A Bunch of Cherries Part 28

And now most of the examination had come to an end. The questions on history had all been answered and duly marked by the patient professors who had come to Cherry Court Park for the great occasion. The girls one by one had approached the piano and played each her trial piece and had sung her trial song, and still it seemed to everyone that Kitty led the van; for her music, although not quite so showy and brilliant as Florence's, was marked with true musical expression, and her song, a sweet old English ballad, came purely and freely from her young lips.

Mary also acquitted herself extremely well in the musical examination, and old Mr. Bateman raised his head and listened with real pleasure as the wild warbling notes of "Annie Laurie" sounded through the old hall.

But at last the supreme test of all arrived. The three girls, Sir John leading the way, approached the central dais. There they stood side by side, their soft Greek draperies falling round their slim young figures. Sir John then stepped to the front and addressed the crowd of eager spectators.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I need not tell you with what intense pleasure I have listened to the spirited answers our three young friends have made to the different questions put to them. The Scholarship, however, has yet to be won--the supreme test is now to be given--the trial essays are now to be read. In order that fair play should above all things be exercised on this important occasion, I have asked my three young friends not to sign their names to the essays they have written. The essays are in three blank envelopes, which now lie before me on the table." Here Sir John touched three envelopes with his hand. "I will proceed to read them aloud, taking them up haphazard, and having no idea myself who the writer of each essay is.

I have selected as the subject of the test essay the great and wonderful subject of Heroism, for I feel that such a theme will give scope for the real mind, the real heart, the real soul of the young writer. I will say no more now. After I have read the essays we will retire into the outer hall for two or three minutes, and on our return I shall have the pleasure of declaring on whose head I am to place the crown of bay-leaves."

Sir John paused for a moment, the girls stood close together, they faced the crowd standing at one side of the dais. Florence glanced across the hall. Once again she met her mother's eyes--she saw no one in that intense moment of her young life except the little Mummy, and the love in her mother's eyes once again made her say to herself, "Nothing, nothing, nothing will make me break her heart; I will go through with it--yes, I will go through with it."

Kitty Sharston's clear eyes also gazed across the hall, but she saw no one present--only, far, far away, a lonely man with an iron-grey head, and a face which was the dearest face in all the world to her. She saw this man, and felt that for his sake no effort could be too great. If she won the Scholarship all would indeed be well; but if she failed she could at least be good, she could at least submit. Oh, yes; oh, yes; it would be fearfully hard, but G.o.d could give her strength.

As to Mary Bateman, she looked at her father and her father looked at her, and then she held herself erect and said to herself, "I can but fail, and in any case I have done my best."

Just then, the murmurs of applause having died away, Sir John took up the first of the envelopes, opened it, unfolded the sheet of paper which lay within, and commenced to read.

The essay on Heroism which he first read happened to be written by Mary Bateman. It was practical, written in good English, the spelling all correct, and also contained some fairly well-chosen allusions to great heroes of history. The essay was thoughtful, and, although there was little originality in it, the guests listened with marked attention.

The reading of the essay occupied exactly ten minutes, for Sir John read it slowly, pausing often to give full weight to the words which he read. He had a beautiful, mellow, perfectly-trained voice, and Mary's somewhat lame utterances could not have sounded to better advantage.

When he had finished the guests applauded, but without any intense enthusiasm. He laid the paper down before him on the table, and then proceeded to read the second essay. This had altogether a different note. The allusions to history were far less numerous, but the heart of the young writer made itself felt. It was the work of an immature mind, but here and there was a delicate touch which pointed to the possibility of future genius. Here and there was a graceful allusion which caused Sir John's own voice to falter, and above all things, through each word there breathed a lofty and n.o.ble spirit.

"Only the daughter of a soldier could have written those words,"

thought Sir John; "surely this must be Kitty's work, and surely no other essay could approach hers."

So he thought, and as he came to the last words his voice rang out clear and full, and when he ceased the applause was great, and Kitty's eyes shone, although she dared not meet anyone, for it was part of the code of honor amongst the three girls that the judges should not guess who had written each individual essay.

Then at last it came to be Florence's turn. Florence had copied Bertha Keys' paper, scarcely taking in its meaning. She had copied it in hot haste, with hot rage, defiance, determination in her heart. She scarcely knew herself what the words meant, she had not taken in their true significance. The essay was a little longer than the others, and began in quite a different way.

Sir John paused for a moment, glanced down the page, then adjusted his gla.s.ses, drew himself up very erect and began to read. He had not read one sentence before he perceived that he had now quite different metal to deal with. Although disappointment stormed at his heart, he was too true a gentleman and too brave a soldier to allow such a feeling to influence him even for a moment. Yes, he would do the spirited words with which he had now to deal every justice. So he read on, the fire in the paper communicating itself to him, and the guests who listened soon forgot all about the Scholarship and all about the three young candidates. They were interested in the words themselves; the words rang out; they were not remarkable so much for the heart element as for the strong, proud, intellectual touch.

The essay was rich in metaphor and still richer in quotation. From the Greeks, from the Romans, from the English, from America, from Australia, from all parts of the globe did the young writer cull incident and quotation. She used a brief and telling argument, and she brought it to a successful and logical conclusion. Finally she quoted some words from Tennyson, aptly and splendidly chosen, and when Sir John's voice ceased the entire hall rose up in a body and cheers and acclamations ascended to the roof.

Florence's face was white as death.

Sir John laid down the paper.

"We will now," he said, turning to his fellow-judges, "retire for a few moments to decide on the winner of the Scholarship."

Sir John and the other judges immediately left the hall, and the girls, still standing in that strained and painful position, waited with lowered eyes for the result. Amongst the three, however, all doubt was over. Mary Bateman knew that her poor and lame words had not the slightest chance. Kitty would not have taken the Scholarship even if it had been offered to her. Could Mary have written that brilliant essay? Could it by any possibility be the work of Florence? But whoever had written it deserved the Scholarship, deserved it by every rule which had been laid upon the young compet.i.tors.

So she thought, and Florence, who did not dare to meet Bertha's eyes, who did not dare at this moment even to look at her mother, wished with all her heart that the ground might open and swallow her up.

Could she take this undeserved honor? The words were crowding to her lips, "Oh, don't, for heaven's sake, give it to me; I could never have written it," but she did not speak the words.

Just then there was a pause amongst the crowd of spectators, and Sir John and the other judges returned. The judges sat down in their seats and Sir John came slowly forward. His face was very white.

"The examination for the Cherry Court School Scholarship is over," he began. "With one accord we have adjudged the prize. The three young compet.i.tors have all done admirably. The questions have been so universally well answered that there would have been a difficulty in giving the prize to any one when all three so very nearly had earned it, were it not for the trial essay; but the trial essay has removed all doubt. The Scholarship, by every test of learning, of high endeavor, of n.o.ble thought, belongs to the girl whose motto on her paper has been 'The Hills for Ever.' She has indeed gone to the hills for her breezy thoughts, for her n.o.ble and winged words. May she to the longest day she lives retain all that she now feels, and go on truly from strength to strength. The names of the compet.i.tors are not attached to the essays, therefore I must request the girl who has adopted the motto, 'The Hills for Ever,' to come forward, for she is the winner of the Scholarship."

Sir John paused and looked down the room. He did not dare to glance at Kitty, for he knew only too well that, clever and sweet as she was, she had not written those words.

There was a dead silence. Mary Bateman looked at Florence--Kitty also looked at her. They felt sure she had written the splendid essay, and they wondered at her silence. She remained quite still for a moment.

"Miss Bateman, is this your essay?" said Sir John, holding up the paper to Mary.

Mary shook her head and fell back.

"Catherine Sharston, is this yours?" again said Sir John.

Kitty bent her head low in denial.

"Then Miss Aylmer--what is the matter, Miss Aylmer?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Florence. She gave one wild glance in the direction of Bertha Keys, but Bertha was too wise to meet Florence's eyes just then.

"She feels it, but she must go through with it," thought the pupil teacher. "I did not know that I had such genius, but I shall never doubt my own power in the future. Is she indeed mean enough to take my work and claim it as her own? Of course she is; it would be fatal to me if she did otherwise."

As Florence slowly, very slowly, as if each step was weighted with lead, crept forward to the front of the dais without any of that look of triumph and pleasure which ought to have marked her face at such a moment, Bertha Keys threw back her own head and allowed her watchful light blue eyes to follow the girl, while a smile of sardonic import curled her lips.

When Florence got opposite Sir John she suddenly, as if overpowered by intense emotion, fell on her knees. She could not have done anything which would more completely bring down the house. Cheers, acclamations, hurrahs, every sort of congratulation filled the air.

When they had subsided for a moment and Mrs. Aylmer the less had released the hand of Mrs. Aylmer the great, which she had clutched frantically in her intense agitation, Sir John took Florence's hand and with a slight motion raised her to her feet.

"Stand up, Florence Aylmer," he said; "you have done splendidly; I congratulate you. The Scholarship is yours, n.o.bly won, splendidly won.

Take your honors, my dear."

As he spoke he stepped to the table and brought back a small crown of filigree silver. It was a simple wreath in the form of bay-leaves. He laid it on Florence's dark head.

"This is yours," he said; "wear it with dignity; keep the great, the good, the true always before you. And this also is yours," he said.

He slipped a thin gold chain with the ruby locket attached round Florence's neck. He then placed the purse which contained the Scholarship money for the ensuing year, and the parchment scroll, in her hand. "And now, young people," he said, "let us all cheer three times the winner of the Scholarship."

The girls cheered as l.u.s.tily as schoolboys, the band in the corner burst forth with the gay strains of "See the Conquering Hero Comes,"

and after a brief signal from Sir John there was suddenly heard outside the report of a small cannon, which was the intimation that the bonfires were to be lit.

"Florence, Florence, come here!" said her mother, and Florence ran across the hall and buried her face in her mother's lap.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE STING OF THE SERPENT.

The day was over, the long, exciting, exhausting evening had come to an end. The girls had danced to their hearts' content, had played and romped, and congratulated Florence with all the heartiness of which their frank natures were capable. They had wandered through the grounds in groups to watch the bonfires, they had partaken of the most delicious supper the heart of girl could conceive, and at last, worn out and intensely happy, they had retired to rest.

Three long dormitories had been fitted up for their occupation, but the lucky three had each a very small room to herself. Florence was glad of that. Yes, if she could be glad of anything on that awful, terrible evening, it was the knowledge that she might be alone, all alone for some hours. During those hours she could think, could collect her thoughts, could face the position which she had in future to occupy.

In the pleasure and delight of the evening no one had specially noticed how little Florence spoke. Mrs. Aylmer the less, as the mother of the heroine, minced about with her head in the air, so elated, so excited, so carried out of herself, that not the grandest county lady present had power to awe her.

"Yes, I am the mother of the dear child. Oh, I always knew that she was specially gifted," Mrs. Aylmer was heard to say. "She could learn from the time she was a baby in the most marvellous way, but even I was astonished at her essay; it wrung tears from my eyes."