"all saints'" brought a brief spell of golden[171] weather, a snatch of indian summer, as if persephone, loth to go down into the underworld, had managed to steal a few days' extra leave from pluto, and had remained to scatter some last flowers on earth before her long banishment from the sunshine. under the sheltered brick wall in the kitchen-garden czar violets were blooming, sweet and fragrant as those of spring; the rose trees had burst out into a second crop, and the chrysanthemums were such a special show that miss walters almost shook hands with jones the gardener over them. little wild flowers blossomed on in quiet nooks at the edge of the shrubbery, and butterflies, brought out by the bright days, made a last flutter in the sunshine. the leaves, which carmel had grieved so much to see fall, lay crisp and golden on the ground, but the bare boughs of the trees, somewhat to her surprise, held a beauty of form and tint quite their own.
[172]"they are all sorts of lovely soft delicate colors," she remarked. "quite different from trees in sicily. i think it must be the damp in the air here that does it; everything seems seen through a blue haze—a kind of fairy glamour that makes them different from what they are!"
"wait till you see them on a sousing wet december morning!" declared gowan. "you won't find much romance about them then!"
"but in the meantime we'll enjoy them!" said miss walters, who happened to overhear. "who votes for a walk this afternoon? anybody who prefers to stop at home and write french translation may do so!"
the girls grinned. miss walters did not often give them an unexpected holiday, so such treats were appreciated when they came. twenty-one enthusiasts donned strong boots, jerseys, and tam-o'-shanters, and started forth for a ramble on the hill-side. they had climbed through the wood, and were walking along the upper road that led to the hamlet of five stone bridge, when they came face to face with a very curious little cavalcade. two large soap boxes, knocked together, had been placed on old perambulator wheels, and in this roughly fashioned chariot, on a bundle of straw and an old shawl, reclined a little, thin, white-faced girl. one sturdy boy of ten was pushing the queer conveyance, while a younger[173] pulled it by a piece of rope, and the small occupant, her lap full of flowers, smiled as proudly as a queen on coronation day. against the background of green hedgerow and red village roofs, the happy children made a charming picture; they had not noticed the approach of the school, and were laughing together in absolute unconsciousness. the sight of them at that particular moment was one of those brief glimpses into the heart of other folks' lives that only come to us on chance occasions, when by some accident we peep over the wall of human reserve into the inner circle of thought and feeling. almost with one accord the girls stopped and smiled.
"i wish i'd brought my camera!" murmured dulcie.
"they're too sweet for words!" agreed prissie.
miss walters spoke to the children, asked their names, and ascertained that the little girl had been ill for a long time, and could not walk. they were shy, however, and all the spontaneous gladness that had made the first snapshot view of them so charming faded away in the presence of strangers. they accepted some pieces of chocolate, and remained by the hedge bank staring with solemn eyes as the line of the school filed away. the chance meeting was no doubt an event on both sides: the children would tell their mother[174] about the ladies who had spoken to them, and the girls, on their part, could not forget the pretty episode. they urged miss walters to make some inquiries about the family, and found that little phyllis was suffering from hip disease, and had been for a short time in the local hospital. then an idea sprang up amongst the girls. it was impossible to say quite where it originated, for at least five girls claimed the honor of it, but it was neither more nor less than that chilcombe school should raise a subscription and buy an adequate carriage for the small invalid.
"that terrible box must shake her to pieces, poor kid!"
"it had no springs!"
"she looked so sweet!"
"but as white as a daisy!"
"wouldn't she be proud of a real, proper carriage?"
"can't we write off and order one at once?"
"what would it cost?"
"let's get up a concert or something for it."
"oh, yes! that would be ever such sport!"
miss walters, on being appealed to, was cautious—caution was one of her strong characteristics—and would not commit herself to any reply until she had consulted the doctor who attended the child, the clergyman of the parish, and the local schoolmaster. armed with this accumulated[175] information, she visited the mother, then gave a report of her interview.
"they're not well off, but we mustn't on any account pauperize them," was her verdict. "dr. cranley says an invalid carriage would be a great boon to the child, but suggests that the parents should pay half the expense. they would value it far more if they did so, than if it were entirely a gift. he knows of a second-hand wicker carriage that could be had cheap. it belongs to another patient of his, and he saw it at their house only the other day. if you girls can manage to raise about £2, 10s., the parents would do the rest. he was mentioning the subject of a carriage to them a short time ago, and they said they could afford something, but not the full price. he thinks this would settle the matter to everybody's satisfaction."
dr. cranley's proposal suited the girls, for £2, 10s. was a sum that seemed quite feasible to collect among themselves. they determined, however, to get as much fun out of the business as possible.
"don't let's have a horrid subscription list!" urged lilias. "it's so unutterably dull just to put down your name for half a crown. i hoped we were going to give a concert."
"what i vote," said gowan, "is that each bedroom should have a show of its own, ask the[176] others to come as audience, charge admission, and wangle the cash that way."
"there'd be some sport in that!" agreed lilias.
"it's great!" declared dulcie.
"you bet it will catch on!" purred prissie.
gowan's scheme undoubtedly caught on. it was so attractive that there was no resisting it. even the occupants of the gold bedroom, who as a rule were not too ready to receive suggestions from the blue grotto, could not find a single fault, and plumped solidly for a dramatic performance. each dormitory was to give any entertainment it chose, and while the brown room decided on nigger minstrels, and the green room on a general variety program, the blue, gold and rose were keen on acting. miss walters, who, of course, had to be consulted, not only gave a smiling permission, but seemed on the very verge of suggesting a personal attendance, then, noticing the look of polite agony which swept over the faces of the deputation, kindly backed out from such an evidently embarrassing proposal, and declared that she and the mistresses would be too busy to come, and must leave the girls to manage by themselves.
"thank goodness!" exclaimed gowan, when they were safely out of earshot of the study door. "i never dreamt of such an awful thing as miss[177] walters offering to turn up! why, we couldn't have had any fun at all!"
"we'd have had to act shakespeare, or something stilted out of a book!" shuddered edith.
"i should simply shut up if any of the mistresses were looking on," protested dulcie.
"and i should shut down, and crawl under a bed, i think," laughed noreen. "i say, i hope miss walters wasn't offended. we certainly looked very blank when she began asking us the price of 'stalls.' i suppose it wasn't exactly what you'd call polite!"
"perhaps it wasn't, but it can't be helped," groaned gowan. "it would wreck everything to have an audience of mistresses. i feel we've escaped a great danger. we must warn the others not to be too encouraging, or give the mistresses any loophole of an excuse to butt in. this particular show is to be private and confidential."
it was decided to hold each performance on a separate day, during the evening recreation time.
"matinées are no good!" decreed prissie. "everybody feels perfectly cold in the afternoon. it's impossible to get up any proper enthusiasm until the lamps are lighted."
"i feel a perfect stick at 4 p. m.," admitted carmel.
"what will you feel later on?"
[178]"a sort of combination of mary pickford and charlie chaplin thrown together, i hope!" twinkled carmel. "it depends whether you put me on a comic turn or a romantic scene."
"i vote we have a little bit of both," said gowan. "we'll harrow their feelings first, and end in comedy."
the five bedrooms drew lots for the order of their performances, and the honor of "first night" fell to the blue grotto. its occupants (including carmel, whose dressing-room was considered an annex) held a rejoicing committee to plan out their play. squatting on gowan's bed, they each contributed portions of the plot.
"shall we write it out and learn our parts?" asked lilias.
"certainly not. it would quite spoil it if you were just reeling off speeches by heart, with one ear open to the prompter. i know you! i shall never forget lilias when we did 'the vanity bag.' she said her bits as if she were repeating a lesson, and bertha——"
"are we to say anything we like, then?" interrupted carmel, for gowan's reminiscences were becoming rather too personal for purposes of harmony.
"we'll map the whole thing out beforehand, of course, but you must just say what comes into your head at the moment. it will be ever so much[179] fresher and funnier. all you've got to do is to get into the right spirit and play up!"
"all serene! as long as no mistresses are sitting looking on, i don't mind."
the blue grotto, being the first on the list of performances, was determined to do the thing in style. bertha and carmel between them evolved a poster. it was painted in sepia on the back of one of dulcie's school drawings, sacrificed for the purpose. it represented the profile of a rather pert looking young person with a tip-tilted nose and an eye several sizes larger than was consistent with the usual anatomy of the human countenance. lower down, in somewhat shaky lettering, was set forth the following announcement:
[180]
come to the blue grotto!
grand drama
"the course of true love"
·featuring·
the sisters ingleton..........the cheverley favourites
signorina carmel leslie....the famous sicilian comedienne
miss gowan barbour..............the daisy of chilcombe
miss bertha chesters...................(our bert)
have half an hour of fun and pathos
it will do you good to laugh and cry
silver collection
this they placed temporarily in the passage,[181] but when the girls had giggled over it sufficiently they removed it, for fear its attractions might tempt some of the mistresses into asking permission to attend, a fatality which must at all costs be avoided.
the performers spent a hectic day making arrangements. the time allowed in their dormitory was necessarily limited, so preparations were a scramble. the four beds were moved and placed as seats, and one corner of the room was reserved as the stage. carmel's dressing-room made an excellent "green room," and gave the blue grotto a substantial theatrical lift over other dormitories.
ten minutes before the hour, five distracted actresses were struggling to complete their impromptu toilets.
"i'm so rocky, i know i shan't be able to say anything at all!" fluttered dulcie.
"nonsense! pull yourself together, child!" urged gowan. "get some stiffening into you, can't you?"
"i'm going to have umpteen dozen fits!"
"you've got to reckon with me if you spoil the play, so there! don't be a silly cockchafer!"
"are we downhearted?" twittered bertha.
"no!" answered a stalwart chorus of three, hauling up dulcie, who was sitting on a chair shivering in the agonies of an acute attack of stage fright.
by this time the audience was trooping in, and seating itself upon the beds, and by frantic clapping clamored for the entertainment to begin. gowan opened the show, and took the stage in the character of miss monica morton, an elderly spinster. her make-up was very good, considering the limited resources of the company. some cotton wool did service for white hair neatly arranged under a boudoir cap; her dress (borrowed from noreen, who was a head taller than gowan) fell to her ankles; she wore spectacles, and[182] wrinkles had been carefully painted across her forehead. bertha, a forward chit of a maidservant (servants on the stage invariably assume a cheekiness of manner that would never be tolerated by any employer in private life), bounced in and handed her a letter, and stood making grimaces to the audience while her mistress—very foolishly—read its contents aloud. it ran thus:
"11 park lane,
"mayfair.
"dearest monica,
"we are sending dorothea down to you by the first train in the morning, and we beg you will keep a strict eye on her. an individual named montague ponsonby has been paying her great attentions, and we wish to break off the attachment. he is well born, but absolutely penniless, and as dorothea will some day be an heiress, we do not wish her to throw herself away upon him. please do your best to prevent any such folly.
"your affectionate sister,
"elizabeth strong."
miss morton, on grasping the drift of this epistle, exhibited symptoms of distress. she flung out her arms in a dramatic attitude, and confided to the audience her disinclination to take over the unwelcome task of becoming duenna to her niece. there was no other course open to her,[183] apparently; the idea of sending the girl home by the next train, or of hastily packing her own box and departing somewhere on urgent business did not seem to occur to her. she grumbled, but accepted the responsibility, and jemima, the pert maidservant, made faces behind her back, till summoned by a violent knocking, when she flew to the door and admitted dorothea, with bag and baggage.
lilias, as the fashionable niece, was "got up regardless." her hair was done in a grecian knot, a veil was twisted round her picture hat, and she sailed into the room with the assurance of a society beauty.
aunt monica, suppressing the letter of warning, gave the customary greetings, then—with the imprudence characteristic of a stage aunt—announced her intention of going out to do shopping while her niece unpacked her possessions.
instead of doing anything so sensible as to unpack, dorothea sank into a chair, and in an attitude of great languor and despair confided her love affairs to the sympathetic and interested servant, who swore fealty and offered all possible assistance. her kind intentions were put at once to the test, for immediately another violent knocking was heard, she flung open the door, and after a whispered colloquy announced "mr. montague ponsonby."
[184]the entrance of carmel, as hero of the drama, created quite a sensation. materials for masculine attire were scanty at chilcombe hall, and, as the girls felt rather mean for not having invited the mistresses to their performance, they had not dared to ask for the loan of any theatrical properties, and had been obliged to concoct costumes from anything that came to hand. carmel had put her feet through the sleeves of her brown knitted jumper, and drawn it up so that the cuffs fitted just below her knees, and made a really striking resemblance to a pair of gentleman's sporting breeches. a coat covered any deficiencies at the waist, a paper collar and a scarlet tie encircled her throat, india-rubber waders did service for top-boots, her hair was tucked under a felt hat (with the trimming wrenched off), and last, but not least, her lip was adorned with the black mustache which prissie had used on hallowe'en. she looked such a magnificent and sporting object, that it was no wonder the fashionable dorothea fell into her arms.
it is perhaps unusual for a gentleman to conduct his love-making with his hat on, but the audience was not "viper-critical" and allowed some latitude to mr. montague ponsonby. they admired the ardor with which he pressed his suit, the fervor of his protestations of fidelity, the dramatic roll of his dark eyes, and the tender tone[185] of his voice. his entrance was considered a very brisk bit of acting, and when he paused for breath, in a graceful stage attitude, sixteen pairs of hands gave a hearty clap.
the lovers, possibly a little sated with the ecstacies of their affection, turned to the sordid details of life, and sitting hand in hand upon the sofa (improvised out of four bedroom chairs and an eiderdown) planned an immediate elopement. they had decided to hire a car and make for scotland, and were discussing which hotel to stay at, and what they should order for dinner, when the inevitable happened. the pert maidservant rushed in, and in a voice squeaky with tragedy, warned them of the immediate approach of miss monica morton.
of course, they ought to have expected it. nobody except two utter idiots would have sat philandering upon the sofa in what might be termed "the lion's den," knowing that "the lion" might at any moment walk in with her shopping-basket and catch them. the surprise and horror depicted on their countenances would have commanded a good salary at a cinema studio. mr. montague ponsonby was for bluffing it, but dorothea's astute female brains seized a readier way out of the situation. she laid her lover flat upon the sofa, and covered him hastily with her traveling rug, then, opening her suitcase, flung[186] its contents on the floor, and knelt down in the midst of a muddle of shoes, nightdresses, and other paraphernalia.
aunt monica exhibited a natural amazement at finding her niece conducting her unpacking in the sitting-room, instead of upstairs, but accepted her explanations with wonderful indulgence. she professed herself tired with shopping, and moved towards the sofa to rest.
dorothea, with sudden solicitude, sprang up to offer her a chair, and made every human effort to lead her away from the couch. she was a persistent, not to say obstinate, old lady, however, and she meant to have her own way in her own house. waving her niece aside, and proclaiming her weariness, she sank down heavily upon the sofa. the result was tragic, for a stifled groan resounded through the room, and the top-boots of the luckless montague ponsonby kicked wildly in the air. miss morton, naturally alarmed, and instantly jumping to the conclusion that he was a burglar, screamed loudly for assistance, and a passing policeman hastened to her call.
it is wonderful how efficient and handy the police always are on the stage. they are invariably at the right place at the right moment, and always step in just in time to stop a murder, prevent an explosion, or rescue the heroine. dulcie, who in a long blue coat, with a paper helmet and[187] a strap under her chin, represented the majesty of the law, hauled the squirming montague from the couch, and secured his wrists tightly with a piece of clothes line supplied by the pert servant, who ought to have been ashamed of herself for going back on her promise to help the lovers, but probably felt a deeper obligation to the policeman, who was, no doubt, her sweetheart, which accounted for his very convenient presence on the doorstep.
"i arrest you in the king's name!" declared that officer, when the clothes line was sufficiently knotted, and montague had ceased struggling. "you will be brought up on trial before the court, and charged with house-breaking and resisting the police."
it was only then that the wretched man began to protest his innocence, and that dorothea, falling on her knees, explained his name, errand, and intentions, and entreated her aunt to overlook the matter.
miss morton wavered visibly. it was evident that her natural kindness of heart gave her a bias towards the lovers—she had, perhaps, been through an affair of the same sort herself in her youth—yet on the other hand her duty to her sister urged her to take stern measures. she drew the letter from her pocket with the seeming intention of strengthening her resolution against the[188] hopes of montague, and was shaking her head sadly over it, when the obstreperous servant, who had rushed for no apparent reason, except habit, to the door, bounded back, waving a yellow envelope. a well-trained maid usually presents a telegram upon a tray, but miss morton must have been accustomed to jemima's rough ways, or was too agitated to rebuke her; she tore open the missive, glanced at its contents, and with a scream of joy sank fainting into her domestic's faithful arms.
of course, somebody had to read the telegram aloud. the policeman seemed to think it was his business. he picked it up, and proclaimed it in the manner of a town crier. it was short, but much to the point.
"please encourage montague ponsonby.
uncle has died and left him vast fortune.
"elizabeth."
everybody recovered at the good news. miss morton rose from the arms of jemima, apologized to mr. ponsonby for having mistaken him for a burglar, and invited him to stay to lunch. he begged her not to mention the matter, and as soon as his wrists had been released by the policeman, he shook hands cordially with his prospective aunt, and made a pretty speech expressing his desire to become a member of the family.
[189]this was undoubtedly the moment for the curtain to descend, but as that most useful of stage adjuncts was conspicuous by its absence, the actors lined up instead, and made their parting bows with much éclat, dorothea leaning elegantly upon her lover's shoulder, aunt monica holding aloft the telegram, the policeman saluting, and the maidservant blowing kisses.
the applause was so thunderous that the performers were obliged to beg the audience to use self-restraint and limit the noise, for fear one of the mistresses should feel in duty bound to pay a surprise visit, and be scandalized at the costumes. moreover, a clanging bell warned them that the recreation hour was over, so there was a hasty exit and a quick change into normal garments. miss hardy was kind that evening, and turned a blind eye to deficiencies of order. she was seen surreptitiously reading the program, and it was the general opinion in the dormitory that she and the other mistresses were much disappointed at having been excluded from the entertainment.
"it did seem rather mean not to ask them," said gowan, self-reproachfully, "though they'd have spoilt the whole show. i vote we give another some time—a prunes and prism affair without any lovers in it—and let them all come."
"right you are! but it will be a tame business after this!" agreed bertha.
