The Head Girl at the Gables (2 page)

This garden, Miss Kingsley's fetish and the joy of Miss Janet's heart, was blooming its best on the particular September afternoon when the autumn term began. Soon after two o'clock its green lawn and shady paths began to fill up with girls. They came at first in twos and threes, and then in larger numbers till the place seemed full of them. There were only about forty altogether, but it was seven weeks since most of them had met one another, and the babel of tongues that ensued would have suggested a hundred children at the least. Six long-legged juniors occupied the garden-seat, with as many more hanging over the back; a dozen of the smaller fry squatted on the grass, some frivolous intermediates cackled over jokes in the corner by the bay tree, and a few enterprising spirits had mounted the wall to watch for new-comers.

"Here's Aileen!"

"And Grace!"

"With her little sister!"

"And Effie after all, though she wasn't sure she'd be back in time!"

"Good old Effie! I'm glad she's come!"

"Where's Marcia, by the by?"

"Gone to the High School at St. Jude's."

"Poor wretch, I'm sorry for her! What a traipse to go by train every morning! Why, here's Doreen, and she's cut her hair short! Oh, I say! Doreen, old sport, I hardly knew you! What a kid you look!"

Doreen shook back her shock of crisp brown hair, conscious of the pleasing fact that it curled at the ends.

"Kid, indeed!" she replied, with an indignant thrill in her voice. "I was thirteen last week!"

"Shouldn't have thought it," twittered Enid. "I was just going to suggest a pair of socks and ankle-band shoes. There's a new teacher for the kindergarten, if that interests you. There, don't get raggy! Perhaps you'll find yourself in the Sixth after all!"

"No, thank you! I've no yearnings to be in the Oxford Room. I suppose we shall all be going up a form, though? Who are the monitresses this year? Have you heard?"

Enid slipped down from her post on the wall, and locking her arm in Doreen's strolled with her towards the house.

"Not a word," she replied. "Until the Great Panjandrum reads out the lists we're utterly and entirely in the dark. Of course, most of those who were in the Fifth last year will have gone up into the Sixth, except, perhaps, Beryl Woodhouse and Moira Stanning, but I've been talking it over with Vera and Pansy, and they both agree it's an absolute toss-up who's to be head girl."

"Why, how extraordinary! I should have said there wasn't any doubt about it. There's only one girl who's in the least likely."

"Which one?"

"Vivien, of course!"

Enid pulled an eloquent face.

"It's not 'of course'. I, for one, heartily hope she
won't
get it. Vivien Forrester, as she is, is quite bad enough, but Vivien Forrester as head of the school would be the absolute limit."

"She'll be chosen all the same, you'll see. There really isn't anybody else. When Lily Anderson left last term, she certainly thought Vivien was going to be her successor. She showed her how to keep all the books of the Clubs and Guilds, so that she could slide into the work easily. And Vivien's such a sport at hockey, too!"

"Um! I don't know. She has such a jolly good opinion of her own cleverness, but the question is whether Miss Kingsley exactly shares it or not. Hello! Hold me up! Here comes the Duchess herself, as large as life!"

The girl who advanced briskly from the rhododendron walk would have been good looking, but she was spoilt by a rather rabbity mouth and large teeth. Her complexion was clear, her brown eyes were bright, and her auburn hair was abundant. She held herself with the confidence of one who has so far found life an unqualified success. In her wake followed a little train of courtiers: Sybil Snow, Nellie Appleby, Mona Parker, Phoebe Gibson, and Adelaide Brookfield, all eager sycophants craving her favour, and doing their utmost to ingratiate themselves.

"I tell you I can't promise anything!" Vivien was saying. "Naturally the head of the school has the power to appoint any secretaries she likes, but it'll be time enough to decide these things afterwards. I wish you wouldn't bother me so! There'll be a proper Committee meeting on Friday to arrange the Societies, and you must just wait till then."

"But if anybody speaks to you about it in the meantime, you'll remember it's the Dramatic I'm keenest on?" urged Phoebe plaintively.

"I tell you again, I can't promise--but--well, I'll do my best for you, at any rate."

"What's this about the Dramatic?" broke in Dorothy Skipton, who, arm in arm with Patsie Sullivan, had joined the group. "Do you mean to say you're arranging the Societies beforehand? Really, Vivien Forrester, of all cool cheek I call this the very limit! Who said
you
were going to be head girl, I should like to know?"

Two red spots flared into Vivien's cheeks.

"Nobody said so!" she retorted. "Certainly
I
didn't, though I dare say I've as good a chance as anybody else. I don't see why you need catch me up like this."

"Little bit tall to be promising posts till you're certain you're top dog!" laughed Patsie. "Old Dorothy may be the lucker instead of you.
Me?
Rather not! I can hardly flatter myself after my career last term that I'd be chosen as pattern pupil and pitchforked into the post of honour to set a good example to the rest of the school. Do I
look
the part, now?"

The others, surveying Patsie's humorous face and twinkling grey eyes, broke into a universal chuckle.

"Well, it's hardly your line, exactly!" admitted Vivien. "Why, if you confiscated surreptitious sweets from the kids, you'd probably eat them before their indignant faces, and give them a tip on how to hide them more carefully in future. I know you!"

"Joking apart, though," said Dorothy, "I suppose somebody'll be made head of this school. Hasn't any one got the least inkling or hint? Lorraine! Lorraine Forrester, come here! We're talking about who's to be head girl. It's a burning question, isn't it? Do you know anything?"

The schoolmate addressed as Lorraine closed with a slam the book she was reading, and advanced somewhat unwillingly. She was a slim, pretty girl of sixteen, with the general effect of an autumn woodland. Everything about her seemed golden brown; her hazel eyes, her creamy complexion, the sunny glint in her rich, dark hair were emphasized by the brown dress she was wearing and the orange carnations pinned in her belt. At the first glance there was a certain likeness to Vivien, for the girls were cousins, yet everything about Lorraine seemed of a slightly superior quality, as if she had been turned out of a finer mould. She flushed as she evaded Dorothy's question.

"I suppose we shall all know when Miss Kingsley tells us," she answered.

"We'd be duffers if we didn't!" mocked Patsie. "In my opinion Dorothy'll have an uncommonly good innings, and I'm getting ready to congratulate her."

"No, no! It'll be Vivien!" declared Mona.

"Yes, Vivien!" agreed Sybil and Phoebe together.

But at that moment the loud clanging of the bell put a stop to the conversation, and the girls turned in a body, and hurried into the house.

The First Day of Term

It was an old-established custom at The Gables that the autumn term should begin on a Tuesday afternoon. There were no lessons: the girls simply gathered together in the gymnasium to listen to a short address from Miss Kingsley, to be told in what forms they were placed for the coming school year, and to be given new text-books, with passages to prepare for the morrow, when serious work would begin at nine o'clock, and the wheels of school life would start to turn in real earnest. This first afternoon was regarded by most as somewhat in the nature of a festival. It was pleasant to meet again and compare notes about the holidays: the general change of forms lent an element of excitement, even the new books were more or less interesting, and many minor details gave variety to the occasion.

The gymnasium, whither all the girls were scuttling, was a moderate-sized wooden building that had been erected, in pre-war days, at the side of the house. It served for many purposes, and was alternately drill-hall, concert-room, play-room, lecture-hall, art gallery or ball-room as the case might be. This afternoon, with a fresh coat of pink distemper, a big bowl of flowers upon the table, and the sunshine coming through the skylight roof and shining on the nicely-polished floor and rows of varnished forms, it looked both business-like and attractive. The girls trooped in and took their seats. There were a few elder ones, but the majority were between eight and fourteen, with perhaps half a dozen kindergarten children on the front bench. Miss Turner, standing near the piano, controlled any excess of conversation, and reduced it to a subdued murmur. As Miss Kingsley, brisk, smiling, and with a "Now we'll get to work!" air about her, mounted the platform and stood to review her school, forty-two pupils rose to their feet, and eighty-four eyes were fixed obediently upon her face. She focused their attention for a moment, then nodding to Miss Paget, who was seated at the piano, she announced:

"We will begin the new term as usual by singing the National Anthem."

Miss Paget struck a few chords, and then the familiar strains of "God Save the King" rang through the room. It made a good commencement, for new girls and even the kindergarten babies could sing it, and thus take their part at once with the school. Forty-two voices, some fresh and clear, and some more or less out of tune, joined heartily in the anthem, and the girls sat down with the consciousness of having made a united effort. Following her precedent of twelve years, Miss Kingsley had something to say to her pupils before she made the ordinary announcements of school arrangements.

"It's always nice to feel we're making a fresh start!" she began cheerfully. "This is a new school year, and I want you all to join in helping to make it the best we've ever had. If there are any girls here who haven't done well before, now is the time for them to turn over a new leaf and show us that they can work. At this crisis in the world's affairs we don't want to bring up 'slackers'. Your fathers, uncles, brothers, cousins have answered their country's call and gone to defend Britain's honour, and you have been proud to see them go. The women of the Empire have played their part as nobly as the men, and it is these brave and splendid women whom you must try to imitate. Do you think they would have been able to give the help they have given to their country unless they had prepared their characters for it beforehand? I'm sure not. It's in the classroom that we train ourselves for what we may do afterwards. Every girl who tries her best in the little world of school is learning her part for the big world afterwards. We hope it is going to be a beautiful world when the war is over, but it can only be so if we remember the sacrifices that have been made, and determine to be worthy of those who gave up everything for us. 'A nation never rises higher than its women.' So you, who are going to be some of its women, must see to it that you raise and not lower the standard. It's a happy, hopeful thought to feel that you're helping to push the world on; and how splendid if we can think that The Gables is a centre from which real helpfulness may radiate! Let us all join in trying to make it so. I'm going to tell you now about some things we shall be busy with this term, and I hope you will throw all your energies into them, and try your utmost to make them a success."

Miss Kingsley passed in rapid review the general scheme of work for the term for both seniors and juniors. It was a full programme, and included a wide range of subjects, from lectures on Greek antiquities to Swedish drill and rhythmic dancing. She was modern in her methods, and wished to cultivate every side of a child's nature till she was old enough to choose her own speciality. Lists of the various forms followed, and then Miss Kingsley turned to what, in the estimation of some of the girls at least, was the most important announcement of the afternoon.

"All members of the Sixth are appointed monitresses, and Lorraine Forrester is head of the school."

A wave of excitement surged instantly through the room. Lorraine! They had not in the least expected her to be chosen. So far she had seemed a rather retiring sort of girl who had not taken a very active part in school affairs. Last term, when war waged hot and strong between Lottie Carson and Helen Stanley, two of the monitresses, Lorraine had committed herself to neither party, though her form was divided to such an extent of partisanship that Dorothy Skipton and Vivien Forrester nearly had a fight one day on the landing. Lorraine! The matter required thought. The school was so surprised that it could not decide how to take the announcement, and it was with a look of uncertainty on their faces that the girls, dismissed at last by Miss Kingsley, filed into their classrooms to receive their new books and be told their preparation for next day. This necessary business finished, they were free to don hats and coats and go home. In the cloak-room the pent-up conversation bubbled over.

"Well, what d'you think of it?" exploded Dorothy.

Patsie, sitting on the boot-rack, pulling on her shoes, made a round mouth and whistled.

"It's generally the unexpected that happens," she moralized. "Lorraine's a lucker! Cheer up, old Dollie! Don't look so glum! Bother! I've broken my shoe-lace. What a grizzly nuisance! Lorraine's not such a bad sort, after all!"

"I don't say she is--but to be head of the school!"

"Better than Vivien, anyway!" grunted Patsie, busy knotting her broken shoe-lace.

"I agree with you there--
she'd
have turned the place upside down. Here she comes, in a tantrum by the look of her."

Vivien, judging by the way she slammed down her new books, was certainly not pleased with the turn affairs had taken. Though she and Dorothy were generally on terms of flint and steel, she sought her now to air what she considered a common grievance.

"I couldn't have believed it of Miss Kingsley!" she began. "Why Lorraine, of all people in the world? She's two months younger than I am, and her marks weren't as good as yours in the exam, if it hadn't been for that absurd essay that counted extra. How she's ever going to manage to run the societies, I can't imagine! I'm sorry for the school!"