remarks were received with such approval that it was in high good
temper that she went to awaken the sleeper from her two hours' nap.
Miss Everett declared that she felt like a "giant refreshed," had not a
scrap of pain left, and had enjoyed herself so much that if "Revels"
ended there and then, she would still consider it an historic occasion,
which was satisfactory indeed.

But there was more to follow!  There was a great dressing up in the
cubicles after lunch, the girls making their appearance in pique skirts
and crisp new blouses, and rustling into the grounds, all starch and
importance.  The "persecuting placards" had been withdrawn, and replaced
by others directing the visitors' steps in the right direction.  They
followed meekly, "This way to the Opening Ceremony!" and found
themselves on the south side of the lake, where a semicircle of chairs
had been set for the teachers, and gaily-hued rugs spread on the grass
to protect the freshness of the pique skirts.  Here, no doubt, was the
place appointed, but where was the Ceremony?  The girls took their
places, and began to clap in impatient fashion, speculating vaguely
among themselves.

"What's going to happen now?  Why do we face this way where we can't see
anything except the lake?  There's the landing place opposite--perhaps
they are going to play water-polo?  It wouldn't be bad fun in this
weather."

"I think some one should have been here to receive us.  It's rude to let
your guests arrive without a welcome.  If I had been on the Committee--
What's that--?"

"What?  Oh, music!  But where--where?  It is growing nearer.  It's a
violin, and a 'cello--and someone singing.  This grows mysterious!  Oh,
I say--Look! look to the right!  To the right!  Oh, isn't it romantic
and lovely?"

The girls craned forward, and cried aloud in delight, for round the
corner of the lake was slowly coming into view a wonderful, rose-
wreathed barque, with Youth at the prow and Pleasure at the helm, clad
in the most fanciful and quaint of garments.  It would have been idle to
assert that this wonderful craft was the old school tub, guaranteed to
be as safe as a house, and as clumsy as hands would make it; for no one
could have been found to listen to such a statement.  Garlands of roses
fluttered overhead; roses wreathed the sides, pink linings concealed the
dark boards, and, as for the occupants, they looked more like denizens
of another world than practical, modern-day schoolgirls.  The oarswomen
stood at their post, wearing pale green caps over their flowing locks,
and loose robes of the same colour.  The musicians were robed in pink,
with fillets of gauze tied round their heads, and underneath the central
awning sat a gorgeous figure who was plainly the Queen of the Ceremony.

Amidst deafening applause the boat drew up before the landing-stage,
and, while the oarswomen stood to attention, the central figure
alighted, and moved slowly forward until she stood in front of the
semicircle of watchers.

"It's Rhoda Chester!" gasped the girls incredulously, pinching their
neighbours' arms in mingled excitement and admiration; and Rhoda Chester
in truth it was, transformed into a glorified vision, far removed from
the ordinary knickerbockered, pigtailed figure associated with the name.
A white robe swept to the ground, the upper skirts necked over with
rose-leaves of palest pink; in the right hand she bore a sceptre of
roses, and a wreath of the same flowers crowned her head.  Her cheeks
were flushed with excitement, and she bore herself with an erect,
fearless mien which justified her companions' choice.

When it had become necessary to apportion the _role_ of "Mistress June"
the Committee had unanimously agreed that it would be safest in Rhoda's
hands.  She would not quail at the critical moment, mumble her words,
nor forget her duties; but, on the contrary, would rise to the occasion,
and find the audience a stimulus to her powers.

It was her genius also which had invented the verses for recitation, so
that there seemed a double reason for giving her the place of honour.
So Rhoda had sent home an imperious dressmaking order, and here she was,
dainty as loving care could make her, her flaxen mane streaming over her
shoulders, the sceptre extended in welcome--as fair a personation of
"Mistress June" as one need wish to see--

  "Friends and companions, and our teachers dear
  We give you welcome to our kingdom here.
  Once more has kindly summer come to stay,
  And Mistress June resumes her wonted sway.
  We are your hosts, and to our leafy bowers
  We welcome you to spend the sunny hours;
  In happy revels we will all unite,
  In song, and dance, and ancient pastimes bright;
  All cares forgotten, labours laid aside,
  Hearts turned to joy, and glad eyes open wide
  To watch, as when bright fay and sportive faun
  Wove their gay dances on the woodland lawn.
  Alas! the stress of higher education
  Has vanished these, the poet's fond creation.
  But nature--not to be denied--has sent
  Yet fairer forms for gladsome merriment,
  Who wait my nod.  The beauty of the nation
  Are gathered here to win your approbation.
  But you grow weary--Hither, maidens all,
  Forth from your bowers, responsive to my call,
  With roses crowned, let each and all advance,
  And let the Revels start with song and dance!"

It was astonishing how well it sounded, recited with an air, and to an
accompaniment of smiles and waving hands.  Little Hilary Jervis, the
youngest girl in the school, remarked rhapsodically that it was "Just
like a pantomime!" and the finale to the address was so essentially
dramatic that her elders were ready to agree with her decision.

Rhoda backed gracefully to the spot where her flower-decked chair had
been placed by her attendants, and having taken her seat, clapped her
hands as a signal to her handmaidens.  Instantly from behind the shelter
of the trees there tripped forward a band of pink and green-robed
figures, bearing in their hands garlands of many-coloured roses.  The
roses were but paper, it is true, and of the flimsiest manufacture, but
at a little distance the effect could not have been improved, and when
the dance began to the accompaniment of music "on the waters" the effect
was charming enough to disarm the most exacting of critics.  It was an
adaptation of the "scarf dance" practised by the pupils, but the
dresses, the circumstances, the surroundings added charm to the
accustomed movements, and there were, of course, deviations from the
original figures, noticeably at the end, when, with a simultaneous
whirling movement, the dancers grouped themselves round their Queen,
holding up their skirts so as to entirely conceal their figures.  The
greens were on the outside, the pinks arranged in gradually deepening
lines, and Rhoda's smiling face came peeping out on top; it was evident
to the meanest intellect that the final tableau was intended to
represent a rose, and--granted a little stretch of imagination--it was
really as much like it as anything else!

This first item of the programme over, the dancers grouped themselves in
attitudes of studied grace, while little green-robed heralds led the way
to what, for want of a more high-flown name, was termed "The Rose
Bower," where various sports and competitions had been organised.  Roses
were, indeed, conspicuous by their absence; but there was an archery
ground, an amateur Aunt Sally (clad, one regrets to state, in the garb
of a University Examiner!) and many original and amusing "trials of
skill."  Tom came off victorious in an obstacle race, in the course of
which the competitors had to pick up and set in order a prostrate deck
chair, correctly add up a column of figures, unravel a knotted rope, and
skip with it for fifteen or twenty yards, thread a needle, and hop over
the remaining portion of the course; while Dorothy, who held a stick
poised in her hand, called out in threatening tones, "You _would_ pluck
me in arithmetic, would you?  Take _that_!" and let fly with such energy
that the "Examiner" fell in fragments to the ground.

It was a scene of wild hilarity, for even the teachers threw off their
wonted airs of decorum, and entered into the spirit of the occasion, and
to see severe Miss Mott throwing for cocoa-nuts, and fat little Fraulein
hopping across the lawn, were by no means the least entertaining items
in the programme.

Rhoda sat enthroned on her rose-wreathed chair, looking on at the
revels, well content with idleness since it was the badge of
superiority.  The pleasantest part of her duties was still to come, and
the girls realised for what purpose the sixpence-a-head contribution had
been levied by the Games Captains, as they saw the prizes which were
awarded the successful competitors.  No one-and-eleven-penny frames this
time; no trashy little sixpence-three-farthing ornaments; nor shilling
boxes supplied with splinty pencils and spluttering pens; but handsome,
valuable prizes, which any girl might be proud to possess.  Dorothy was
presented with an umbrella with a silver handle; another lucky winner
received the most elegant of green leather purses, with what she
rapturously described as "scriggles of gold" in the corners; Tom won a
handsome writing-case, and a successful "Red" the daintiest little gold
bangle, with six seed pearls encircling a green stone, concerning the
proper name of which it was possible to indulge in endless disputations.

Rhoda was in her element distributing these gifts, and afterwards in
leading the way towards the pavilion, which had been transformed into a
veritable bower by the hands of willing workers, and in which were
displayed a supply of the most luxurious refreshments.  Miss Bruce had
contributed generously towards the afternoon's entertainment, and as the
girls sat about upon the grass, and were waited upon by the "Rose
Maidens," no one had need to sigh in vain for "something nice."  The
choice of good things was quite bewildering, and little Hilary Jervis
was reported to have reverted twice over from coffee to lemonade, and to
have eaten an ice-cream and a ham sandwich in alternate bites.  She was
blissfully happy, however, and so was everyone else, and when at last
Mistress June returned to her Barque, and the singers started the first
notes of "Good Night," two hundred voices took up the strain with a
strength and precision which made the unrehearsed effect one of the most
striking in the programme.

And so ended "Revels"--the happiest day which many of the students were
to know for long weeks to come.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

DRAWING NEAR.

A week after "Revels" had taken place the very remembrance seemed to
have floated away to an immeasurable distance, and only wonder remained
that any interest could have been felt on so trivial a subject.  From
morning to night, and from night till morning, the same incessant grind
went on, for of what rest was sleep when it opened the door for fresh
torture, as, for instance, when a Cambridge Examiner condescended to the
unfair expedient of kidnapping a candidate's wardrobe, leaving her to
decide between the alternative of staying at home or attending the
examination room attired in a _robe de nuit_?  On other occasions it
appeared that by some unaccountable freak of memory one had forgotten
about the examinations until the very hour had arrived, and was running,
running--trying to overtake a train that would _not_ stop, not though
one leapt rivers and scaled mountain heights in the vain attempt to
attract attention!  It was really more restful to lie awake and study
textbooks by the morning light, which came so early in these summer
days; or so thought Rhoda, as she sat up in bed and bent her aching head
over her task.  Her head was always aching nowadays, while occasionally
there came a sharp, stabbing pain in the eyes, which seemed to say that
they, too, were inclined to rebel.  It was tiresome, but she had no time
to attend to them now.  It was not likely that she was going to draw
back because of a little pain and physical weakness.

She never complained, but amidst all the bustle of preparation the
teachers kept a keen eye on their pupils, and Rhoda found more than one
task mysteriously lightened.  No remark was made, but Miss Mott reduced
the amount of preparation; Miss Bruce sent an invitation to tea, which
involved an idle hour, and shortcomings were passed over with wonderful
forbearance.  Only Miss Everett "croaked," and, dearly as she loved her,
Rhoda was glad to keep out of Miss Everett's way just now.  It was
unpleasant to be stared at by "eyes like gimlets," to be asked if one's
head ached, and warned gravely of the dangers of overwork.

"When I went up for the Cambridge Senior," began Miss Everett, and the
girl straightened herself defiantly, on the outlook for "sermons."

"When I went up for the Cambridge Senior I was not at school like you,
but studying at home with a tutor.  My sister was delicate, so an old
college friend of my father's came to us for three hours a day.  He was
delightful--a very prince of teachers--and we had such happy times, for
he entered into all our interests, and treated our opinions with as much
respect as if we had been men like himself.  I remember disputing the
axioms of political economy, and arguing that a demand for commodities
_must_ be a demand for labour, and the delight with which he threw back
his head and laughed whenever I seemed to score a point.  Instead of
snubbing me, and thinking it ridiculous that I should presume to dispute
accepted truths, he welcomed every sign of independent thought; and
there we would sit, arguing away, two girls of fifteen and sixteen and
the grey-headed man, as seriously as if history depended on our
decision.  Later on, when I was going in for the examination, I joined
some of his afternoon classes at a school near by, so that I could work
up the subjects with other candidates.  There was one girl in the class
called Mary Macgregor, a plain, unassuming little creature, who seemed
most ordinary in every way.  When I first saw her I remember pitying her
because she looked so dull and commonplace.  My dear, she had a brain
like an encyclopaedia!--simply crammed with knowledge, and what went in
at one ear stayed there for good, and never by any chance got mislaid.
You may think how clever she was when I tell you that she passed first
in all England, with distinction in every single subject that she took.
She won scholarships and honours and went up to Girton, and had posts
offered to her right and left, and practically established herself for
life.  Well, to go back a long way, to the week before the Cambridge.
We had preliminary examinations at school, and had worked so hard that
we were perfectly dazed and muddled.  Then one day `Magister,' as we
called him, marched into the room to read the result of the arithmetic
paper.  I can see him now, standing up with the list in his hands, and
all the girls' faces turned towards him.  Then he began to read: `Total
number of marks, one hundred.  Kate Evans, eighty-nine; Sybil Bruce,
eighty-two; Hilda Green, seventy-one;' so on and so on--down, and down
and down until it came to thirties and twenties, and still no mention of
Mary or of me!  The girls' faces were a study to behold.  As for the
`Magister' he put on the most exaggerated expression of horror, and just
hissed out the last few words--`Laura Everett, _twelve_!  Ma-ry Mac-gre-
gor, _ten_!'  We sat dumb, petrified, frozen with dismay, and then
suddenly he banged his book on the table and called out, `No more
lessons!  No more work!  I forbid any girl to open a book again before
Monday morning.  Off you go, and give your brains a rest, if you don't
wish to disgrace yourselves and me.  Give my compliments to your
mothers, and say I wish you _all_ to be taken to the Circus this
evening.'  He nodded at us quite cheerfully, and marched out of the room
there and then, leaving us to pack up our books and go home, Mary and I
cried a little, I remember, in a feeble, helpless sort of way; but we
were too tired to care very much.  I slept like a log all the afternoon,
and went to the Circus at night, and the next day I skated, and on
Saturday spent the day in town, buying Christmas presents, and by Monday
I was quite brisk again, and my mind as clear as ever.  I have often
thought how differently that examination might have turned out for Mary
and for me if we had had a less wise teacher, who had worked himself
into a panic of alarm, and made us work harder than ever, instead of
stopping altogether!  I am convinced that it was only those few days of
rest which saved me."

"There!" cried Rhoda, irritably; "I knew it!  I _knew_ there was a
moral.  I knew perfectly well the moment you began, that it was a
roundabout way of preaching to me.  If I am to have a sermon, I would
rather have it straight out, not wrapped up in jam like a powder.  I
suppose you think my brain is getting muddled, but it would go
altogether if I tried to do nothing but laze about.  I should go stark,
staring mad.  I must say, Evie, you talk in a very strange way for a
teacher, and are not at all encouraging.  I don't think you care a bit
whether I get the scholarship or not."

"Yes, I do!  I hope very much that you will _not_!  Wait a moment now; I
am very fond of you, Rhoda; and I hope with all my heart that you will
pass, and pass well--I shall be bitterly disappointed if you don't; but
I want Kathleen to get the scholarship.  She _needs_ it, and you don't;
it means far, far more to her than you can even understand."

"In one way, perhaps--not another!  She wants the money, which she could
have in any case; but she is not half so keen as I am for the honour
itself--and, after all, that's the first thing.  I can't do anything in
a half-and-half way, and now that I have taken up examinations I am just
burning to distinguish myself.  It would be a perfect bliss, the height
of my ambition, to come out first here, and go up to Oxford, and take
honours, and have letters after one's name, and be a distinguished
scholar, written about in the papers and magazines like--like--"

"Yes!  Like Miss Mott, for instance.  What then?"  Rhoda stood still in
the middle of her tirade, and stared at the speaker with startled eyes.
_Miss Mott_!  No, indeed, she had meant nobody in the least like Miss
Mott.  The very mention of the name was like a cold douche on her
enthusiasm.  The creature of her dream was gowned and capped, and moved
radiant through an atmosphere of applause.  Miss Mott was a commonplace,
hard-working teacher, with an air of chronic exhaustion.  When one
looked across the dining-room, and saw her face among those of the
girls, it looked bleached and grey, the face of a tired, worn woman.
"The idea of working and slaving all one's youth to be like--Miss Mott!"
Rhoda exclaimed contemptuously, but Miss Everett insisted on her
position.

"Miss Mott is a capital example.  You could not have a better.  She was
the first student of her year, and carried everything before her.  Her
position here is one of the best of its kind, for she is practically
headmistress.  She would tell you herself that she never expected to do
so well."

"I think it's very mean of you, Evie, to squash me so!  It's most
discouraging.  I don't want to be the _least_ like Miss Mott, and you
know it perfectly well.  It's no use talking, for we can't agree; and
really and truly you are the most unsympathetic to me just now."

Miss Everett looked at her steadily, with a long, tender gaze.

"I _seem_ so, Rhoda, I know I do, but it is only seeming.  In reality
I'm just longing to help you, but, as you say, you think one thing and I
think another, so we are at cross purposes.  Come and spend Sunday
afternoon with me in my den, dear, and I'll promise not to preach.  I'll
make you so comfy, and show you all my photographs and pretty things,
and lay in a stock of fruit and cakes.  Do; it will do you good!"

But Rhoda hesitated, longing, yet fearing.

"I'd love it; it would be splendid, but--there's my Scripture!  I want
to cram it up a little more, and Sunday afternoon is the only chance.
I'm afraid I can't until after the exam., Evie, dear.  I need the time."

"A wilful lass must have her way!" quoted Miss Everett with a sigh, and
that was the last attempt which she made to rescue Rhoda from the result
of her own rash folly.  Henceforth to the end the girl worked
unmolested, drawing the invariable "list" from her pocket at every odd
moment, and gabbling in ceaseless repetition, nerved to more feverish
energy by the discovery that her brain moved so slowly that it took
twice as long as of yore to master the simplest details.  She felt
irritable and peevish, disposed to tears on the slightest provocation,
and tired all over, back and limbs, aching head, smarting eyes, weary,
dissatisfied heart.  Did every ambition of life end like this?  Did it
always happen that when the loins were girded to run a race, depression
fell like a fetter, and the question tortured: "Is it worth while?  Is
it worth while?"  What was the "right motive" of which Evie had spoken?
What was the Vicar's meaning of "success"?  They, at least, seemed to
have found contentment as a result of their struggles.  Rhoda groped in
the dark, but found no light, for the door was barred by the giant of
Self-Will.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE EXAMINATION.

Four o'clock on the morning of Examination Monday.  The clock on the
wall chimed the hour, and Rhoda awoke with a start, and sat up wearily
in bed.  The pale, grey light already filled the room, and the birds
clamoured tumultuously in the trees outside.  Three hours before the
gong rang--the last, the very last chance of preparing for the fray!

She slipped noiselessly out of bed, sponged her face with cold water,
seized the eau-de-Cologne in one hand and a pile of books in the other,
and settled herself against a background of cushions.  There was silence
in the room, broken only by fitful cries from Dorothy, who was given to
discoursing in her sleep, and more than once in the course of the first
half-hour Rhoda's own eyes glazed over, and the lids fell.  Nature was
pleading for her rights, but each lapse was sternly overcome, and
presently nerves and brain were fully awake, and battling with their
task.  She learned by heart passages marked as likely to be useful,
searched to and fro for answers still unknown, and worked out imaginary
calculations.  One thing was no sooner begun than she recalled another
which needed attention, and so on it went from arithmetic to
Shakespeare, from Shakespeare to history, from history to Latin, back
and forward, back and forward, until her head was in a whirl.

The clock struck six, the girl in the next cubicle murmured sleepily,
"Such a noise!  Something rustling!" and Rhoda held her breath in
dismay.  Her haste in turning over the leaves had nearly brought about
discovery, but henceforth she moved with caution, turning from place to
place with wary fingers.  Her back ached despite the supporting
cushions, and her head swam, but she struggled on until at last the roll
of the gong sounded through the house, and the girls awoke with yawns
and groans of remembrance.

"Black Monday!  Oh!  Oh!  I wish I'd never been born!"

"Misery me, and I was having such a lovely dream, all about holidays and
picnics, and walks on the sands--"

"I've had the most awful night, doing sums all the time, with the
Examiner looking over my shoulder.  My head is like a jelly!"

Then Tom's voice arose in derisive accents.  Happy Tom! who was well
through her June Matric, and could afford to chaff the poor victims.

"Would any young lady like to explain to me how to find the resultant of
a system of parallel forces?"

"Tom, you are brutal!  Be quiet this moment, or we'll come and make
you--"

"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Rhoda, love, just give me the Substance of King
Richard's speech to Northumberland, when the latter announced that he
was to be removed to Pomfret!"

Rhoda began to reply, but stopped abruptly, for on rising from bed she
was attacked by a strange giddiness, and lay back against the pillows
trembling with cold and nausea.  Her hands shook as she uncorked the
eau-de-Cologne, and the scent, so far from being reviving, made her
shudder afresh.  She dressed with difficulty, sitting down at frequent
intervals, and growing colder and colder with each exertion, so that
when she emerged from her cubicle her pallid face roused Tom's instant
attention.

"Rhoda, you are ill!" she cried, her chaffing manner changing at once,
as she realised the seriousness of the occasion.  "What's the matter?
Didn't you sleep?  Let me feel your hand--.  Goodness, what a frog!  You
had better lie down, and let me send for nurse."

"No, thank you, Tom, _please_!  It's only excitement.  I shall be better
after breakfast.  Please, please, don't make a fuss!"

"Humph!" said Tom shortly, "just as you like.  If you feel yourself
going, stoop down and pretend to fasten your shoe, and give a scrub to
your cheeks before passing Miss Bruce.  She'll spot you in a moment if
you go in with a face like that."

Thus adjured, Rhoda "scrubbed her cheeks" all the way downstairs, and
looked so rosy as she passed the Principal that the good lady felt much
relieved.  She had had some anxious thoughts about Rhoda Chester of
late, and was only too glad to feel that her anxiety had been needless;
but, alas! three times over during breakfast did Rhoda stoop down to
button her shoe, and in vain did her companions press food upon her.  A
sumptuous breakfast had been served in honour of the occasion, but ham
and eggs seemed just the last things in the world that she wanted to
eat, while the sight of fried fish took away the last remnant of
appetite.  She drank her tea, trying to laugh with the rest, and to take
no notice of the swaying movement with which the walls whirled round
from time to time, or of the extraordinary distance from which the
girls' voices sounded in her ears.

"She's game!  She's real game!" said Tom to herself, watching the set
face with her sharp little eyes, "but she's uncommon bad all the same.
I'll put Evie on her track!"  So Miss Everett's attention was duly
called to the condition of her pupil, and Rhoda was dosed with sal-
volatile, and provided with smelling salts to keep in her pocket.  Not a
word of reproach was spoken, and Evie indeed appeared to treat the
indisposition as quite an orthodox thing under the circumstances.  So
affectionate was she, so kind and cheery, and so thoughtful were the
girls in giving up the best seats in omnibus and train, and in offering
supporting arms along platforms, that Rhoda felt inclined to cry with
mingled gratitude and remorse.

When the hall was reached in which the examination was to be held, she
had yet another dose of sal-volatile as a preparation for the ordeal of
the arithmetical paper, and then, gathering up pens and pencils, marched
slowly into the dreaded room.  It was shaped like an amphitheatre, with
a railed-in platform at one side, and sloping seats descending all
round.

"It's like the operating theatre at a hospital!  Oh my! and don't I feel
as if I were going to be cut up too!" groaned Dorothy, as she filed
along in front of a seat, looking for her place.  At a distance of every
two or three yards the desks were marked with a number, in front of
which was a supply of blotting and writing paper.  Some of the
candidates made out their own number at once, others went roaming
helplessly about, and Rhoda found herself perched in the furthest
corner, far from her companions.  She looked across and received
Dorothy's smiling nod, but Kathleen's face was set in stern anxiety, and
the others were too busy arranging papers to remember her existence.
The Examiner, in cap and gown, stood on the platform, talking to the
lady secretary of the Centre.  She made a remark, and he smiled, and
said something in reply at which they both laughed audibly.  It shocked
Rhoda in much the same way as it would have done to hear a chief mourner
laugh at a funeral.  Such levity was most unseemly, yet on the other
hand the pictures on the walls were surely unnecessarily depressing!
They were oil-coloured portraits of departed worthies, at that gloomy
stage of decay when frame, figure, and background have acquired the same
dirty hue, and the paint has cracked in a hundred broken lines.  One old
gentleman--the ugliest of all--faced Rhoda as she sat, and stared at her
with a mocking gaze, which seemed to say:

"You think you are going to pass in arithmetic, do you?  Wait until you
see the paper!  _You'll_ be surprised--!"

It was a relief to turn to the paper itself and know the worst, which
seemed very bad indeed.  She glanced from question to question, feeling
despair deepen at the sight of such phrases as--"Simplify the
expression"; "debenture stock at 140 1/8"; "at what rate per cent.?"
etcetera, etcetera.  In the present condition of mind and body it was an
effort to recall the multiplication table, not to speak of difficult and
elaborate calculations.  Poor Rhoda!  She dipped her pen into the ink,
and wrote the headline to her paper, hesitated for a moment, added
"Question A," and then it seemed as if she could do no more.  The
figures danced before her eyes, her knees shook, her hands were so
petrified with cold that she clasped them together to restore some
feeling of warmth, and the faintness of an hour ago seemed creeping on
once more.  She leant her elbows on the desk, bowed her hands in her
head, and remained motionless for ten minutes on end.  The other girls
would think that she was studying the paper, and deciding what question
she could best answer; but in reality she was fighting the hardest
battle of her life, a battle between the Flesh, which said, "Give in;
say you are too ill!  Think what bliss it would be to lie down and have
nothing to do!" and the Will, which declared, "No, never!  I must and
shall go on.  Brain!  Hands!  Eyes! you are my servants.  I will not
_let_ you fail!"  In the end Will conquered, and Rhoda raised her face,
pale to the lips, but with determination written on every feature.

The girl next to herself had covered half the sheet with figures, and
was ruling two neat little lines, which showed that Question A was
satisfactorily settled.  All over the room the girls were scribbling
away, alert and busy; there was plainly no time to be wasted, and Rhoda
began slowly to puzzle out the easiest problem.  The answer seemed
inappropriate; she tried again, with a different result; a third time,
with a third result; then the firm lips set, and she began doggedly the
fourth time over.  To her relief this answer was the same as number two,
so it was copied out without delay, and the next puzzle begun, and the
next, and the next.

Oh, the weariness of those two hours, the struggle against weakness, the
moments of despair when memory refused to work, and simplest facts
evaded her grasp!  Nobody ever knew all that it meant, and as she had
the presence of mind to tear up her blotting-paper, no examining eyes
were shocked by the sight of the expedients to which a senior candidate
had been reduced in order to discover the total of six multiplied by
six, or eight plus eleven.  There were other moments, however, when the
brain cleared and allowed a space for intelligent work.  More faintness
came on again, and at the end she could announce to her companions that
she had answered nine out of the twelve questions.

"What did you get for the square root?" enquired Kathleen anxiously.
"Irene's answer was different from mine; but I _did_ think I was right.
I went over it twice!"

The girls were all surging together in the ante-room, comparing answers,
and referring eagerly to Irene, who read aloud her own list with a self-
satisfied air.  Those whose numbers agreed with hers announced the fact
with whoops of joy, those who had differed knitted their brows and were
silent.  Kathleen looked worried and anxious, and could not think what
she had been about to get "that decimal wrong."

"But it was horrible, wasn't it?  The worst we have had."

"The wall-paper was vile," cried another voice indignantly.  "_Toujours_
wall-paper!  They might have a little originality, and think of
something else.  I longed to give Tom's answer!"

"It wasn't really difficult, but tricky!  Decidedly tricky!" said Irene,
with an air.  She could afford to be superior, for there was no doubt
that she had passed! and passed well.  "The square root was absurdly
easy."  Then her eye fell on Rhoda, and she asked, kindly enough, "What
did you make it, Rhoda?  I hope you got on all right, and feel better."

"Thanks, yes; but I didn't put down my answers.  I really can't remember
what they were."

"And a good thing too!  You have done your best, so don't worry over it
any more, but come along to lunch!" cried Miss Everett, cheerily; and
the girls obeyed with willing haste, for it was one of the "treats" of
examination time to lunch in a restaurant, and be allowed to order what
one chose.

Rhoda was so much revived by the walk and the joy of knowing the ordeal
over that she was able to eat a morsel of chicken, but the fascinations
of jam puffs had departed for the time being, and she could even look
unmoved at the spectacle of a dozen strawberry ices in a row.

"If every candidate indulges in an ice a day, state accurately the
number of bushels of fruit--" began Dorothy, with her mouth full of
Vanilla biscuit, but she was promptly elbowed into silence; no one being
in the mood for further calculations just then.

For the next four days the examination dragged its weary course, and
Rhoda was carefully nursed and coddled so as to be able to stand the
strain.  She was sent to bed immediately on her return from the train;
was not allowed to rise until eight o'clock; was dosed with nurse's pet
tonic, and with Bovril and sandwiches between the papers, and for once
she was sufficiently conscious of past errors to acknowledge that Nature
could not be defied, and to attempt no more four o'clock preparation
classes.  On the whole she got through fairly well, growing stronger
each day, and even feeling occasional bursts of exultation at the
conclusion of a paper which might have been written especially for her
benefit.  What rapture to be questioned about those very rules in French
grammar which one had rubbed up the week before; to have pet passages
selected from Shakespeare, and find the Latin prose for translation
become gradually intelligible, as one telling substantive gave the clue
to the whole!  Once assured of the meaning, it was easy to pick out the
words, skimming lightly over difficult phrases, but making a great show
of accuracy when opportunity arose.  As to the elegance of the
translation from English into Latin the less said the better, but even
with a realisation of its shortcomings, Rhoda was hopeful of the result.

"They will say, `She doesn't know much, poor thing, but she has worked
hard, and deserves to pass.  Her grammar is good, and she has mastered
the books.  Oh, yes; certainly she has enough marks to pass.'"

"I think I have done fairly well in Latin," she told Miss Mott on her
return, and that severe lady actually smiled, and said graciously:

"I hope you have.  You have certainly worked with a will."

Miss Bruce, however, was not nearly so encouraging, and her last
interview with her pupil was somewhat in the nature of a cold douche.

"Now that the week is over, Rhoda," she said, "I must tell you that I
have felt a good deal of anxiety on your account, which I would not
willingly have repeated.  There is a strain about examinations which
some girls feel more than others.  The head of your house, for instance,
Thomasina Bolderston, is a capital subject, and seems able to hit the
happy medium between working hard and over-working; but you appear to
suffer physically from the strain.  I thought you seemed ill even before
the breakdown on Monday, and I fear your parents will be far from
satisfied with your looks.  In the case of a girl who is preparing to
earn her livelihood, and to whom certificates are all-important, one
must take all reasonable precautions and then face the risk; but with
you it is different.  You are the only daughter of wealthy parents, and
as, in all probability, you will never need to work for yourself, it
would be wiser to content yourself with taking the ordinary school
course and leaving examinations alone.  I shall feel it my duty to
acquaint your mother with my opinions, and to advise--"

Rhoda gave a gasp of dismay, and stared at her with horrified eyes.

"You will forbid me to go in for any more exams.!  You won't allow me to
try again?"

The Principal smiled slightly.

"That is, perhaps, over-stating the case.  The final decision must, of
course, rest with your parents.  If, in opposition to my advice, they
should still desire--"

But Rhoda heard no more.  The idea that her father and mother should
wish her to go in for any work which interfered with health was so
impossible to conceive that it might as well be dismissed at once.  With
one fell crash her castle in the air had fallen to the ground and lay in
ruins at her feet.  If she had not done well this time, farewell for
ever to her dreams of distinction, for no other opportunity would be
granted!

For the first half of the holidays the thought weighed upon her with
depressing force, but gradually, as health improved, the outlook
lightened also, and she began to pose to herself in a new light.  If she
passed well--and, despite her illness, she looked back on most of the
papers with a feeling of complacency--if she won the scholarship, or
even gained distinction, her reputation among her class-mates would be
to a certain extent established, and the fact that the delicate nature
of her nervous system debarred her from further efforts would entitle
her to a tribute of peculiar sympathy.  When other girls succeeded,
their companions would shake their heads, and whisper among themselves,
"If Rhoda could only--"

"A good thing for her that Rhoda," etcetera, etcetera.  In imagination
she could hear the remarks, and her face unconsciously assumed the
expression of meek endurance with which she would listen.  And so more
and more did the result of that week's work fill the horizon of her
life; she thought of it day by day, and dreamt of it by night; she
talked of it to Ella, until even that patient listener wearied of the
theme; she counted the weeks, the days, the hours, until the report
should arrive.  And then one morning, half-way through breakfast, Mr
Chester looked up from his eggs and bacon and remarked casually--as if
it were an ordinary, commonplace subject, and not an affair of life and
death:

"By the way, Rhoda, there is something about your examination in the
paper to-day.  I noticed the heading.  You may like to see it!"

Rhoda leant back in her chair, and held out her hand in dumb entreaty.
The newspaper was open at the right page, and her eye fell at once on
the familiar heading, and, underneath, a long list of numbers.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

FAILED!

First Class, Second Class, and still no sign of the familiar number.
Third Class--it was not there!  Rhoda gave a little gulp, and began
again from the very beginning.  She had been too quick, too eager.  It
was so easy to miss a number.  One by one she conned them over, but it
was not there.  The long Pass List lay below, and she looked at it with
dreary indifference.  To scramble through with the rabble was a sorry
attainment, or it seemed so for one moment, but at the next it became,
suddenly, a wild, impossible dream, for--the number was not there!  No
fear of overlooking this time, for the figures stood out as if printed
in fire, and burned themselves into her brain.  The number was not in
the First Class, nor the Second, nor the Third; it was not in the Pass
List, it was not mentioned at all.

If she had ever permitted herself to anticipate such a situation, which
she had not, Rhoda would have pictured herself flying into a paroxysm of
despair; but in reality she felt icy cold, and it was in a tone almost
of indifference that she announced:

"I am plucked!  I have not passed at all."

"Never mind, dear; you did your best, and the work matters more than the
result.  Very uncertain tests, these examinations--I never cared about
them," said her father kindly, and Mrs Chester smiled in her usual
placid fashion, and murmured, "Oh, I expect it's a mistake.  It's so
easy to make a mistake in printing figures.  You will find it is all
right, darling, later on.  Have some jam!"

They were absolutely placid; absolutely calm; absolutely unconscious of
the storm of emotion raging beneath that quiet exterior; but Harold
glanced at his sister with the handsome eyes which looked so sleepy, but
which were in reality so remarkably wide-awake, and said slowly:

"I think Rhoda has finished, mother.  You don't want any jam, do you,
Ro?  Come into the garden with me instead.  I want a stroll."

He walked out through the French window, and Rhoda followed with much
the same feeling of relief as that with which a captive escapes from the
prison which seems to be on the point of suffocating him, mentally and
physically.  Brother and sister paced in silence down the path leading
to the rose garden.  Harold was full of sympathy, but, man-like, found
it difficult to put his thoughts into words, and Rhoda, after all, was
the first to speak.  She stopped suddenly in the middle of the path, and
confronted him with shining eyes.  Her voice sounded strange in her own
ears.

"Harold, I--have--failed!  I am plucked.  I have not passed at all--not
even a common pass."

"No?  I'm uncommonly sorry, but--"

"But do you realise it; do you understand what it means?  I _think_ I
do, but I don't.  If I did, I should not be here talking quietly to you.
I should go mad!  I should want to kill myself.  I should be
desperate!"

"Don't be silly now, Ro.  It's a big disappointment, and I'm sorry for
you, but it's not a bit of use working yourself into hysterics.  Face
the thing quietly, and see--"

"All that it means--.  It means a good deal, Harold; more than you can
understand.  I think I'd rather be alone, please.  You are very kind,
but I can't stand consolation just yet.  I'll sit in the arbour."

"Just as you please.  I don't want to force myself, but I'd like to help
you, old girl.  Is there nothing else I can do?"

"Yes; keep mother away!  Don't let her come near me until lunch.  I am
best left alone, and she doesn't understand--no one understands except
those who have been at school, and know how--how hard--"

The girl's voice trembled, and broke off suddenly, and she walked away
in the direction of the summer-house, while Harold thrust his hands into
his pockets and kicked the pebbles on the gravel path.  He was very fond
of his impetuous young sister, and the quivering sob which had strangled
her last word echoed painfully in his ears.  He realised as neither
father nor mother could do what such a failure meant to a proud,
ambitious girl, and how far-reaching would be its consequences.  It was
not to-day nor to-morrow that would exhaust this trouble; the bitterest
part was yet to come when she returned to school, and received the
condolences of her more successful companions; when she sat apart and
saw them receive their reward.  Harold longed to be able to help, but
there was nothing to do but persuade his parents to leave the girl
alone, and to return at intervals to satisfy himself that she was still
in her retreat, and not attempting to drown her sorrows in the lake.
Three times over he paced the path, and saw the white-robed figure
sitting immovable, with elbows planted on the table, and falling locks
hiding the face from view.  So still she sat that he retired silently,
hoping that she had fallen asleep, but on the fourth visit he was no
longer alone, but accompanied by a graceful, girlish figure, and they
did not halt until they stood on the very threshold of the arbour
itself.

"Rhoda!" he cried, then, "look up!  I have brought someone to you.
Someone you will be glad to see."

The flaxen mane was tossed back, and a flushed face raised in protest.
"I don't--" began Rhoda, and then suddenly sprang to her feet and
stretched out her arms.  "Oh, Evie--Evie!  You have come.  Oh, I wanted
you--I wanted you so badly!"

Miss Everett stepped forward and drew the girl to her side, and Harold
waited just long enough to see the fair head and the dark nestle
together, and then took himself off to the house, satisfied that comfort
had come at last.

"I have _failed_, Evie!" cried Rhoda, clasping her friend's hands, and
staring at her with the same expression of incredulous horror with which
she had confronted her brother a couple of hours earlier.  "Yes,
darling.  I know."

"And what are you going to say to me, then?"

"Nothing, I think, for the moment, but that I love you dearly, and felt
that I must come to be with you.  Aren't you surprised to see me,
Rhoda?"

"No, I don't think so.  I don't feel anything.  I wanted you, and then--
there you were!  It seemed quite natural."

"But it was rather peculiar all the same.  I have been staying with Tom,
and we were both asked down to D-- for a four days' visit.  That is only
half an hour's rail from here, as you know; so this morning when I saw
the list in the paper I thought at once--`I must see Rhoda!  I will go
down and chance finding her at home!'"

"Yes!"

"So I came, and am so glad to be with you, dear.  I have seen your
mother, and have promised to stay to lunch.  I need not go back until
four o'clock."

"Oh, that's nice.  I like to have you.  Evie, I believe it was the
arithmetic.  I was so ill, I could hardly think.  You might as well know
all now.  It was my own doing.  I had been working every morning before
getting up, and that day I began at four.  I tired myself out before the
gong rang."

"I guessed as much.  Dorothy told me that she heard someone turning over
leaves!"

"Why don't you say, `I told you so!' then, and tell me that it's my own
fault?"

"I--don't--know!  Perhaps because I do so many foolish things myself;
perhaps because I haven't the heart to scold you just now, you poor
dear."

Rhoda's face quivered, but she pressed her lips together, and said with
a gulp:

"I suppose--it's a childish trouble!  I suppose--when I am old--and
sensible--I shall look back on to-day, and laugh to think how I worried
myself over such an unimportant trial."

"I am sure you will do nothing of the kind.  You will be very, very
sorry for yourself, and very pitiful, and very proud, too, if you can
remember that you bore it bravely and uncomplainingly."

"But I can't!  I can't bear it at all.  It gets worse every moment.  I
keep remembering things that I had forgotten.  Miss Bruce preaching, and
Miss Mott staring through her spectacles--the girls all saying they are
sorry, and the--the Record Wall, where I wanted to see my name!  I
_can't_ bear it, it's no use."

"But you will _have_ to bear it, Rhoda.  It is a fact, and nothing that
you can do will alter it now.  You will have to bear it; but you can
bear it in two ways, as you make up your mind to-day.  You can cry and
fret, and make yourself ill, and everyone else miserable, or you can
brace yourself up to bear it bravely, and make everyone love and admire
you more than they have ever done before.  Which are you going to do?"

"I am going to be cross and horrid.  I couldn't be good if I tried.  I'm
soured for life!" said Rhoda stoutly, but even as she spoke a smile
struggled with her tears, and Evie laughed aloud--her sweet, ringing
laugh.

"Poor, dear old thing!  She looks so like it!  I know better, and am not
a bit afraid of you.  You will be good and plucky, and rejoice
unaffectedly in Kathleen's success."

"Has Kathleen--Oh!  Is Kathleen first?"

"She has won the Scholarship.  Yes, it will be such a joy.  She needed
it so badly, and has worked so hard."

"I hate her!"

"She was always kind to you.  I remember the very first day she took you
round the grounds.  You were very good friends."

"I hate her, I tell you!  I detest her name."

"I am sure you will write and congratulate her.  Imagine if _your_
parents were poor, and you saw them harassed and anxious, how thankful
you would feel to be able to help!  Kathleen had a harder time than any
of you, for she could take none of the nice, interesting `Extras.'  I
think all her friends will be glad that she has won."

"I shall be glad, too, in about ten years.  If I said I was glad now I
should be a hypocrite, for I wanted it myself.  I suppose Irene is all
right, and Bertha, and all the Head girls?  Has--has Dorothy--"

"Yes, Dorothy has passed too."

Rhoda cried aloud in bitter distress.

"Oh, Evie--oh!  Dorothy passed, and I have failed!  Oh it is cruel--
unjust.  I am cleverer than she!  You can't deny it.  I worked harder.
I was before her always, in every class, in every exam.  Oh, it's mean,
it's mean that they should have put her before me!"

The tears streamed down her face, for this was perhaps the bitterest
moment she had known.  To be beaten by Kathleen, and Irene, was
bearable, but--Dorothy!  Easy-going, mediocre Dorothy, who had so little
ambition that she could laugh at her own shortcomings, and contentedly
call herself a "tortoise."  Well, the tortoise had come off victor once
more, and the poor, beaten hare sat quivering with mortified grief.
Miss Everett looked at her with perplexed, anxious eyes.

"You will probably find when the full report comes out that you have
done better in most respects, but that it is the preliminaries which
have caused your failure.  But Rhoda, Rhoda, how would it help you to
know that another poor girl had failed, and was as miserable as
yourself?  Would you be _glad_ to hear that Dorothy was sitting crying
at home, and Kathleen bearing her parents' grief as well as her own?
You could not possibly be so selfish.  I know you too well.  You are far
too kind and generous."

"I'm a pig!" said Rhoda contritely, and the tears trickled dismally off
the end of her nose, and splashed on to the wooden table.  "I should
like to be a saint, and resigned, and rejoice in the good fortunes of my
companions like the girls in books, but I can't.  I just feel sore, and
mad, and aching, and as if they were all in conspiracy against me to
make my failure more bitter.  You had better give it up, Evie, and leave
me to fight it out alone.  I'll come to my senses in time, and write
pretty, gushing letters to say how charmed I am--and make funny little
jokes at the end about my own collapse.  This is Monday--perhaps by
Wednesday or Thursday--"

"I expect it will be Tuesday, and not an hour later.  You are letting
off such an amount of steam that you will calm down more quickly than
you think.  And now, hadn't we better go indoors, and bathe those poor
red eyes before lunch?  Your mother will think I have been scolding you,
and I don't want to be looked upon as a dragon when I'm out of harness,
and posing as an innocent, unprofessional visitor.  Come, dear, and
we'll talk no more of the horrid old exam., but try to forget it and
enjoy ourselves!"

Rhoda's sigh was sepulchral in its intensity, for, of course, happiness
must henceforth be a thing of the past, so far as she was concerned; but
as she did not appreciate the idea of appearing at lunch with a tear-
stained face, she followed meekly to the house, and entering by a side
door, led the way upstairs to her own luxurious bedroom.

Half an hour of chastened enjoyment followed as she sat sponging her
eyes, while Evie strolled round the room, exclaiming with admiration at
the sight of each fresh treasure, and showing the keenest interest in
the jugs and their histories.  She admired Rhoda's possessions, and
Rhoda admired her, watching the graceful figure reflected in the
mirrors; the pretty dress, so simple, yet so becoming; the dark hair
waving so softly round the winsome face.  Evie was certainly one of the
prettiest of creatures, and Rhoda felt a sort of reflected glory in
taking her downstairs and exhibiting her to her family.

If the tear marks had not altogether disappeared, no one appeared to
notice them, and despite her own silence, lunch was a cheery meal.  Evie
chattered away in her gayest manner; Mrs Chester agreed with every word
she said, and called her "dear" as if she were a friend of years'
standing.  Mr Chester beamed upon her with undisguised, fatherly
admiration, and Harold looked more animated than Rhoda had seen him for
many a long day.  The brisk, bright way in which Evie took up his
drawling sentences, and put him right when he was mistaken in a
statement, would have made him withdraw into his shell if attempted by a
member of the household, but he did not seem in the least annoyed with
Evie.  He only smiled to himself in amused fashion, and watched her
narrowly out of the corners of his eyes.

When dessert was put upon the table, Mrs Chester looked wistfully at
Rhoda's white face, lighted into a feeble smile by one of her friend's
sallies, and was seized with a longing to keep this comforter at hand.

"I suppose you must go back to D-- this afternoon, dear," she said, "but
couldn't we persuade you to come back and pay us a visit before you
leave this part of the world?  It would be a great pleasure to Rhoda,
and to us all, and any time would suit us.  Just fix your own day,
and--"

"Oh, Evie, do!" cried Rhoda eagerly, and both the men joined in with
murmurs of entreaty; but Miss Everett shook her head, and said
regretfully:

"I'm so sorry, but it's impossible.  I have already been away longer
than I intended, and cannot spend another day away from home.  My mother
is busier than usual, for a sister who used to teach has had a bad
illness and is staying with us for six months, to rest and be nursed up.
It would not be fair to stay away any longer."

"I should think you might be allowed to rest in your holidays.  You work
hard enough for the rest of the year, and I need you more than the old
aunt, I'm sure I do.  You must come, if only for a week!"

"I wish I could, Rhoda, but it is not possible.  I'll tell you, however,
who I believe _could_ come, and who would do you more good than I, and
that is Tom Bolderston!  She is in no hurry to return home, and as it is
decided that she is not to come back to Hurst Manor, but go on straight
to Newnham, it will be your last opportunity of seeing her for some
time.  You would enjoy having Tom, wouldn't you, Rhoda?"

Rhoda lifted her eyebrows with a comical expression.  Tom here; Tom in
Erley Chase!  Tom sitting opposite to Harold and blinking at him with
her little fish eyes--the thought was so comical that she laughed in
spite of herself.

"I think I should.  It would be very funny.  If I may ask her, mother--"

"Of course, of course, darling!  Ask whom you will, for as long as you
like," cried the fond mother instantly.  From what she had heard of Tom
she had come to the conclusion that she was a very strange, and not
entirely sane, young woman; but Rhoda wished it, Rhoda had laughed at
the suggestion, and said it would be "funny," and that settled the
question.

A letter of invitation was duly written and given into Miss Everett's
hand when the time came for departure, and brother and sister escorted
her to the station.  Rhoda was insistent in her regrets at parting, and,
wonderful to relate, Harold condescended to make still another plea.  If
it were impossible to arrange a visit, could not Miss Everett spare a
few hours at least, come down by an early train, and spend a day on the
river with himself and his sister?  He urged the project so warmly that
Evie flushed with mingled pleasure and embarrassment.

"Don't tempt me!  I should love it, but we are here only for four days,
and I have been away for one already.  It would not be courteous."

"She is so horribly conscientious, that's the worst of her!" said Rhoda,
as she and Harold retraced their steps across the Park.  "She is always
thinking about other people.  A day on the river would have been
lovely."

"Yes, it's a pity.  I thought we would ask Ella, and take up lunch and
tea."

"Yes, of course, a very good idea.  Then we should have been four, and I
could have had Evie to myself--"

"Y-es!" drawled Harold slowly.  Two minutes later Rhoda happened to look
at his face, and wondered why in the world he was smiling to himself in
that funny, amused fashion!



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

TOM ARRIVES.

Tom wrote by return to state that she considered Rhoda "a brick" for
sending her such a "ripping" invitation; that it would be "great sport"
to see her at home, and that she would arrive by the twelve o'clock
train on the next Monday.

"She isn't pretty," Rhoda explained anxiously to Harold, the fastidious;
"in fact, she's plain, very plain indeed.  I'm afraid you won't like
her, but she likes _you_.  She saw you on the platform at Euston, and
said you were a `bee-ootiful young man,' and that she was broken-hearted
that she couldn't stay to make your acquaintance."

"Good taste, evidently, though unattractive!" said Harold, smiling.
"I'm sorry she's not good-looking, but it can't be helped.  No doubt she
makes up for it in moral worth."

"Well, she does, that's perfectly true.  I loathed and detested her at
first, but I'm devoted to her now.  She's just, and kind, and awfully
clever, and so funny that you simply can't be in low spirits when she's
about.  All the girls adore her, but you won't.  She says herself that
men can't appreciate her, so she's going to devote her life to women,
out of revenge.  Men never care for women unless they are pretty and
taking," cried Rhoda, with an air, and Harold protested sententiously.

"I'm the exception to the rule!  I look beyond the mere exterior, to the
nobility of character which lies behind.  Dear Tom's lack of beauty is
nothing to me.  I am prepared for it, and shall suffer no disillusion."

He changed his mind, however, when at the appointed time "dear Tom"
arrived, and stepped from the carriage on to the platform of the little
station.  When his eye first fell upon her, in response to Rhoda's
excited, "There she is!" he felt a momentary dizzy conviction that there
must be a mistake.  This extraordinary apparition could never be his
sister's friend, but yes! it was even so, for already the girls were
greeting each other, and glancing expectantly in his direction.  He went
through the introduction with immovable countenance, saw the two friends
comfortably seated in the pony carriage, and called to mind a message in
the village which would prevent him from joining them as he had
intended.  He required a few minutes' breathing time to recover his
self-possession, and the girls drove off alone, not at all sorry, if the
truth were told, to be deprived of his company.

"Well, Fuzzy!" cried Tom.

"Well, Tom!" cried Rhoda, and stared with wondering eyes at the
unaccustomed grandeur of her friend's attire.  Thomasina had done honour
to the occasion by putting on her very best coat and skirt, of a shade
of fawn accurately matching her complexion, while on her head was
perched that garment unknown at Hurst, "a trimmed hat."  Fawn straw,
fawn wings sticking out at right angles, bows of fawn-coloured ribbon
wired into ferocious stiffness--such was the work of art; and
complacent, indeed, was the smile of its owner as she met her
companion's scrutiny.

"Got 'em _all_ on, haven't I?" she enquired genially.  "Must do honour
to the occasion, you know, and here's yourself all a-blowing, all a-
growing, looking as fresh as a daisy, in your grand white clothes!"

"Indeed, then, I feel nothing of the kind, or it must be a very dejected
daisy.  You have heard the news, of course, and know that I am--"

"Plucked!" concluded Tom, pronouncing the awful word without a quiver.
"Yes.  Thought you would be; you were so cheap that arithmetic morning.
You can't do sums when you are on the point of fainting every second
minute...  Very good results on the whole."

"Yes, but--isn't it awful for me?  Don't you pity me?  I never in my
life had such a blow."

"Bit of a jar, certainly, but it's over now, and can't be helped.  No
use whining!" said Tom calmly, and Rhoda gave a little jump in her seat.
After all, can anyone minister to a youthful sufferer like a friend of
her own age?  Tom's remarks would hardly have been considered comforting
by an outsider, yet by one short word she had helped Rhoda more than any
elderly comforter had been able to do.  It was interesting and
praiseworthy to grieve over such a disappointment as she had
experienced, to be sorrowful, even heart-broken, but _to whine_!  That
put an entirely different aspect on her grief!  To whine was feeble,
childish, and undignified, a thing to which no self-respecting girl
could stoop.  As Rhoda recalled her tears and repinings, a flush of
shame came to her cheeks, and she resolved that, whatever she might have
to suffer in the future, she would, at least, keep it to herself, and
not proclaim her trouble on the house-tops.

When the Chase was reached, Tom was taken into the drawing-room and
introduced to Mrs Chester, who poured out tea in unusual silence,
glancing askance at the fawn-coloured visitor who sat bolt upright on
her chair, nibbling at her cake with a propriety which was as
disconcerting to the kindly hostess as it was apparently diverting to
her daughter.  Rhoda had been accustomed to see Tom play a hundred sly
tricks over this sociable meal, a favourite one being to balance a large
morsel on the back of her right hand, and with an adroit little tap from
the left send it flying into the mouth stretched wide to receive it, and
it tickled her immensely to witness this sudden fit of decorum.  She sat
and chuckled, and Mrs Chester sat and wondered, until Tom politely
declined a third cup of tea, and was dragged into the garden, with
entreaties to behave properly, and be a little like herself, "I thought
I was charming," she declared.  "I tried to copy Evie, and look exactly
as she does when she is doing the agreeable.  Didn't you notice the
smile?  And I didn't stare a bit, though I was longing to all the time.
You _do_ live in marble halls, Fuzzy, and no mistake!  We could get the
whole of our little crib into that one room, and we don't go in for any
ornaments or fal-lals.  A comfortable bed to sleep in, and lots of
books--that's all my old dad and I trouble about."

Rhoda thought of the dismal little study at Hurst Manor, with the broken
chairs, and the gloves on the chimney-piece, and could quite imagine the
kind of home from which the owner came; but she murmured little
incredulities, as in politeness bound, as she led the way in the
direction best calculated to impress a stranger.  Tom did not pay much
attention to the grounds themselves, but she raved over the horses, and
made friends with all the dogs, even old Lion, the calf-like mastiff,
who was kept chained up in the stable-yard because of his violent
antipathy to strangers.  When he beheld this daring young woman walking
up to his very side, and making affectionate overtures for his favour,
he showed his teeth in an alarming scowl, but next moment he changed his
mind, and presently Tom was pinching and punching, and stroking his
ears, with the ease of an old acquaintance.

"I've never met the dog yet that I couldn't master!" she announced
proudly.  "That old fellow would follow me all round the grounds as
meekly as a lamb, if he had the chance!"

"We won't try him, thank you; he might meet a messenger-boy _en route_,
and we should have to pay the damages.  Come along now, and I will show
you--" but at this opportune moment Harold came in view, sauntering
round the corner of the stable, and Rhoda called to him eagerly, glad to
be able to impress him with a sense of Tom's powers.

"Harold, look here!  See what friends Tom has made with Lion already.
He lets her do anything that she likes.  Isn't it wonderful?"

"By Jove!" exclaimed Harold, and looked unaffectedly surprised to see
his gruff old friend submitting meekly to the stranger's advances.
"Tastes differ!" was the mental comment, but aloud he said suavely,
"Lion is a good judge of character.  He knows when he has found a
friend."

"Yes, they all recognise me.  I was a bulldog in my last incarnation,"
said Tom calmly, and by some extraordinary power which she possessed of
drawing her mobile features into any shape which she chose, certain it
is that she looked marvellously like a bulldog at that moment: twinkling
eyes set far apart, heavy mouth, small, impertinent nose, all complete!
Harold was so taken aback that he did not know what to say, but Rhoda
dragged laughingly at her friend's arm and cried,--

"Come along!  Come along!  It will soon be time to go indoors and dress
for dinner, and we haven't done half our round.  I was going to take Tom
to the links, Harold.  She is a great golfer, and will be interested in
seeing them.  You'll come too, won't you?"

"With pleasure.  They are just our own tame little links, Miss
Bolderston, which we have faked up in the park.  You won't think much of
them if you are a player, but they give an opportunity for private
practice, and we have some good sport there occasionally."

"Ah, yes!  How many holes?" enquired Tom, sticking one thumb between the
buttonholes of her coat, and tilting her head at him with such a
businesslike air that he felt embarrassed to be obliged to reply.

"Nine, with a little crossing about; some of the distances are very
short, I'm afraid.  Still, it has its points, and I've played on larger
links with less enjoyment.  We will take a short cut across here to the
first hole.  We start here, as you see, and a good full cleek shot
should land you on the green.  There are only two holes which really
give a chance for a driver.  Now you can see the second green, but it's
not so easy a hole as it looks from here, for the grass is tussocky, and
one almost always gets a bad lie for the approach."

"Yes, but why not drive for the green?"

"Well, you see, it's rather too far for a cleek, and too short for a
driver.  Sometimes I try it with a brassey, but on the whole I think the
cleek is best.  If you over-drive you get into awful trouble, as you
will see."  So the course was gone over and explained, and Tom's eye was
quick to see the possibilities, and note the dangers, nor did she
hesitate sometimes to differ from Harold's tactics.

"Well," said he, in conclusion, "what do you think of 'em?  Rather
sporting, aren't they?"

"Humph--yes!" said Tom.  "That fifth hole is a little tricky, but I
think they ought to be done in--er--What's your record?"

"M-well, it varies--of course.  I'm no pro., but I can get round in
forty, with luck."

"Forty!  Humph!"  Tom wheeled round on her heel, and gazed from right to
left with calculating eyes.  Her lips moved noiselessly, then she nodded
her head, and cried confidently:

"I'll take you!  I'll play you to-morrow for the better man!"

"Done!" agreed Harold at once, but he straightened his shoulders as he
spoke with a gesture which meant that he had no intention, if he knew
it, of being beaten by a school-girl, and his sister looked forward to
the contest with very mingled feelings.  If Tom lost, it would be a
distinct blow; yet if Tom won, how Harold would dislike her!  How
hopeless it would be to look for any friendship between them after that!
She was glad that the game would have to be deferred for a day at
least, for an evening spent in Tom's company must surely instal her in
public favour.  When, however, she went to her friend's room to convey
her downstairs to dinner, Rhoda's confidence was shaken, and she nearly
exclaimed aloud in dismay at the apparition which she beheld.

Tom in full evening dress was a vision which had been denied to Hurst
Manor, but on the present occasion she had evidently determined to pay
every honour to her hosts, and bony arms and neck emerged festively from
a shot-silk gown, which Rhoda felt convinced must have been a possession
of the long-deceased mother.

"What do you think of _that_?"  Tom cried proudly, rustling round to
confront the new-comer, arms akimbo, and eyes twinkling with
complacency.  "There's a natty get-up!  Quite a fashion plate, ain't I?
The very latest from Par-ee.  You didn't expect to see anything like
that, did you?"

"I didn't!" cried Rhoda, truthfully enough; but Tom suspected no satire
in her words, and taking up the hand-glass, began twisting and turning
before the mirror so as to get a view of her hair, which was no longer
plaited into a pigtail, but screwed into a knot the size of a walnut,
planted accurately in the middle of her head.

"I say, what do you think of my coiffure?"

Rhoda looked, and burst into a shriek of laughter.  "Oh, Tom! that's it!
I noticed there was something different, but couldn't think what it
was.  Oh, no, no, Tom, you can't leave it like that!  You must make it
bigger, and wear it either high or low.  It's too ridiculous--that
little button just in the very wrong place.  Sit down for one moment,
and I'll arrange it for you!"

But Tom beat her off resolutely with the hair-brush.

"I won't!  It's my own hair, and I like it this way.  It's _distingue_--
not like every other woman you meet.  Now that I've left school and am
grown-up, I must study _les convenances_, and it's fatal to be
commonplace.  I may be prejudiced, but it seems to me that in this get-
up I'm a striking figure!"

The beaming good-humour of her smile, the utter absence of anything
approaching envy or discontent, struck home to Rhoda's heart, and
silenced further protestations.  She put her arm round Tom's waist, gave
her an affectionate grip, wishing, for perhaps the first time in her
life, that she herself had put on an older frock, so that the contrast
between herself and her guest should be less marked in the eyes of the
household.

Alas! socially speaking, Tom was not a success.  Mrs Chester was
plainly alarmed by her eccentricities; Mr Chester did not know whether
to take her in fun or in earnest; and Harold's languor grew more and
more pronounced.  The very servants stared with astonishment at the
peculiar guest, and when dinner was over Rhoda, in despair, took Tom up
to her own den to avoid the ordeal of an evening in the drawing-room.

Once alone, with closed doors and no critical grown-ups to listen to
their conversation, the hours sped away with lightning speed, while Tom
told of her own plans, sympathised with Rhoda's ambition, and let fall
words of wisdom, none the less valuable for being uttered in the most
casual fashion.  Every now and again the remembrance of her recent
disappointment would send a stabbing pain through Rhoda's heart, but, as
she had said, it was impossible to remain in low spirits in Tom's
company, and if no one else enjoyed that young lady's society it was
precious beyond words to her girl companion.

The game of golf was played as arranged, but though Harold came off
victor it was too close a contest to be agreeable to his vanity, or to
increase his liking for his opponent, while Mr Chester confided to his
wife that he could not understand Rhoda's infatuation for such a
remarkably unattractive companion.

"If it had been that sweet little Miss Everett, now, she might have
stayed for a year, and been welcome, but I confess I shall be glad when
this girl takes her departure.  She makes me quite nervous, sitting
blinking at me with those little eyes.  I have a sort of feeling that
she is laughing to herself when she seems most serious."

"Oh, she could never laugh at you, dear.  She couldn't be so audacious!"
declared Mrs Chester fondly; "but I can't bring myself to like her, and
where her cleverness lies is a mystery to me.  I never met a more
ignorant girl.  She can neither sew nor knit nor crochet, and the
remarks she made in the market yesterday would have disgraced a child of
ten.  I pity the man who gets _her_ for his wife!"

But, as we have seen, Thomasina had other ideas than matrimony for her
own future.  As she drove to the station by Rhoda's side she fell into
an unusual fit of silence, and emerging from it said slowly:

"I'm glad I've seen your home, Fuzzy.  It's very beautiful, and very
happy.  You are all so fond of one another, and so nice and kind, that
it's a regular ideal family.  I think you are a lucky girl.  I like all
your people very much, though they don't like me!"

Rhoda exclaimed sharply, but Tom's smile was without a shadow of offence
as she insisted--

"My dear, I know it!  Don't perjure yourself for the sake of politeness.
I'm sorry, but--I'm accustomed to it.  Strangers _don't_ like me, and
it's not a mite of use trying to ingratiate myself.  I did all I knew
when I came here.  I wore my best clothes, I tried to behave prettily,
and you see, dead failure, as usual!  You needn't look doleful, for no
doubt it's all for the best.  If I were beauteous and fascinating I
might be distracted from my work, whereas now I shall devote myself to
it with every scrap of my strength.  Girls love me, and I love them, so
I'll give up my life for their service.  We have all our vocation, and
it would be a happier world if everyone were as well satisfied as I am.
`In work, in work, in work always, let my young days be spent.'  Bother
it!  Here's the station already, and I haven't said half I wanted to!"

"Nor I to you.  It's horrid to say good-bye, and think of school without
you, but you'll write to me, won't you, Tom?  You will promise to write
regularly?"

"Indeed, I won't!  Fifty odd girls implored me to write to them, and
it's too big an order.  No, my dear Fuzz, I shall have no time to tell
you how busy I am.  Here we part, and we must leave it to fate or good
fortune when we meet again.  Bless you, my infant!  Perk up, and be a
credit to me."

"But--but--how am I to know, how am I to hear what happens to you?  I
_can't_ say good-bye and let you fade away completely, as if we had
never met.  It's horrible.  You _must_ let me know!"

"Look in the newspapers.  You will see my doings recorded in the Public
Press," replied Tom, as she skipped into the carriage.  Rhoda looked on
blankly, her heart sinking with a conviction that Tom did not care; that
it was nothing for her to say good-bye and part without a prospect of
reunion.  She was too proud to protest, but, waving her hand, turned
abruptly away and walked out of the station.  The train lingered,
however, and the temptation to take one more peep became too strong to
be resisted, so she ran along the path for twenty or thirty yards, and
peered cautiously through a gate from which a sight of the carriage in
which her friend sat could be commanded.  Tom had leant back in her
seat, and flung her hat on one side; her little eyes were red with
tears, and she was mopping them assiduously with a ball-like pocket
handkerchief!



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

SCHOOL AGAIN.

School again, and no Tom!  The house-parlour with no manly figure to
lean with its back against the mantelpiece, and jingle chains in its
pocket; the dining-hall with no one to make faces at the critical moment
when a girl was swallowing her soup, or to nudge her elbow as she lifted
a cup to her lips; the cubicle with no magenta dressing-jacket whisking
to and fro--it was ghastly!  The girls could not reconcile themselves to
their loss, and the first fortnight of the term was one of unalloyed
depression.  No one dared to joke, for if she did her companions
instantly accused her of "apeing Tom" and snubbed her for the feebleness
of the attempt; no one dared to be cheerful, lest she should be charged
with fickleness, and want of heart.  And Irene, the beautiful, reigned
in Tom's stead!  It would have been a difficult post for any girl to
have succeeded Thomasina Bolderston, but, curious though it may appear,
Irene's flaxen locks and regular features were for the time being so
many offences in the eyes of her companions.  They were accustomed to
Tom; Tom had been the Head Girl of their heart, and they resented the
"finicking" ways of her successor as an insult to the dear departed.

Irene strove by a gentle mildness of demeanour to soften the prejudice
against her, and the girls but abused her the more.

"Catch Tom saying `_It didn't matter_'!  Imagine Tom pretending she
didn't hear!  A nice Head Girl _she_ is!  We might as well have Hilary
Jervis!"  Irene assumed a pretence of firmness; the girls rolled their
eyes at each other and tittered audibly.  The idea of Irene Grey
ordering others about!  Plainly, it was time, and time only, which could
give any authority to Tom Bolderston's supplanter!

How keenly Rhoda felt her friend's absence no one guessed but herself.
Tom's attitude towards the result of the late examinations would have
given the keynote to that of her companions, and have shielded the poor,
smarting victim from much which she now had to endure.  The girls were
unaffectedly sorry for her, but pity is an offering which a proud spirit
finds it hard to accept.  It seemed strange to realise that girls cast
in such graceful moulds as Dorothy and Irene should be so deficient in
tact as to gush over the humiliation of another, and check the
rhapsodies of successful candidates by such significant coughings and
frownings as must have been obvious to the dullest faculties.  Oh, for
Tom's downright acceptance of a situation--her calm taking-for-granted
that the sufferer was neither selfish nor cowardly enough to grudge
success to others!  Rhoda felt, as we have all felt in our time, that
she had never thoroughly appreciated her friend until she had departed,
and she was one of the most enthusiastic members of the committee
organised to arrange about the tablet to be composed in Tom's honour.

Of course, Tom must have a place on the Record Wall!  Blues, Reds,
Greens, and Yellows were unanimously decided on the point; contributions
poured in, and on Sunday afternoon the Blues sat in consultation over
the wording of the inscription.

"The simpler the better.  Tom hated gush!" was the general opinion; but
it was astonishing how difficult it was to hit on something simple yet
telling.  A high-flown rhapsody seemed far easier to accomplish, and at
last, in despair, each girl was directed to compose an inscription and
to read it aloud for general approval.  None were universally approved,
but Rhoda's received the largest number of votes, as being simple yet
comprehensive:--

"This tablet is erected to the memory of Thomasina Bolderston, the most
popular `Head Girl' whom Hurst Manor has ever known.  Her companions
affectionately record the kindly justice of her rule, and the unfailing
cheerfulness which was a stimulus to them in work and play."

"Yes--it's the best, decidedly the best, but I should like it to have
been better still!" said Kathleen thoughtfully.  "It is so difficult to
describe Tom in three or four lines."

"And it leaves so much unsaid!  I should like to describe her a little
bit so that future pupils might know what she was like.  If they read
that, they would imagine her just like anyone else," objected Bertha,
frowning.  "I suppose it wouldn't do to say something about her--
er--`_engaging ugliness_!' or some expression like that?"

Howls of indignation greeted this audacious proposition, and Bertha was
alternately snubbed, reproached, and abused, until she grew sulky and
retired from the discussion.  Rhoda herself came to the rescue, and with
the critical spirit of the true artist acknowledged the defect in her
own work.

"Bertha is right!  What I have written gives no idea of Tom herself.
It's a pity, but I don't see how it can be helped.  What words could
describe Tom to anyone who had not seen her?  Now, here's another idea!
Why not make a rule that every girl who has had her name inscribed on
the Record Wall must present a framed portrait to the school?  All the
frames would be alike, and they would be hung in rows in the Great Hall,
so that future generations of pupils might be able to see what the girls
were like, and feel more friendly towards them!"

"Rhoda!  What a h-eavenly idea!" cried Irene rapturously.  "How s-imply
lovely!  Why in the world have we never thought of that before?"

"I never heard of anything so splendid!" cried the girls in chorus,
while Rhoda sat beaming with gratified smiles.  Well, if her own name
would never be printed in that roll of honour, at least she had composed
the inscription of one of the most important tablets, and had suggested
a new idea which bade fair to be as much appreciated as the Wall itself!
Already the girls were debating eagerly together as to its
inauguration, and deciding that the different "Heads" should be deputed
to write to those old members of each house who had been honoured with
tablets, to ask for portraits taken as nearly as possible about the date
of leaving school.  Irene, of course, would communicate with Tom to
inform her of the step about to be taken by her companions, and to
direct her to be photographed at the first possible moment.

"And--er--you might just drop a hint about her attire!" said Rhoda,
anxiously, as a remembrance of the dress and coiffure of Erley Chase
rose before her.  Nothing more likely than that Tom would elect to do
honour to her companions by putting on her very best clothes for their
benefit, and imagine the horror of the Blues at seeing their old Head
decked out in such fashion!  "We should like best to see her as she used
to look here."

"She must wear the old blue dress, and stand with her back to the
fireplace, with her hands in her pockets," cried Kathleen firmly.  "We
don't want to see Tom lying in a hammock against a background of palms,
or smirking over a fan--not much!  It's the genuine article we want, and
no make-up.  What will she say, I wonder, when she hears she is going to
have a tablet?  Will she be pleased or vexed?"

"She must be pleased--who could help it?--but she will pretend she is
not.  Mark my words, she'll write back and say it's a piece of
ridiculous nonsense."

So prophesied Irene; but the result proved that she was wrong, for Tom,
as usual, refused to be anticipated.  Instead of protesting that she had
done nothing worthy of such an honour, and beseeching her companions not
to make themselves ridiculous, she dismissed the subject in a couple of
lines, in which she declared the proposed scheme to be "most laudable,"
and calmly volunteered to contribute half-a-crown!

The Blues agreed among themselves that such behaviour came perilously
near "callousness," but Rhoda recalled that last peep through the bars
of the station gate, and could not join in the decision.  She believed
that Tom would be profoundly touched by the honour, so touched and so
proud that she dared not trust herself to approach the subject from a
serious view.  And she was right, for if imagination could have carried
her old companions to the study where Tom was then domiciled, they would
have seen her chalking an immense red cross on her calendar against the
date when Irene's letter had arrived, and mentally recording it as the
proudest day of her life.

No mention was made of the photograph, but in due time it arrived, so
life-like and speaking in its well-known attitude, that the more
sentimental of the girls shed tears of joy at beholding it.  Closely
following it came other contributions to the gallery, which the new-
comers examined with keenest interest, feeling more able to understand
the enthusiasm of their seniors, now that the well-known names were
attached to definite personalities.

About this time, too, arrived a full report of the examination, and, as
had been expected, Rhoda was found to have failed in arithmetic.  In
other subjects she had done well, gaining the longed-for distinction in
German and French, so that if only-- Oh! that little "If!"  How much it
meant!  That terrible mountainous "If," which made all the difference
between failure and success!  _If_ it had been a dark morning and she
had slept on!  _If_ she had given way to temptation, and dozed off in
the middle of her work!  _If_ she had listened to Evie's words of
warning!--If but one of those possible Ifs had been accomplished, she
would have been among the happy crowd to-day, and not standing miserably
apart, the only girl in the house who had failed to pass.  The wild
grief of the first few days swept back like a wave and threatened to
overwhelm her, but she clung to the remembrance of Tom's words, and told
herself passionately that she would _not_ "whine"!  She would not pose
as a martyr!  Even on that great occasion when the certificates were
presented in Great Hall, and the school burst into ecstatic repetitions
of "See the Conquering Hero Comes!" as each fresh girl walked up to the
platform, even through that dread ordeal did Rhoda retain her self-
possession, attempting--poor child--to add a trembling note to the
chorus.

She never knew, nor guessed, that the girls honoured her more in that
moment than if she had won a dozen distinctions.  She did not see the
kindly glances bent upon her by the teachers, for they were careful to
turn aside when she looked in their direction; and if she had seen, she
would never have believed it was admiration, and not pity, which those
looks expressed.  In her estimation the occasion was one of pure,
unalloyed humiliation, and when she reached the shelter of her cubicle
she seized the hand-glass and examined her ruddy head anxiously beneath
the electric globe.

"It isn't true!" she exclaimed.  "The ghost stories tell lies.  I don't
believe now that anyone's head ever turned white in a night.  I can't
see a single grey hair."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

AN ACCIDENT.

After a storm comes a calm.  Compared with the struggle and anxiety of
the summer term, the one which followed seemed stagnation itself.  The
arrival of the report had been an excitement, it is true; but when that
was over the days passed by in uneventful fashion, until autumn waned
and winter came back, with the attendant discomforts of dark mornings,
draughty corridors, and coatings of ice on the water in the ewers; for
this was a good, old-fashioned winter, when Jack Frost made his
appearance in the beginning of December, and settled down with a
solidity which meant that he had come to stay.  The hardy girls declared
that it was "ripping," and laughed at the shivery subjects who hobbled
about on chilblained feet, and showed faces mottled blue and red, like
the imitation marble in lodging-house-parlours; the shivery girls
huddled in corners, and wished they could go to bed and hug hot bottles
until May came back and it was fit for human creatures to go about
again!  People who possess brisk circulations can never understand the
sufferings of those whom no amount of clothing will keep warm, and who
perform their duties for four months in the year feeling as though icy
water were streaming down their backs.  Human sympathy is an elastic
virtue, but it seems powerless to reach so far as that!

Poor Miss Everett belonged to this latter unhappy class, and perhaps the
hardest duty which she had to perform at Hurst Manor was the spending of
two hours daily in the grounds with her pupils, be the weather warm or
cold.  To be sure, they always moved about briskly, playing hockey and
lacrosse so long as the weather allowed, and then turning to skating and
tobogganing, but there were moments of waiting and hanging about, when
the wind cut through her like a knife, and made her pretty face look
pinched to half its size.  Rhoda, brisk and glowing, would look at her
with affectionate superiority, call her a "poor, dear, little frog," and
insist upon running races to restore circulation.  Evie would declare
that she felt warmer after these exertions, but when at the expiration
of ten minutes she was found to be shivering and chattering as much as
ever, Rhoda would grow anxious, and consequently more flattering in her
similes.

"You are a hot-house flower, and not fit to rough it like this!  It
makes me cold to look at you.  I have a great mind to tell Miss Bruce
how you suffer, and ask her to forbid you to come out to games in this
weather!"

But at this Miss Everett protested in genuine alarm.

"Rhoda, you must do nothing of the kind!  Don't you see that it would be
as much as saying that I am unfit for my work?  Miss Bruce thinks it
quite as important that I should be with you for games as for work;
perhaps more so, for there is more likelihood of your getting into
mischief.  I don't like feeling cold, but after all it is only for a few
weeks in the year, and as I thoroughly enjoy being out of doors for the
rest of the time there is not much to grumble about.  It won't kill me
to shiver a little bit."

"Cold, cough, consumption, coffin!" quoted Rhoda cheerfully.  "I hate to
see you with a blue nose, when I am tingling all over with heat, and
feeling so fit and jolly.  It's unsociable--and unbecoming!  Now just
skate once more round the field with me, and I won't worry you any
more!"

Miss Everett sighed, and consented.  Her feet were so numbed that she
had believed them incapable of any feeling, but now the straps of her
skates were beginning to cut into her like so many sharp-edged knives.
She longed to take them off, but did not like to refuse the girl's
kindly invitation, while, unselfishly speaking, it was a pleasure to see
the graceful figure skimming along by her side, with such healthful
enjoyment in the exercise.

The pupils at Hurst Manor were seldom, if ever, allowed to skate on the
lake, for it was deep, and the Principal preferred to have one of the
fields flooded in its stead, where the girls could disport themselves
with that sense of security which comes from seeing little tufts of
grass showing beneath the surface of the ice.  Even nervous subjects
grew bold under such conditions, and while the more advanced skaters cut
figures, or even essayed a game of hockey, the spectators circled round
and round, looking admiringly at their exploits.  At one end of the
field was a slight ditch, or rather undulation in the ground, which when
frozen over afforded a source of unending amusement, being as good as a
switchback itself.  Daring skaters went at it with a dash which brought
them safely up the incline on the further side, but by far the greater
number collapsed helplessly at the bottom, or, rising half-way up the
ascent, staggered back with waving arms and gasping cries, vastly
entertaining to the spectators.  Evie would never be induced to make
this experiment, having, as she said, "too much respect for her ankles"
to subject them to so severe a trial, and having also passed that age
when to tumble down in an icy ditch twenty times over in the course of
an afternoon seems the height of mortal bliss.

The hardihood of the vast majority of the girls, the imperturbable good
nature with which they picked themselves up from their recumbent
position and hobbled up the banks on the edge of their skates, spoke
volumes for the success of the system on which they were educated.  They
returned to the house glowing and panting, and surged up the staircase--
a stream of buoyant young life which seemed to warm the draughty
corridors and bring sunshine into the colourless rooms.  The piles of
"bread and scrape" which disappeared at tea after such an afternoon as
this would have amazed the parents of the daughters whose appetites at
home had been so captious as to excite anxiety in the maternal heart!

"Of course," as the croakers had it, as soon as a week's consecutive
skating had made everyone proficient enough to enjoy the pastime, the
snow descended, and fell in a persistent shower which made the ice
impossibly rough.  The girls looked out from their windows on a
wonderful white world, whose beauty was for the time hidden from them by
disappointment, but, in the end, even snow seemed to bring with it its
own peculiar excitements.  Relief gangs of pupils were organised to
sweep the principal paths in the grounds, while those not so employed
set to work to manufacture "snow men."  Not the ordinary common, or
garden snow man, be it understood--that disreputable, shapeless
individual with his pipe in his mouth, and his hat perched on the back
of his head, with whom we are all familiar--the Hurst Manor girls would
have none of him; but, superintended by the "Modelling Mistress," set to
work with no smaller ambition than to erect a gallery of classic
figures.  Some wise virgins chose to manufacture recumbent figures,
which, if a somewhat back-breaking process, was at least free from the
perils which attended the labours of their companions.  What could be
more annoying than to have two outstretched arms drop suddenly, at the
very moment when the bystanders were exclaiming with admiration, and to
be obliged to convert a flying god into a Venus de Milo as the only
escape from the difficulty?  Or, again, how was it possible to achieve a
classic outline when a nose absolutely refused to adhere to a face for
more than two minutes together?  The recumbent figures lay meekly on
their beds and allowed themselves to be rolled, and patted, and pinched
into shape, until at a distance, they presented quite a life, or rather
deathlike, effect.  The girls declared that the sight gave them the
"creeps," whatever that mysterious malady might be, and snowballed the
effigies vigorously before returning to the house, so that no straggler
through the grounds might be scared by their appearance.

All this time an eager outlook was kept on a sloping bank at the end of
the cricket ground, where the snow lay first in patches and then by
degrees in an unbroken mass.  When it grew deep enough tobogganing would
begin, and that was a sport held in dearest estimation.  The course was
dubbed "Klosters," after the famous run at Davos, for the school-girl of
to-day is not happy unless she can give a nickname to her haunts, and it
was sufficiently steep to be exciting, though not dangerous.

Rhoda had been accustomed from childhood to practise this sport at home,
and had brought to school her beautiful American toboggan, with the
stars and stripes emblazoned on polished wood, ready for use if
opportunity should occur.  She knew that her experience would stand her
in good stead, and was now, as ever, on the outlook for a chance of
distinguishing herself in the eyes of her companions.  One may be
naturally clever and athletic, but it is astonishing how many others,
equal, and even superior to oneself, can be found in an assembly of over
two hundred girls.  Do what you would, a dozen others appeared to
compete with you, and it was ten to one that you came off second best.

"But wait till we can toboggan!" said Rhoda to herself.  "They will see
_then_ who has the most nerve!  I'll astonish them before I have done!"
And she did.

Following a fall of snow came a frost, which pressed down and hardened
the soft surface until it was in perfect condition for the desired
sport.  The games captains surveyed the course, and pronounced it ready,
and directly after lunch a procession of girls might have been seen
wending their way from the house, dragging toboggans in their wake, and
chattering merrily together.  The wind blew sharp and keen, and many of
the number looked quite Arctic, waddling along in snow shoes, reefer
coats, and furry caps with warm straps tied over the ears.  It was _de
rigueur_ to address such personages as "Nansen"; but Rhoda gained for
herself the more picturesque title of "Hail Columbia" as she strode
along, straight and alert, her tawny curls peeping from beneath a
sealskin cap, her stars and stripes toboggan making a spot of colour in
the midst of the universal whiteness.  No one thought of addressing her
except in a more or less successful imitation of an American twang, or
without including the words "I guess" in every sentence, and she smiled
in response, well satisfied to represent so honoured a nation.

The progress of dragging toboggans to the top of an incline is always
uninteresting, and never takes place without an accompaniment of
grumbling, in which, we may be sure, the Hurst Manor girls were in no
way behind.  They groaned, and sighed, and lamented, as in duty bound,
while Dorothy went a step further and improved the occasion by moral
reflections.

"If I were a man I could preach a splendid sermon on tobogganing.  All
about sliding down hill, you know, and how easy it is, and how quickly
done, and how jolly and lively it feels, and then the long, long drag
back when you want to get to the top again.  It is a splendid
illustration; for, of course, sliding down would mean doing wrong things
that are nice and easy, and the climb back the bad time you would have
pulling yourself together again and starting afresh...  It's really a
splendid idea.  I wonder no--" But at this moment it occurred to Dorothy
to wonder at something else, namely, how it was that her toboggan had
grown suddenly so light, and turning round to discover the reason, she
found it rapidly sliding downhill.  The girl immediately behind had
nipped out her knife and deftly cut the leading string, as a practical
demonstration of the favour in which "sermonising" was held at Hurst,
and the whole band stood and screamed with laughter as the would-be
preacher retraced her steps to the bottom of the hill, and started
afresh on her symbolic climb!

Five minutes later, with a rush and a whoop the first toboggans came
flying down the slope.  Their course was, perhaps, a trifle erratic, and
apt to be followed by a spill at the bottom, but these were unimportant
details only to be expected in the first run of the season, and the
style improved with every fresh start.  One girl after another came
flying down, drew her toboggan up a little slope facing the run, and sat
down upon it to recover breath and watch the exploits of her companions.
Experience had proved that, however rapid the descent, a toboggan
invariably stopped short before this edge was reached, so that it was
accepted as a retreat of absolute safety, and, as a rule, there were as
many girls resting there as starting from the brow of the hill.  All
went on merrily, then, until in the very height of the fun Dorothy was
seized with an attack of her usual sickness.  It was not a very deadly
complaint--nothing more serious than haemorrhage from the nose, but it
was astonishing how much trouble it seemed able to give her!  To the
gaze of the world that nose was both a pretty and innocent-looking
feature, but it must surely have been possessed with an evil spirit,
since there was no end to the plights in which it landed the unhappy
owner!  It disdained to bleed in a cubicle, or any such convenient
place, but delighted in taking advantage of the most awkward and
humiliating opportunities.  It bled regularly at Frolics, when she wore
her best clothes, and wished to be merry; it bled in the ante-room of
the Examination Hall, so that she went in to tackle the mathematical
paper with three pennies and two separate keys poked down her back; it
bled at the critical part of a game or when she went out to tea, or
forgot to put a handkerchief in her pocket.  "It is my cross!" she would
sigh sadly, and to-day she was inclined to say so more than ever, since
the attack was so severe, that she must needs go indoors, and leave her
favourite sport on the very first day when it had been possible to enjoy
it.

Miss Everett walked with her across the field, cheering and encouraging,
and directing her to go straight to Nurse when she reached the house,
then retraced her own steps and hurried back to her charges.  She had
been away only five minutes, barely five minutes, but in that short time
something had happened which was destined to bring about life-long
consequences to more than one member of the party, for it chanced that
just as she turned away Rhoda Chester reached the top of the run, on the
lookout for fresh opportunities.  It was absurd to go over the same
course, with no change, no excitement--to do what thirty other girls
could do as well as herself!  She must try to discover some variety this
time, and so she gazed about with critical eyes, and suddenly had an
inspiration, for why not drag the toboggan a yard or two further up the
steep bank beyond the path which made the present start?  It was a tree-
crowned bank, forming the very crest of the hill, so short that it
measured at the most six or seven yards, but of a steepness far
eclipsing any other portion of the run.  If she could start from this
higher point she would accomplish a feat unattempted by any of her
companions, and descend at a velocity hitherto unknown!

No sooner thought than done, and she began to climb the bank, dragging
the toboggan behind her, while the onlookers stared aghast.

"In the name of everything that is crazy, Rhoda Chester, what are you
doing up there?"

"Rhoda, come _down_!  Don't be absurd!  You can't possibly start from
there!"

"Why not, pray?  I can, if I choose.  I'm tired of ambling down that
baby-run.  I want a little variety!"

"You will have it with a vengeance, if you start from there.  It's far
too steep.  Don't be obstinate now, and get into trouble.  Evie will be
furious with you."

"Why should she be?  There's no rule against it.  I'm not doing anything
wrong...  Get out of the way, please.  I'm coming!"

"No, no; wait, wait!  Wait until Evie comes back, and says you may.  She
will be here in a moment.  _Do_ wait, Rhoda, just one minute!"

But Rhoda would not wait.  Although, as she had argued, there was no
rule forbidding what she was about to do, she had an instinctive feeling
that Evie was too anxious about the safety of her charges to give
consent to anything that involved unnecessary risk.  Evie's absence was
her opportunity, and she must act now or never; so, seating herself
firmly on her toboggan, she called out the last word of warning; "I'm
coming, I tell you!  Stand back!"

"You will break your neck!  You will kill yourself, if you are so mad!"

"Oh, bother my neck!  I'll risk it!  I'll not blame you if it _is_
broken!" cried Rhoda, recklessly; and even as she spoke the last word
the toboggan shot forward and bounded over the edge.  _Bounded_ is the
right word to use, for it did not seem to glide, but to leap from top to
bottom with a lightning-like speed which took away breath, sight, and
hearing.  That first moment was a terrible blank and then she shot over
the path itself, and was flying down, down the slope, drawing her breath
in painful gasps, and staring before her with distended eyes.

The girls on the bank were craning forward to watch her approach.  She
saw the blur of their whitened faces, and behind them a little figure
running wildly forward, waving its arms and crying aloud:

"Girls, girls!  Jump!  _Run_!  Get away, get away!"

The words rang meaningless in her ears, for she was dazed beyond the
power of thought.  The running figure drew nearer and nearer, still
waving its hands, still calling out that agonised cry.  The girls
disappeared to right and left, but the figure itself was close at hand--
closer--closer--at her very side.  Then came a shock, a jar.  Evie's
tottering figure fell forward over her own; Evie's shriek of anguish
rang in her ears, and then came blackness--a blackness as of death!



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE CONSEQUENCES.

When Rhoda opened her eyes she was lying in a strange bed, and some one
was sitting by her side, anxiously watching her face.  It was not Nurse
_par excellence_, but the matron of another house, whose features seemed
unfamiliar, despite their kindly expression.

"You are better?  You feel rested now?" she questioned, and Rhoda
struggled wearily to form a a reply.

"My head aches.  I feel--tired!"

"Yes, yes, of course.  Don't speak, but lie quite still; I will stay
beside you."

A soothing hand was pressed upon her own, and once again her eyes
closed, and she floated away into that strange, dream-like world.
Sometimes all was blank, at other times she was dimly conscious of what
went on around, as when voices murmured together by her side, and Nurse
related how she had spoken and answered a question, and the doctor
declared in reply that she was better, decidedly better!  She was heavy
and weary, and had no desire but to be left alone, while time passed by
in a curious, dizzy fashion, light and darkness succeeding each other
with extraordinary celerity.  Then gradually all became clear; she was
lying in the sick room where patients suffering from non-infectious
complaints were taken.  The pressure at her head was giving way,
allowing glimmering flashes of memory.  What was it?--a terrible,
terrible nightmare; a horror as of falling from a great height; a
sudden, numbing crash...  Where has she been?  What had she done?  And
then with another struggling gleam--the toboggan!

Her cry of distress brought the nurse to her side, while she gasped out
a feeble--

"I remember!  I was tobogganing.--I was too quick.  I suppose I fell?"

"Yes, you fell, but you are better now; you are getting on finely.  Just
keep quiet, and you will be up again in a few days."

There was a tone of relief in the good woman's voice as though there had
been another remembrance which she had feared to hear, but Rhoda did not
notice it, for a very few words seemed to tire her in those days, and
her brain was unable to grasp more than one idea at a time.

The next time she awoke her mother was sitting by the bed.  It appeared
that she had been staying in the house for the past four days, peeping
in at the invalid while she slept, but waiting the doctor's permission
to appear before her waking eyes.  Rhoda was languidly pleased to see
her, but puzzled to account for the air of depression which lay so
constantly on the once cheery face.  If she were getting better, why did
everyone look so doleful--the doctor, her mother, Miss Bruce--everyone
whom she saw?  She questioned, but could get no answer, struggled after
a haunting memory, which at one moment seemed at the point of shaping
itself into words, and at the next retreated to a hopeless distance.
And then suddenly, by one of those marvellous actions of the brain which
we can never understand, the whole scene flashed upon her as she lay
upon her pillow, thinking of something entirely different, and not
troubling her head about the mystery.

She saw herself dragging the toboggan up the bank, felt again the horror
of that first mad rush, saw the girls flying to right and left before
Evie's waving arms, and heard Evie's voice shriek aloud in the pain of
the sudden collision.  Her own agonised exclamation brought mother and
nurse hurrying across the room to lay soothing hands upon her, and hold
her down in bed as she cried out wildly--

"Oh, I remember!  I remember!  Evie!  The toboggan dashed up the bank,
and she was looking after the girls, and I crashed into her, and she
shrieked.  Oh, Evie!  Evie!  She was hurt, terribly hurt...  She fell
down over me.  Where is she now?  I must go to her--I must go at once!"

The two watchers exchanged a rapid glance, and even in that moment of
agitation Rhoda realised that this was the awakening which they had been
dreading, this the explanation of the universal depression.  A new note
of fear sounded in her voice, as she quavered feebly:

"Is Evie--dead?"

"No, no, nor likely to die!  She has been ill, but is getting better
now.  She is in her own room, with Nurse to look after her.  You cannot
possibly see her yet, for it would be bad for both."

"But you are sure she is better?  You are sure she will get well?  You
are not deceiving me just to keep me quiet?"

"No, indeed.  It is the truth, that she is getting stronger every day.
When I say that, you can believe that I am not deceiving you, can't you,
dear?"

Yes, of course, she was bound to believe it; but in some patients the
faculties seem strangely sharpened in convalescence, and despite her
mother's assurance Rhoda felt convinced that something was being kept
back--that something had happened to Evie which she was not to be
allowed to know.  She asked no more questions, but with sharpened eyes
watched the faces of the visitors who were now allowed to see her, and
found in each the same shade of depression.  She was waiting for an
opportunity, and it came at last on the first day when she was allowed
to sit up, and Miss Bruce came in to pay her usual visit.  No one else
was in the room, and Rhoda looked up into the strong, grave face, and
felt her heart beat rapidly.  Now was her opportunity!  Miss Bruce could
be trusted to answer truthfully, however painful might be the news which
she had to unfold; she was neither hard nor unsympathetic, but she had
the courage of her convictions, and had faced too many disagreeable
duties to understand the meaning of shirking.  Rhoda clasped her hands
tightly together, swallowed nervously once or twice, and began--

"Miss Bruce please--I want to ask you--Mother won't tell me.  Was it my
fault that--Evie was hurt?"

The Principal's face hardened involuntarily.

"What do you think yourself, Rhoda?  Your companions, as you know, are
never ready to speak against a friend, but I have made the strictest
enquiries into this sad affair, and I hear that the girls warned you
that you were attempting a dangerous feat, and implored you to wait
until Miss Everett returned.  You chose to disregard them, and to take
no thought of the risk to others, and--"

Rhoda turned, if possible, a shade paler than before.

"I see!" she said slowly.  "I suppose it's no use saying that I never
thought I could hurt anyone but myself.  I _should_ have thought!
Everyone who knows me, knows that I love Evie, and would rather have
been smashed to pieces than have harmed her in any way."

"Yes, Rhoda!"  Miss Bruce sighed heavily, "that is quite true,
nevertheless it seems to me a little inconsistent that you did not think
more of her feelings.  She was responsible for your safety, and you can
hardly have believed that she would have allowed such a mad trick.
However, I don't wish to reproach you, for your punishment has been
taken out of my hands.  Nothing that I could do or say could affect you
half so much as the thought of the trouble which you have brought upon
your kind, good friend--"

It was coming now; it was coming at last!  Rhoda's heart gave a wild,
fluttering leap; she looked up breathlessly into the unbending face.

"What is the trouble?  I thought she was like me--stunned and shaken.  I
never heard--"

"No, it is not at all the same.  You had a slight concussion, from which
you have now recovered.  Her injury is much more lasting.  Her right
knee-cap was broken, and the doctors fear it will never be quite right
again.  She will probably be lame for life."

Rhoda turned her head aside, and said no word, and Miss Bruce stood
looking down at her in silence also.  The curly hair was fastened back
by a ribbon tied in the nape of the neck, and the profile was still
visible leaning against the pillows.  It was motionless, except for one
tell-tale pulse above the ear which beat furiously up and down, up and
down, beneath the drawn skin.  The Principal looked on that little
pulse, and laid her hand pitifully on the girl's head.

"I will leave you now, Rhoda.  You would rather be alone.  I am truly
sorry for you, but I am powerless to help.  One can only pray that some
good may come out of all this trouble."

She left the room, and Rhoda was alone at last, to face the nightmare
which had come into her life.  Evie _lamed_, and by her doing!  Evie
injured for life by one moment's thoughtlessness--rashness--call it
_wickedness_ if you will--even then it seemed impossible that it should
be _allowed_ to have such lasting consequences!  One moment's
disobedience, and then to suffer for it all her life! to see Evie--dear,
sweet, graceful Evie--limping about, crippled and helpless; to keep ever
in one's mind the memory of that last wild run--the last time Evie would
ever run!  Could retribution possibly have taken to itself a more
torturing form?  She had spoiled Evie's life, and brought misery into a
happy home.

"I could have borne it if it had happened to myself," she gasped.  "But
no!  I must needs get well, and be strong, and rich, and healthy.  I
suppose I shall laugh again some day, and forget, and be happy, while
Evie--.  I am a Cain upon earth, not fit to live!  I wish I could die
this minute, and not have a chance to do any more mischief."

But we cannot die just because we wish to escape the consequences of our
own misdoing; we are obliged to live, and face them day after day.
Crises of suffering, moments of humiliation, stabbing returns of pain
just when we are congratulating ourselves that the worst is over--they
must be lived through, and though we fly to the ends of the world they
will still follow in our wake.

One of the consequences which Rhoda dreaded, and yet longed for in
curious, contradictory fashion, was her first interview with Evie
herself.  What would she say?  What would she do?  Would she be sweet
and self-forgetful as of old, or full of bitter reproaches?  She could
gather no clue from her companions, and her first request to be allowed
to visit the invalid in her room was vetoed on the ground that the
excitement would be bad for herself, and could do Evie no good.  When,
however, she was allowed to walk about, and even entertain her
companions to tea, the first excuse could no longer be offered, and at
last, consent being given, she tapped tremblingly at the well-known
door.  Nurse's voice bade her enter, and she walked forward with her
eyes fixed on the bed on which Evie lay.  Her face was thin and drawn,
and had lost its colour, yet it was none of these things which struck a
chill to Rhoda's heart, but the expression in the eyes themselves--
Evie's sweet brown eyes, which of old had been alight with kindly
humour.  They were blank eyes now, listless eyes, which stared and
stared, yet seemed hardly to see that at which they gazed.  Rhoda stood
before her for a full moment, before the light of recognition showed in
their depths, and even then it was a flicker more than a light, and died
out again with startling rapidity.

The girl stood trembling, the carefully rehearsed words fading away from
memory, for excuses and protestations seemed alike useless in the
presence of that despairing calm.  She looked pitifully into the set
face, and faltered out:

"Evie, I've come...  I wanted to see you!  I have thought about you
every minute of the time...  I could not stay away--"

No answer.  Evie might not have heard her speak, for all signs of
emotion which appeared on her face.  Rhoda waited another moment and
then with a catch in her voice asked another question:

"Is--is your knee very painful, Evie?"

"No!"  Evie winced at that, and turning towards the other side of the
bed, held out her hand appealingly towards the Nurse, who took it in her
own, and frowned a warning to the visitor.

"You had better go now, Miss.  She isn't equal to much yet.  You have
got your way and seen her, so just give her a kiss, and go quietly
away."

Tears of disappointment rushed to Rhoda's eyes, and as she stooped to
give that farewell kiss the salt drops fell upon Evie's cheeks, and
roused her momentarily from her lethargy.

"Poor Rhoda!" she sighed softly.  "Poor little Rhoda!" then her eyes
closed, and Nurse took hold of the girl's arm and led her resolutely
away.

"You look as if you were going to faint yourself, and I can't have two
of you on my hands," she said as soon as the corridor was reached, and
the door closed behind them.  "You'll just come back to your own room,
my dear, and lie down on the bed."

"Nurse--tell me! you have been with her the whole time, and know how she
feels.  Will she ever forgive me?  I never, never thought it would be so
bad as this.  She would not speak to me, would not look at me even."

"She wasn't thinking of you at all, my dear, she was thinking of her
knee.  That is all she can find time to think of just now.  The doctors
kept it from her as long as they could, but she questioned them, and
would not be put off, so they had to tell her the truth.  She knows she
will be lame, and it has pretty well broken her heart.  It's the bread
out of her mouth, poor lamb, and she knows it.  It will be many a long
day before she is herself again."

And this was the end of Rhoda's first meeting with Laura Everett after
her accident!



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MRS. CHESTER'S PLAN.

It was many days before Rhoda saw Miss Everett again, but, if she was
not admitted to the sick room, her mother was a frequent and welcome
visitor, and took entire charge of the invalid while the nurse fulfilled
her ordinary duties.  There was little actual nursing to be done, but
the doctors were anxious to prevent solitary repinings, and to do what
was possible to raise the spirits of their patient.  Evie's own mother
had come down for a few days to satisfy herself concerning her
daughter's condition, but had been obliged to hurry back to the
Vicarage, where the invalid sister was growing worse rather than better,
so that her presence could badly be spared.  She was a worn, faded
edition of Evie, and looked so typical of what the girl herself might
now become that Rhoda could not bear to look at her.  The two mothers,
however, became great friends, for they met with a remembrance of
kindness on the one side, and an overwhelming sympathy on the other, and
were drawn together by hours of mutual anxiety.  In each case the worst
dread was unfulfilled, but what remained to be borne required all the
fortitude which they could summon.  The Vicar's wife saw one of the
props of the home disabled for life, and Mrs Chester's kind heart was
wrung with anguish at the thought that her child had been the cause of
so much suffering.  It seemed a strange dispensation of Providence that
she, the main object of whose life had been to help her fellow-
creatures, should have this burden laid upon her; but she bore it
uncomplainingly, striving to cheer the poor woman whose lot was so much
harder than her own.

Before they parted she broached a scheme which she had been planning in
secret, and, having received a willing consent, bided her opportunity to
lay it before the invalid herself.  It came at last one chilly
afternoon, when Evie was laid on a sofa before the fire, as a sign that
convalescence had really begun.  The knee was still bound up, as it was
not proposed that she should attempt to walk until the journey home had
been accomplished, and it was on this subject that Evie made her first
remark.

"I suppose," she began, looking at Mrs Chester with the brown eyes
which had grown so pathetic in their gaze in the last few weeks, "I
suppose I can travel now, as soon as it can be arranged.  I shall have
to be carried about at each of the changes, and it must be planned ahead
in this busy season.  I must speak to Miss Bruce, and ask her what I had
better do."

Mrs Chester bent forward and poked the fire in a flurried, embarrassed
manner; she knitted her brows, and her rosy face grew a shade deeper in
colour.

"Er--yes," she assented vaguely.  "Of course; but Evie, dear, I have
been waiting to talk to you about something which has been very much on
my mind lately.  We are leaving on Thursday, Rhoda and I, and are having
a through carriage and every possible appliance to make the journey
easy, and I thought that it would be so much simpler for you, dear, to
travel with us, and spend a few weeks at the Chase before going home!"

Evie smiled, with the languid courtesy with which an invalid listens to
an impossible proposition.

"It is very kind of you," she said.  "Some day I shall be glad to come,
but not at present, thank you.  I am not well enough to pay visits."

"But my child, it would not be like an ordinary visit; you should do
exactly as you would in your own home--stay in bed, or get up, as you
pleased, and make out your own programme for the day.  You know me now,
and can surely understand that you need feel no ceremony in coming to my
house."

"No, indeed!  You have been so kind to me all this time, that I should
be ungrateful if I did not realise that.  I would rather be with you
than anyone else outside my own family, but--but--" the tears gathered
and rolled down the pale cheeks--"Oh, surely you understand that just
now I want to be at home with my own mother and father!"

"Yes, I do understand, poor dear; it would be unnatural if you felt
anything else; but listen, Evie, it is for your parents' sake, as well
as for your own, that I urge you to come.  You need constant care and
nursing, and cheering up, and it would be very difficult for them to
manage all this just now.  Your mother is overworked as it is, and has
already one invalid on her hands; but if you come to us, the whole
household will be at your service.  My kind old Mary shall be your
nurse, and wait upon you hand and foot.  I will drive you about so that
you can get the air without fatigue, and you shall have your couch
carried into the conservatory off the drawing-room, and lie there among
the flowers which you love so much.  Every comfort that money can buy
shall be yours to help to make you strong again.  I say it in no spirit
of boasting, dear, for we have been poor ourselves, and owe our riches
to no merit of our own.  We look upon them as a trust from God, to be
used for the good of others even more than ourselves, and surely no one
had ever a nearer, stronger claim--"

Her voice broke off tremblingly, and Evie looked at her with a troubled
glance.

"Dear Mrs Chester, you are so good!  It all sounds most attractive and
luxurious, and I am sure you would spoil me with kindness, but--would it
not be rather selfish?  You say mother is overworked, and that is quite
true; but, all the same, she might feel hurt if I chose to go somewhere
else."

"Now, I'll tell you all about it," cried Mrs Chester briskly, scenting
victory in the air, and beginning to smile again in her old cheery
fashion.  "Your mother and I had a talk about it before she left.  She
felt grieved not to have you at home for Christmas, but for your own
sake was most anxious that you should come to us.  She realised that it
would be better for you in every way, and the quickest means to the end
which we all have in view, to make you well and strong again.  She left
it to me to make the suggestion, but you will find that she is quite
willing, even anxious--"

"Yes," said Evie, and lay silently gazing at the heart of the fire.  The
downcast face looked very fair and fragile, but for the moment the old
sweetness was wanting.  The lips were pressed together, the chin was
fixed and stubborn, outward signs of the mental fight which was going on
between the impulse to give way, and a sore, sore feeling of injury
which made it seem impossible to accept a favour from this quarter of
all others.  The elder woman saw these signs, and read their meaning
with painful accuracy, and the exclamation which burst from her lips
startled the invalid by its intensity.

"Oh, my lassie!" she cried.  "Oh, my lassie, be generous!  You have been
sorely tried, and our hearts are broken to think of your trouble, but
don't you see this is the only way in which it is left to us to help?
Sympathy and regret are abstract things, and can do no real good, for,
though they ease our minds, they leave you untouched.  My dear girl, can
you be generous enough to accept help from the hands that have injured
you?  It's a hard thing to ask--I know it is; but I am an old woman, and
I plead with you to give us this opportunity!  Let me be a mother to
you, dear, and ease your recovery in every way that I can.  Money has
great power, and one never realises it more than in time of sickness.  I
can spare you many a pain and discomfort if you will give me the
opportunity, and my poor girl is fretting herself thin by brooding over
the past--it would be new life to her to be allowed to wait upon you!
It's hard for you, dear, I know it's hard!  You would rather cut
yourself adrift from us, and never see us again; but it is in your power
to return good for evil--to lighten our trouble as no one else could do.
Will you come, Evie?"

Evie looked into the quivering face, and her eyes shone--then the kind
arms opened wide and the brown head nestled down on the broad, motherly
shoulder.  There was no need for words, for the answer was given far
more eloquently in look and gesture.

"God bless you, my lassie!" murmured Mrs Chester fondly, and they sat
in silence together, gazing into the fire.  A few tears rose in Evie's
eyes and ran silently down her cheeks, but they were happy tears, with
which were wiped away all remains of bitterness.  There is no truer way
of forgiving our enemies than by consenting to be helped at their hands,
and, if the effort be great, it brings with it an exceeding great
reward.  At the end of ten minutes Evie raised her head from its resting
place and said, in her old, bright voice:

"Shall we ask Rhoda to tea?  It is such a lovely fire, and you brought
in such a bountiful supply of cakes and good things that it seems greedy
to keep them all to myself.  Ask Rhoda to come in and help to make a
cosy little party."

Then, as Mrs Chester stooped to kiss her cheek, she whispered hastily,
"Tell her not to mention the past--never to mention it again!  We will
turn over a new leaf to-day and think only of the future."



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

GOOD-BYE TO HURST MANOR.

The morning of the day dawned on which the invalids were to travel to
Erley Chase, and Rhoda lay awake upon her bed, listening to the echo of
the girls' voices as they sang the morning hymn in the hall below.  Her
heart was softened with a feeling at once of thankfulness and dread--
thankfulness that Evie's life had been spared, and her friendship
renewed, and dread because, she dimly realised, this was the last of the
dear school days as they had been.  Even if she returned after the
holidays, which seemed doubtful, it would be a changed house indeed,
with the older girls scattered all over the country, and Evie no longer
at hand to soothe and lighten every trouble.  Her thoughts went back to
her first coming to Hurst Manor eighteen months before, and dwelt sadly
on her own ambitious hopes.  It had all seemed so easy, so certain; she
had planned her career with such happy assurance, with never a thought
but that success and distinction lay waiting for her grasp; and it had
all ended in this--that she was returning home, enfeebled in health,
foiled in ambition, with the bitter weight on her conscience that her
self-will had inflicted a life-long injury on the kindest of friends.

"I have failed!" sighed Rhoda humbly to herself.  "But why?  I never
meant to do wrong.  I intended only to work hard and get on.  Surely,
surely, there was nothing wicked in that?  It can't be possible to be
too industrious, and yet Evie evidently thought something was wrong, and
the Vicar...  What can it have been?  I wish, I wish I knew!  I'm tired
of going my own way, for it leads to nothing but misery and
disappointment.  I should like to find out the secret of being happy and
contented like other people."  Her eyes filled with tears, those blue
eyes which had been so full of confidence, and she clasped her fingers
upon the counterpane.  The roll of the organ sounded through the house,
and the girls' clear voices singing a familiar tune.  She listened
unthinkingly, until suddenly one verse struck sharply on her ear, and
startled her into vivid attention:--

  "The trivial round, the common task, Will furnish all we ought to ask;
  Room to deny ourselves, a road To bring us daily nearer God."

She had heard those words a hundred times before, had repeated them at
her mother's knee, had sung them in church, not once, but many times,
yet it seemed that until that moment no conception of their meaning had
penetrated to her brain.  What was it, which was all we ought to ask?
"_Room to deny ourselves_!"--to put ourselves last--to be careless of
our own position?  And this path of self-denial was the road that led to
God Himself?  Was this what Evie had meant when she spoke of the secret
which each one must find out for herself?  Was this the explanation of
the contentment which the Vicar had found in his ill-paying parish?
"_Room to deny oneself_!"  Oh, but this had been far, far from her own
ambitions.  She had asked for room to distinguish herself, to shine
among her fellows, to be first and foremost, praised and applauded.  Her
own advancement had been the one absorbing aim in life, and to gratify
it she had been willing to see others fail, and to congratulate herself
in the face of their distress.  Never once in all the miseries of
disappointment which she had undergone had it occurred to her that the
explanation of her difficulties lay in the _motive_ underlying her
efforts--the point of view from which she had started.  Other girls had
worked as hard as herself, but with some definite and worthy aim, such
as to help their parents, or to fit themselves for work in life.  Rhoda
was honest, even when honesty was to her own hurt, and she acknowledged
it had been far otherwise in her case when she had failed in her
examination, it had not been deficiency in knowledge which she had
deplored, but the certificate, the star to her name, the outward and
visible signs of success.  When she realised the hopelessness of seeing
her name on the Record Wall, loss of honour and glory had been her
regret, not sorrow for the thought that she had passed through school
and failed to leave behind a tradition of well-doing whereby future
scholars might be strengthened and encouraged!

Rhoda hid her face in the pillow and lay still, communing with her own
heart.  How bitter they are, these moments of self-revelation!  How
mysterious is the way in which the veil seems suddenly to lift and show
us the true figure, instead of the mythical vision which we have
cherished in our thoughts!  They come suddenly at the most unexpected
moments, roused by apparently the most trivial of causes, so that the
friend by our side has no idea of the crisis through which we are
passing.

Rhoda Chester never forgot that last morning at school; she could never
hear that hymn sung without a thrill of painful remembrance.  When the
years had passed and she had daughters of her own, the sound of the
familiar words would still bring a flush to her cheeks, but no human
friend ever knew all that it meant to her.  Rhoda learnt her lesson none
the less surely for keeping silence concerning it.

A few hours later the travellers were ready to depart, and Evie was
carried down the staircase into the hall.

Mrs Chester had promised that everything that wealth could secure
should be done for the comfort of her guest, and royally did she keep
her promise.  If she had been a Princess of the Blood, Evie declared she
could not have had a more luxuriously comfortable journey.  An ambulance
drove up to the door to convey the little party to the station, and
inside sat a surgical nurse, ready to give her skilled attention to any
need that might arise.  The girls flocked in hall and doorway to wave
farewells, edging to the front to cry "Come back soon!" in confident
treble, and then retiring to the background to gulp back the tears which
rose at the sight of the thin little face, which told such a pathetic
story of suffering.  Not a single tear did Evie see, however, nor any
face that was not wreathed in smiles, and when the strains of "For she's
a jolly good fellow" followed the ambulance down the drive, she laughed
merrily, and waved her handkerchief out of the window, never suspecting
with what swelling throats many of the singers joined in the strain.

Rhoda laughed too, but she did not wave her handkerchief.  Curiously
enough, it never occurred to her to think that she herself was included
in that farewell demonstration, or to resent the apparent indifference
with which she had been allowed to depart.  Her own special friends had
embraced her warmly enough, but even they had given the lion's share of
attention to Evie, while the majority of the girls had no eyes nor
attention for anyone else.  The Rhoda of six months or a year ago would
have bitterly resented such a slight, but to-day she found no reason to
blame others for following her own example.

Evie was the supreme consideration, and the girl was so entirely
absorbed in looking after her comfort that she had forgotten all about
her own poor little importance.  Love is the gentlest as well as the
cleverest of schoolmasters, and teaches his lessons so subtly that we
are unconscious of our progress, until, lo! the hill difficulty is
overcome, and we find ourselves erect on the wide, breezy plain.

At the station a saloon carriage was waiting labelled "Engaged," inside
which were all manner of provisions for the comfort of the journey.
Hot-water bottles, cushions, rugs, piles of papers and magazines, and a
hamper of dainty eatables from the Chase Evie was wrapped in Mrs
Chester's sable cloak and banked up with cushions by the window, so that
she might look out and be amused by the sight of the Christmas traffic
at the various stations.  She stared about her with the enjoyment of a
convalescent who has had more than enough of her own society, and the
lingerers on the platform stared back at the pretty, fragile-looking
invalid who was travelling in such pomp and circumstance.

"They think I am a princess!" cried Evie.  "I _hope_ they think I am a
princess!" and she laid her little head against the cushions, and
sniffed at a big silver-mounted bottle of smelling salts with an air of
languid complacency which vastly amused her companions.  Presently nurse
lighted an Etna and warmed some cups of soup, while one good thing after
another came out of the hamper to add to the feast; then followed a
stoppage, with the arrival of obsequious porters with fresh foot-
warmers; then, dusk closing in over the wintry landscape, the lighting
of electric lamps, and the refreshing cup of tea.  It was Evie's first
experience of luxurious travelling, and she told herself with a sigh
that it was very, very comfortable.  Much more comfortable than
shivering in a draughty third class carriage, and changing three times
over to wait in still more draughty stations!

With the arrival at Erley Chase came more pleasant surprises, for she
was not carried upstairs, but into a room on the ground floor, which was
ordinarily used as Mrs Chester's boudoir, and had been transformed into
the most cheerful and delightful of bedrooms.  There was really little
to distinguish it from a sitting-room, except the bed with its silken
cover, and even this was hidden behind a screen in the daytime.  A couch
was drawn up before the fire, and over it lay the daintiest pink silk
dressing-gown that was ever seen, with the warmest of linings inside,
and trimmed without with a profusion of those airy frills and laces dear
to the feminine heart.

"For me?" gasped Evie, staring at its splendour with big, astonished
eyes.  A glow of colour came into her cheeks as she turned it over and
over to inspect its intricacies.  "I should think I _would_ come in to
dinner just, with such a gown to wear!" she cried laughingly.  "I am
longing to put it on and see what it feels like to be a fashionable
lady."

She would not acknowledge that she was tired, but even after an hour's
sleep she still looked so fragile that the two members of the household
who had not seen her before were deeply impressed with the change which
had taken place since their last meeting.  Very charming did she look
when the sofa was wheeled into the dining-room, and she lay in her
pretty pink fineries the centre of attraction and attention; but the
flush of excitement soon faded, and the dark eyes looked pathetic in
spite of their smiles.  Rhoda watched the faces of father and mother,
and her heart sank as she saw the elder man knit his brow, and the
younger look away quickly and bite his lip under his moustache as if the
sight were too painful to be endured.  Beyond a few loving words at
greeting, neither had manifested any concern about herself, and once
again she had not noticed the omission.

"I've had such a happy day.  I feel like a princess--such a spoiled
princess!" said Evie, when she went to bed that night; but there were
sad days in store for the poor little princess from which all the care
and love of her friends could not save her.

When the decree went forth that she should make her first attempt to
walk, Rhoda clapped her hands with joy, and could not understand the
reason of the quick, grave glance which the nurse cast upon her.  She
and her mother had decided that the attempt must be made in the drawing-
room after tea, and nurse made no objection, hoping, perhaps, that the
presence of onlookers would give her patient extra strength for the
ordeal.  She knew what it meant if the others did not; but, alas! they
all learned soon enough, as, at the first slight movement, Evie's white
face turned grey, and she groaned in mingled anguish and dismay.

"I can't!" she cried; "Oh, I can't!  It is like knives going through me!
I can't move!"

"Ah, but you must, my dear.  It has to be done; and the braver you are,
the sooner it will be over.  You are bound to suffer the first few
times, but it would be ten times worse to allow the joint to stiffen.
Now be brave, and try to take just two steps with me!  I will support
you on one side, and--" Nurse looked round questioningly--"Mr Harold
will take the other.  You can lean all your weight on us.  We won't let
you fall."

Harold stepped forward without a word and put his strong arm under hers,
and, as he did so, Evie raised her eyes to his with a look which those
who saw it never forgot--a look such as might have been given by an
animal caught in a snare from which it was powerless to escape.  Rhoda
told herself savagely that Harold was a brute to persist in the face of
that dumb appeal, but he did not quail even when the sob rose to a cry,
and a trembling plea for mercy.  The two steps were taken, and
henceforth, for weeks to come, the nightmare of repeated effort weighed
upon the spirits of the household.  At eleven o'clock, after tea, after
dinner--three times a day--was the inexorable programme repeated, in
spite of prayers and protestations.  Mrs Chester's theory was that it
was brutal to torture the child, and that if she were to be lame, for
pity's sake let her be lame in peace.  Rhoda suffered agonies of remorse
and passionate revolts against the mystery of pain, but the nurse and
her assistant never showed a sign of wavering.  As a rule, Evie made a
gallant attempt to control her sufferings, but there were occasions when
even her fortitude gave was, as, on one afternoon, when, after taking a
certain number of steps, she was informed that still more must be
attempted.  She was powerless in the hands that held her, but when she
collapsed into helpless sobbings on the sofa, Rhoda turned on her
brother with furious indignation:

"You are a _brute_, Harold!  You have no heart!  How dare you do it--how
_dare_ you make her suffer so!"

He did not answer, but turned his head aside, and stared steadily out of
the window.  Rhoda glared at him with smarting eyes, and suddenly saw
something which put a check on her excitement.  Harold's profile was
turned toward her, and the light showed great drops of moisture standing
upon the brow, and rolling slowly down the cheek.  She realised, with a
pang, that once again she had been too quick in her judgment.  In spite
of his firmness, Harold had suffered more than she, more than her
mother--ay, perhaps, more than Evie herself!



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Despite the painful incidents of Evie's convalescence, Christmas was a
happy season at Erley Chase, for it had always been a tradition of the
household to make much of this festival, and Mrs Chester could not
bring herself to change her habits as the years advanced.  Every twenty-
sixth of December Mr Chester would say solemnly, "This is the last
time!  I cannot let you wear yourself out like this.  When Christmas
cards have to be sent off by the hundred, and presents by the score, it
is time to call a halt, for what has been a pleasure becomes a burden.
Next year you drop these outside people, and think only of our immediate
circle," and Mrs Chester would murmur meekly, "Yes, dear; of course.
Just as you wish," and begin laying in stores for next Christmas at her
first visit to the January sales.  There was a cupboard in one of the
spare rooms which was dedicated entirely to the keeping of presents, and
into it went all manner of nick-nacks which were picked up during the
year--bazaar gleanings, in the shape of cushions, cosies, and table-
cloths, relics of travel, and a hundred and one articles useful and
ornamental, which had been bought because they were so cheap, and it
really seemed wicked to leave them lying on the shop counter!  When a
need arose, as when a birthday was suddenly remembered the day before it
fell due, or an anniversary suggested the propriety of a little
offering, it was the easiest thing in the world to poke about in the
cupboard until a suitable gift was discovered.

Laura Everett was much amused by this novel way of apportioning
presents, which was so strangely different from that practised at her
own home.  When she was wheeled into the morning-room a few days before
Christmas, it was to find a small bazaar of fancy articles spread on
tables and sofas, while Mrs Chester sat checking off the names written
on a long sheet of paper, and Rhoda cried out: "Here's a yellow silk
cushion.  Whom do we know who has got a complexion that can bear being
set off against a background of sulphur yellow?" ...  "Here's a gorgeous
table centre, quite beautifully worked.  Whom do we know who is old-
fashioned enough to use table centres still?" ...  "Here's a piece of
Turkish embroidery, which would be the very thing to cover that shabby
old sofa at the Vicarage; it was absolutely in holes the last time I saw
it."

"Turkish embroidery--Mrs Mason.  Thank goodness, that's one thing
settled!  Wrap it up at once, Rhoda dear.  It will be one thing less to
do," cried Mrs Chester in a tone of relief, while Evie held up her
hands in astonishment.

"Of all the extraordinary ways of giving presents!  To have a room full
of things and then to puzzle as to whom you can give them!  This is
indeed a new experience for me.  When we talk over our presents at home
it is to wonder how in the world we can contrive to buy twenty things
for nineteen shillings.  Such a wholesale way of managing things I never
imagined in my wildest moments."

She gave a little sigh of envy as she looked at the lavish profusion
which lay around; yet, after all, there was a pleasure in contriving
those simple gifts--in putting in delicate stitches to add to the value
of cheap materials, a triumph in manufacturing something out of nothing,
which Rhoda and her mother could never enjoy!  She was not at all sure
that that old home fashion was not the sweeter after all.

While the apportioning of gifts was going on in the morning-room, the
cook and her kitchen maids were busy at work in the great nagged
kitchen, manufacturing all sorts of dainties to be packed away in the
hampers ranged in readiness along the walls.  It was a sight to see the
good things laid out on the tables, and Evie was carried down on her
chair to admire and praise with the rest, and to watch the interesting
process of packing.  Far and wide these hampers went, carrying good
cheer into many a home where otherwise there would have been scanty
provisions for the day of rejoicing, and bringing unexpected gleams of
sunshine to many an anxious heart.  Needless to say, one of the best was
addressed to a country parsonage especially dear to Evie's heart, and
was accompanied by a parcel of presents, which had not been lightly
bought, but worked by loving fingers during long hours of convalescence.

Christmas Day itself was a busy occasion, when the home party had little
leisure to think of themselves, so unending was the stream of pensioners
which came up to the Chase to receive their gifts, and to be fed and
warmed in the gaily-decorated rooms.  Dinner was served early, so that
the servants might be free to have their festivities in the evening, and
at nine o'clock all the employees on the estate came up, dressed in
their best, and danced with the servants in the hall.  Mr and Mrs
Chester, with Harold and Rhoda, honoured the assembly by joining in the
first dance, and Evie sat in her wheeled chair, looking on and trying to
keep a smiling face, the while she fought one of the mental battles
which seemed to meet her on every step of the road to recovery.  She had
been so much occupied grieving over the serious financial loss which her
inability to work would involve, that she had taken little thought of
the pleasures from which she was debarred; but, after all, she was but a
girl, and a girl with a keen capacity for enjoyment, and it was a very
keen pang which went through her heart as she listened to the seductive
strains of the band, and watched the couples glide slowly by.  The dark
brows twitched as if in pain, and she drew aside the folds of the pink
tea-gown to cast a longing glance at the little useless feet stretched
before her.  A sudden remembrance arose of the day when Rhoda protested
in dismay at the thought of wearing the ugly regulation school shoes,
and of her own confession of love for pretty slippers, of the
satisfaction with which she had donned the same on Thursday evenings,
and danced about the hall as blithely as any one of her pupils.  Those
days were over--for ever over; she would never again know the joy of any
rapid, exhilarating motion.  She lifted her hand to wipe away a tear,
hoping to escape observation the while, but, to her dismay, Harold stood
by her side, and his eyes met hers with an expression of pained
understanding.  Any reference to her infirmity seemed to distress him so
acutely that the first instinct was to comfort him instead of herself,
and she smiled through her tears, saying in the sweetest tones of her
always sweet voice:

"Don't, please!  Don't look so sorry!  It was babyish of me, but just
for one moment--I was so fond of dancing, you know, and I had never
realised before--"

"Just so.  You realise fresh losses every day.  I know what you must
feel.  You have not been babyish at all, but most brave and heroic."

Evie sighed.  "It's nice to be praised, but I feel as if I don't deserve
it.  I am not in the least brave at heart...  Sometimes I almost dread
getting strong, for then I shall have to face so much...  I'm conceited,
too, for I hate the idea of limping, and being stiff and ungraceful.  I
thought I did not care for appearance, but I did--oh, a great deal!  It
is a humiliating discovery, and I am trying hard to cure myself, but
pride dies slowly!  There was a girl at school who was lame.  I used to
be so sorry for her, and yet, compared with other misfortunes, it is a
very little thing.  I can still move about and use my faculties.  It is
not so bad, after all!"

"Yes," said Harold, unexpectedly.  "It _is_ very bad.  It is a mistake
to pretend to yourself that it is only a small trial, for it's not true,
and the pretence is sure to break down some day, and leave you where you
were.  It is a great affliction for people to be crippled, even when
they are old and have lost their energy; but for a girl like you it is
ten times worse.  Don't be too hard on yourself, and expect resignation
to come all at once.  I believe the best plan is to face it fully, and
to say to yourself, `It's a big test--one of the biggest I could have to
bear.  I shall feel the pinch not to-day only, but to-morrow, and the
next year, and as long as I live.  It is going to take a big effort to
save myself from growing bitter and discouraged, but it's worth
fighting, for my whole life hangs on the result.  If I can succeed--if I
can rise above infirmity, and keep a bright, uncomplaining spirit'--"

He broke off suddenly, and Evie breathed a quick "Yes, yes, I know!  I
feel that too.  Thank you so much.  It is good to talk to someone who
understands.  It helps me on."

"Don't thank me.  It is like my presumption to venture to preach to you.
But you have helped me so much that when I saw you in trouble I could
not be silent.  I was obliged to do what I could."

"I--I have helped you?" repeated Evie, blankly; and a flush of colour
rose in her pale cheeks, which made her look for one moment the happy,
blooming girl of old.  "In what way have I ever helped you, or been
anything but an anxiety and care?"

But Harold did not answer, and that was the last chance of a _tete-a-
tete_ conversation that evening, for presently she was carried off to
her own room, and helped into bed, where she lay awake for a long, long
time, staring before her in the twilight, and recalling the lessons of
consolation to which she had just listened.  It must surely have been
wonderfully wise, wonderfully true, since it did not so much comfort, as
do away with the very necessity for comfort!  She could not delude
herself that she felt sad or despondent, or anything but mysteriously
happy and at rest, as she lay smiling softly to herself in the
flickering firelight.

Two days later came a delightful surprise.  Evie and her late pupil were
sitting in the morning-room writing letters of thanks to the many donors
of Christmas presents, when the door opened and shut, and someone walked
into the room.  It was such an ordinary, matter-of-fact entrance that
neither of the writers troubled to look up, taking it for granted that
the new-comer was Mrs Chester, who had left the room but a few minutes
before.  Two minutes later, however, Evie finished her sheet and lifted
her eyes to make a casual remark, when she promptly fell back in her
chair with a shriek, and a hand pressed over her heart.  Rhoda jumped up
in alarm, and then--was it a dream, or did a well-known figure really
lean up against the mantelpiece, in familiar, gentlemanly attitude, a
roguish smile curling the lips, and little eyes alight with mischief?

"Tom, Tom!  Oh, Tom, you angel!  Where in the world have you come from?"
cried Rhoda, rushing forward with outstretched arms, in a very whirlwind
of welcome.  "How perfectly delicious to see you again, and what a
terrific start you gave me!"

"Oh, what a surprise!" chanted Tom easily, rubbing her cheeks as if to
wipe away the kisses pressed upon it, and advancing to greet Evie with a
nonchalance which for once was a trifle overdone, though neither of her
friends was in the least danger of mistaking her real feelings.  "The
same to you, and many of them," she continued, sitting down without
waiting for an invitation, and smiling round in genial fashion.  "It
really was as good as a play, standing there, and watching you two
scribbling away with faces as solemn as judges--and what a squeal Evie
gave!  It made me jump in my skin!  Yes; I'm visiting my female
relative, and determined to pay you a visit even if it were only for an
hour.  It can't be much longer, for we have a tea fight on this
afternoon, when every spinster in the neighbourhood is coming to stare
at me and deliver her views on higher education.  Such a lark!  Some of
them strongly approve, and others object, and I agree with each in turn,
until the poor dears are so bamboozled they don't know what to do.  They
think I am an amiably-disposed young person, but defective in brains,
and poor aunt Jim gets quite low in her mind, for she wants me to
impress them, and branch off into Latin and Greek as if they came more
naturally to me than English.  I wish they did!  It takes the conceit
out of one to go up to college and compete with women instead of girls."

"Don't you like it, Tom?  Are you happy?  Didn't you miss the Manor, and
feel home-sick for the girls and the old school parlour?" queried Rhoda
eagerly, and Tom screwed up her face in meaning fashion.

"Should have done, if I had not kept a tight hand; but you know my
principle--never to worry over what can't be cured!  Plenty to bother
oneself about, without that.  I thought of you all a great deal, and
realised that I'd been even happier than I knew, and that I disliked
taking a bottom place so abominably that it was plainly the best thing
for me to do.  I love power!" sighed Tom, wagging her head in sorrowful
confession, "and that's just what I see no chance of getting again for a
precious long time to come.  I haven't much time to grieve, however, for
my poor little nose is fairly worn away, it's kept so near to the
grindstone."

"You look thinner," said Rhoda, truthfully enough.  "Poor old Tom, you
mustn't let them wear you out.  We will take care of you, at least, so
I'll go and order lunch earlier than usual, if you really must be off so
soon.  The three o'clock train, I suppose?"

"Yes, please.  Don't worry about anything special for me.  Half a dozen
cutlets or a few pounds of steak is all I could eat, I assure you!" said
Tom modestly, and Rhoda went laughing out of the room, leaving her two
friends gazing at one another in an embarrassed silence.

No reference had so far been made to the accident which was the cause of
Evie's presence at the Chase, but it was impossible that the visit
should end in silence, and both instinctively felt that Rhoda's absence
gave the best opportunity for what must be said.  The colour came into
Evie's face as she nerved herself to open the painful subject.

"You know, of course, Tom, that I am not going back to Hurst.  Miss
Bruce has been most kind, but she must consider the good of the greater
number, and this accident has shown more plainly than ever the necessity
of having a House-Mistress who can job in the games with the girls.  I
shall never be any good for a large school again, for, even apart from
the games, the long stairs and corridors would be too trying.  So you
see my career is cut off suddenly."

"Yes, I see; I thought of that.  It's very interesting!" said Tom in a
dreamy voice, which brought a flush of indignation into Evie's eyes.

"Interesting!" she repeated.  "Is _that_ what you call it?  It's not the
word I should have used, or have expected from you, Tom, or from any of
my friends."

"No!  Perhaps not, but it _is_ interesting all the same, for one is so
curious to see what will happen next.  When you have planned out your
life, and fitted in everything towards one end, and then suddenly, by no
fault of your own, that end is made impossible--why, if you believe in a
purpose in things, what could be more interesting and exciting?  What
_is_ to happen next?  What is one to do?  It is like reading a story in
parts, and breaking off just at the critical crisis.  I should like to
turn over the pages, Evie, and see what is going to happen to you!"

Evie smiled faintly.

"Would you, Tom?  I am afraid I have been hiding my head like an
ostrich, and trying not to look forward, but your view is the healthier,
and I'll try to adopt it.  I don't give up all idea of teaching, though
big schools are impossible.  Perhaps they would take me at some small,
old-fashioned seminary where sports are considered unladylike, and the
pupils take their exercise in a crocodile up and down the parade."

"Ugh!" said Tom, with a grimace which twisted every feature out of
recognition.  "No, surely, Evie, you will never condescend to that!  You
lie low for a bit and get strong, and keep up your classics, and I'll
see if I can't find you some coaching to do among the girls I meet.  If
you could get along that way for a few years it would be all right, for
I shall be settled by that time and able to look after you.  You shall
be my secretary, dear, and have a jolly little den to yourself, where I
can take refuge when the girls get too much for me.  We could be very
happy together, you and I, couldn't we, and grow into two nice,
contented old maids, with too much to do to have time to envy our
neighbours?"

She fixed her bright little eyes on Evie's face as she asked the
question, and to her horror and dismay Evie felt the colour rush to her
cheeks and mount higher and higher in a crimson tide which refused to be
restrained by the most desperate mental efforts.  How idiotic to blush
at nothing--how senseless, how humiliating, and how quite too ridiculous
of Tom to turn aside and stare at the opposite side of the room in that
ostentatious manner!  Evie felt inclined to shake her, but at that
opportune moment Rhoda returned, and during the remainder of Tom's visit
there was no opportunity for private confidences.

Once more Rhoda accompanied her friend to the station, and waited
anxiously for the word which would surely be said concerning the
escapade which had cost so dear, but, like Evie, she was obliged to
introduce the subject herself.

"Have you nothing to say to me, Tom?" she asked wistfully.  "I haven't
seen you since--you know when--but, of course, you heard how it
happened.  It was all my fault.  What are you going to say to me about
it?"

"Why, nothing, Fuzz!" said Tom, turning her little eyes upon the
quivering face with a tenderness of expression which would have been a
revelation to casual acquaintances who believed Miss Bolderston
incapable of the softer emotions.  "Why should I?  You have said it all
to yourself a hundred times better than I could have done, and who am I
that I should make myself a ruler or a judge over you?"

"But she is lame, you know!" said Rhoda, sadly.  "Nurse says the knee is
stronger than she expected, but even so she will always limp.  Imagine
Evie limping!  She was such a graceful little thing, and tripped about
so lightly, and she was so proud of her little feet--I have spoiled her
future too, for she can never take such a good post again.  I have
ruined her whole life."

"We will discuss that point ten years later; it is too early to decide
it yet.  Many things happen that we do not expect," remarked Tom sagely,
whereat Rhoda shook her head in hopeless fashion.

"I cannot imagine anything happening that would make this any better--on
the contrary, Tom, it has made me realise how little help one can give,
and what a fraud money is when it comes to the test.  I used to imagine
that I could do pretty nearly everything I wanted because I was rich,
but look at Evie!  I would give my life to help her, but beyond a few
trumpery presents, and a little lightening of pain, what can I do?  She
would not accept more, and one dare not offer it, though if she would
allow it we would be thankful to pension her off for life.  Money can't
do everything I see!"

"That's a good thing!  Let's be thankful for that, at least.  It's worth
something to have learned that lesson," cried Tom cheerily, and for the
rest of the way to the station she talked resolutely on indifferent
subjects, refusing to be drawn back to the one sad topic.  Only when the
last good-bye was said did she soften into tenderness, actually allowing
herself to be kissed without protest, and saying hurriedly in a low,
half-shamed voice:

"Good-bye, Fuzzy.  Bless you!  Never say die.  Sometimes, you know, it
takes a big thing to open one's eyes.  Keep straight ahead from where
you are now, and you'll have no more tumbles."  Then the train moved off
and Rhoda lost the last glimpse of her friend in a mist of tears.  Dear
Tom!  Dear, blunt, kindly, honest Tom; what a strength she had been to
all who knew her--what a strength she was going to be to generations of
girls to come!  Rhoda looked forward into the future and prophesied to
herself that she would know no prouder boast than that she had been one
of Tom Bolderston's girls, and had been brought up under her rule!

That evening the occupants of the drawing-room looked up in amaze as a
rustle of silken garments struck their ears, and a stately young lady
came forward with a fan waving in one hand, and masses of ruddy hair
piled high upon her head.  Rhoda, of course; and yet, could it be Rhoda?
for with the short skirts and flowing mane the last traces of childhood
had disappeared, and the woman of the future seemed already to stand
before them.  Mr Chester gave a quick exclamation, and Rhoda turned to
him and swept a stately curtsey.

"At your service, sir.  I thought you might like to see your grown-up
daughter.  My new dress came home to-day, and I looked so fine in it
that I was obliged to do up my hair to be in keeping.  And I went to
mother's room and stole her pearls and took her very best fan.  When
girls come out they always help themselves to their parents' fineries,
so I thought I had better begin at once.  Do you like me, dear?"

She looked up at him, half shy, half laughing, and there was silence in
the room while each of the onlookers felt a thrill of unexpected
emotion.  It was like looking on at the turning point in a life, and the
girl was so beautiful in her fresh young bloom that it was impossible to
behold her unmoved.  The coiled-up hair showed the graceful poise of her
head, the shoulders were smooth and white as satin, the blue eyes had
lost their hard self-confidence, and shone sweet and true.  Yes!  Rhoda
was going to be a beautiful woman; she was one already, as her father
realised, with a natural pang of regret mingling with his pride.  His
eye softened as he laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, my daughter, you are grown-up indeed!  I never realised it before.
You had better prepare for the duties of chaperon, mother, for I
foresee that this young lady will keep us busy.  We shall have to take
her about, and entertain her friends, and yawn in the corners while they
dance half through the night.  That's it, isn't it, Rhoda?"

Rhoda looked at him with a start of surprise.  By tacit agreement
nothing had yet been said of future arrangements, so that this was the
first definite hint which she had received of her parents' intention.
Her voice was half regretful, half relieved, as she said:

"Then I am not to go back to school, father?  You have decided that it
is better not?"

Mr Chester put his hands on her arms and looked at her fondly, a
remembrance rising in his mind as he did so of that other evening
eighteen months ago, when the prospect of school had been proposed, and
the girl had taken up the question and settled it out of hand, in
arrogant, youthful fashion.  It was a very different tone in which the
present question was asked, and he was quick to note the difference.

"What do you say, mother?  She doesn't look very much like a school-girl
to-night, does she?  No, Rhoda, I think those days are ended.  You have
had a year and a half at school, and it has been a valuable experience
for you in many ways, but both your nerves and ours have been
overstrained lately, and we will not risk any more separations, but try
what travel will do to complete your education.  It has always been my
dream to go abroad for a year when you were able to come with us, and
now that time has arrived.  We will plan out a tour that shall be both
pleasant and educational, and enlarge our minds by learning something
about other countries besides our own."

"Rome for Easter, the Italian lakes and Switzerland in summer, the
Riviera and Egypt in winter--Oh, father, how lovely!  _How_ I shall
enjoy it!  How happy we shall be travelling about all together!  I could
not have told you what I wanted, but this is the very thing of all
others I should most enjoy.  And mother will like it too?  It will not
tire you, will it, dear, or worry you to be away from home?"

"My home is where you are.  I shall be perfectly happy, dear, so long as
we are together," said the mother, who had never been known to oppose
her own wishes to those of her family; and in this easy fashion the
matter was settled.  One moment the project was mooted, the next dates
and routes were being eagerly discussed, and the question of wardrobe
being taken into account.  Presently Mr Chester must needs consult the
atlas which was in constant reference in every conversation, and away
went the three in happy conclave to turn over the leaves on the library
table, while Evie was left to look after them with wistful eyes, and
Harold to study her face in his turn.  She turned to find his eyes fixed
upon her, and struggled hard to speak brightly.

"They all seem so happy--it is good to see them; and how pretty Rhoda
looks to-night!  It is so interesting to see the girls grow up, and come
out as full-fledged young ladies.  I've seen two transformations to-
day--Rhoda and Tom!"

"Miss Bolderston?  Really!  Would you call her a transformation?"
queried Harold, raising his eyebrows with an expression which said all
that he dare not put into words.  "If that is a transformation, one is
tempted to wonder what she was like before--"

"Don't!"  Evie looked at him pleadingly.  "Don't make fun of her,
please, because we love her so dearly.  Men don't appreciate Tom, and
she doesn't show her best side to them, but she is a splendid girl, and
the truest of friends.  She was so kind to me to-day."

"You were talking to her about your work, and worrying because you could
not go back at once!" said Harold shrewdly, and Evie looked at him under
raised, apologetic eyebrows, quite overcome at being read in so easy a
fashion.

"Well--just a little!  I said that I could not go back to Hurst, as I
should not be able to take part in games again--"

"And she sympathised with you, and agreed that it was a desperate lot?"

"No, indeed!  You don't know Tom!  She is far too much of an optimist to
see the black side.  She only said she was interested to see what would
happen next, and that it was like being stopped suddenly in the middle
of a story.  I thought it was a very cheerful way of looking at it."
She paused, not caring, for some indefinite reason, to say anything of
that later proposition, in the carrying out of which she and Tom were to
grow old side by side; but the idea lay on her mind, and presently she
added dreamily, "But, even if I _am_ lame, my mind is not affected.  I
can teach just as well as ever.  There must be an opening for me
somewhere.  There are plenty of small schools where they don't go in for
sports, plenty of girls who have to be educated at home--delicate girls,
backward girls, girls who are, perhaps, like myself!  I could teach them
still if they would let me try--"

It was a very sweet little voice, and the quiver with which it broke off
sounded strangely pathetic in the silence.  Harold did not speak, and
his head was bent forward so that Evie could not see his face.  His
hands were clasped and pressed so tightly together that the muscles
stood out under the skin, but presently one of them was stretched
forward and laid pleadingly over her own.

"Dearest and sweetest," said Harold softly; "teach me instead!"

When Rhoda came rushing into the room ten minutes later it was to find
her brother seated by Evie on the sofa, and to meet two pairs of eyes
which tried vainly to look calm and composed, but which were in reality
so brimming over with happiness that the news was told without need of a
single word.

"Oh!" she cried, stopping short and staring in astonishment.  "_Oh_!"
and then Evie struggled to her feet and held out wide, welcoming arms.

"Oh, Rhoda, I am never going to be unhappy any more.  Harold won't let
me.  He is going to help me all my life!"

"She is going to help _me_!" corrected Harold firmly.  "I'm the happiest
fellow in the world, Rhoda, and you must be happy too.  Come and kiss
your new sister."

Rhoda gave a little sob of joy, and flew into Evie's arms.

"My own sister!  And I can take care of you always.  I shall have a
right, and you will not have to worry any more, or be anxious, or
troubled.  Evie, Evie, you can forgive me now, you can feel that I have
not spoiled your life!  You will be happy even if you are lame!"

"Yes, she will be happy--she has found a good man to take care of her!"
said Mrs Chester, coming forward from the background, and taking Evie
into a warm embrace.  "My dear child, I thought, I hoped, it might come
to this!  Once upon a time I was afraid I might be jealous of Harold's
wife, but not you, dear, not you!  That would be impossible.  We owe you
too much.  You are welcome--a thousand times welcome!  I am a rich woman
indeed, for I have two beautiful daughters instead of one!"

Evie dropped her head on the broad, motherly shoulder and shed a tear of
pure happiness and thankfulness.

"Tom was right!" she said to herself softly.  "Tom was right--it was too
early to judge!  Good has come out of evil!"








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