The Head Girl at the Gables (4 page)

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

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

Lorraine opened the biggest and fattest exercise book.

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

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

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

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

"That's simpler."

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

"Don't you think it would hit the mark if we had a Games Club to include hockey, cricket, and tennis, an Entertainments Club to get up plays and concerts, and a Nature Study Union that could absorb the Research Society and the Natural History League both together. These would be for ourselves. Then for the 'Philanthropy' side, we could keep on the Jack Tar Club, and let the Needlework Society and the Home Arts Guild send anything they make to that."

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

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

"And the rest of us toiled and groaned and grumbled, and ended by borrowing and begging from our long-suffering relations," twinkled Patsie. "Don't think you'll keep that crochet edging for yourself, Dame Claudia! It'll be commandeered to go round a tray-cloth for a Mrs. Jack Tar!"

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

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

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

"And quite enough, too," murmured Patsie.

"I'll second it!" declared Nellie.

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

Vivien pulled a face of discouragement.

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

"We needn't have them on Saturdays. They could be from four to five on Wednesdays. I think it's just what is wanted at The Gables. Day girls never get an opportunity of meeting and comparing notes, and having fun together like girls do at boarding schools. It would be a sort of party every time."

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

"Hands up for the amendment, then!"

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

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

Lorraine, highly satisfied with the results of the meeting, was determined to make the first "Social" a success. She had always felt strongly that there was not a sufficient bond of union among the girls at The Gables. She remembered her own days as a junior, when the seniors had seemed distant and unapproachable beings, whose doings were a mystery.

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

Miss Kingsley heartily approved of the idea of the social gathering, and smoothed the way for its adoption by allowing school to be suspended at half-past three instead of four o'clock on those special Wednesday afternoons. She promised to provide tables in the gymnasium for the display of specimens, and to do anything else in her power to help matters forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Having decided upon a representative collection of ferns as their
pièce de résistance
for the social gathering, the next and most important step was to get the specimens. Armed with baskets and trowels, Lorraine and Monica made several expeditions into the country lanes, and came home burdened with spoils. To identify their treasures was a harder task. Lorraine pored over the illustrations in Sowerby's
British Ferns
, and got horribly mixed between Lastrea dilatata and Athyrium Felix-foemina.

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

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

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

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

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

She had never thought of the railway cutting, for it was quite in the town, and seemed a most unlikely place in which to go botanizing. They walked down through the narrow streets by the harbour, then up the steep road past the chapel and above the station, till they came to the high palings that overlooked the line. Below them lay the entrance to the tunnel, and growing in the crevices of the stone wall on either side of the archway was a crop of ferns luxuriant enough amply to justify Mervyn's enthusiastic description.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three young Forresters looked at one another in dismay.

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

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

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

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

"That makes it so much the worse, for you ought to know better," was the uncompromising reply. "Take yourselves off at once, and mind you never come trespassing here again!"

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

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

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

Her spirits were down at zero. Her father was strict, and would be very angry with them for getting into trouble. A scene at home loomed large on the horizon. In imagination she saw the affair reported in the local newspaper. A nice position truly for the head girl at The Gables to begin the new term by covering herself with disgrace.

Mervyn strode along whistling with amused sang-froid, but inwardly absorbed in unpleasant contemplation. Monica clutched the fern basket half-defiantly.

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

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

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

An inspiration struck Lorraine.

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

Mr. Barton Forrester listened with a twinkle in his eye to his niece's graphic account of their adventure, and promised his moral support.

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

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

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

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

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

Greets Claudia

By dint of urging on the part of the new monitresses the school made a special effort for the social gathering. The idea of an exhibition had frightened the juniors at first, but when they grew used to it it appealed to them. They were rather pleased to bring specimens of their best drawings, photos, plasticine models, or other pieces of handiwork, and, though their efforts might be somewhat crude, Lorraine on the first occasion rejected nothing, thinking that comparison with better work was the surest means of raising the standard for next time. She and her fellow-monitresses certainly made merry in private over Vera Chambers' lopsided plasticine duck, Opal Clarke's extraordinary original illustrations, and the cat-stitches in Jessie Lovell's tea-cloth, but they kept their mirth to their own circle and allowed no hint of it to leak into the lower school.