The Third Class at Miss Kaye's Part 6

And so it was, but far more suddenly than Sylvia had calculated; the unexpected jerk completely overbalanced her, and before she had time even to clutch at one of the rhododendron boughs she had fallen together with the barrow into the pool. Luckily it was not deep, and she was in no danger of drowning, but the mud was thick and black at the bottom, and as she scrambled hastily out she looked as if she had been dipped into an inkpot.

"Oh! Sylvia!" cried Linda, "What are we to do? We can't possibly help everyone finding out now. What a frightful mess you're in!"

"So I am," said Sylvia, looking ruefully at her spoilt clothes, and trying to wipe off some of the mud with her hands. "I didn't get the barrow up either."

"Oh, never mind the barrow; we can't stop for it now! There's the dressing bell. We shall have to go and tell somebody. You're simply streaming with mud, and we shall both be late for dinner."

Feeling very guilty, the pair crept out from under the bush and tried to dash across towards the side door, on the chance that Sylvia might be able to reach the bathroom and remove at least some of the traces of her dipping before anyone caught her. It was a vain hope, for in turning the corner they ran almost into the arms of Miss Coleman, who had come out to look for a missing member of her small flock.

"Sylvia Lindsay," she cried in horror, "you naughty child! Where have you been? And what have you done to yourself?"

"I don't know," replied Sylvia, dissolving into tears, which made white trickles down her dirty cheeks like little rivers on a map; "I fell in somewhere, and it was all mud, and it's cold, and please may I go in and change my things?"

"Come with me to the bathroom this minute," said Miss Coleman, abandoning her search for Dolly Camden, and hustling Sylvia before her with much indignation. "Linda, go and tidy yourself! Miss Kaye will have to hear of this. It is a very bad beginning, Sylvia, for your first day."

Sylvia was soaked to the skin, and was obliged to take a hot bath and put on a whole fresh set of clothes, while Miss Coleman stood grimly by and asked questions till she had drawn all the facts of the story.

They were so late for dinner that they only arrived in the dining-room at the pudding course, and Miss Coleman, after a few quiet words of explanation to Miss Kaye, made Sylvia sit with her at a small side table instead of going to their proper places. Miss Kaye glanced at Sylvia but made no remark, and one of the servants brought their plates of meat and vegetables. They were half-cold, and Sylvia could not enjoy anything when she thought of the scolding that was to follow. She caught Linda's eye from the other side of the room, but did not dare to turn again in that direction, because Miss Coleman was looking at her. She knew so little of school life that she had no idea what punishment would be inflicted for such crimes as borrowing a barrow without leave and tumbling into a tub full of muddy water. In none of the books she had read did the girls do any such things.

"They generally cheat at lessons, or read the examination questions beforehand, or copy each other's essays," thought Sylvia. "And this is quite different. Even Sara Crewe never fell into a tub, nor any of the girls in _Gertrude's Schooldays_. I wonder what Miss Kaye will say!"

Miss Kaye lingered over pudding, evidently with the intention of allowing the latecomers a few extra minutes, then, rising and saying grace, she announced:

"Linda Marshall and Sylvia Lindsay will come to my study at a quarter to two," and left the room.

"We're in for it now," said Linda, clasping Sylvia by the hand as they met in the pa.s.sage. "Oh, why did we ever get those wretched stones?

And we've left the barrow at the bottom of the pool! We shall have to tell about that. Was Miss Coleman very cross?"

"She was rather. She kept hurrying me on, and saying 'Be quick!' all the time. You can't think how terribly the mud stuck. I had even to wash part of my hair. It's not dry yet."

"Let us go into the cla.s.sroom. I don't want to meet Sadie; I'm afraid she'll ask about it. It's nearly a quarter to two now. I'm beginning to shake in my shoes."

It took a good deal of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up of courage before the two culprits ventured to give a faltering tap at the door of the study.

"Come in!" said Miss Kaye's brisk voice.

The children looked at each other and entered with much the same feeling as they would have experienced at a visit to the dentist's.

Miss Kaye was seated at her desk, which was covered with papers, and merely glancing up for an instant said: "I am busy, so sit down till I have leisure to attend to you," and, taking no further notice of them, went on with her writing. Linda stole quietly to the sofa, and Sylvia sank on to the nearest chair, where she sat very still, looking with eager eyes round the prettily furnished room. She had a warm appreciation for artistic things and she gazed with delight at the beautiful Burne Jones engravings, the old oak cupboard with its blue china, the silver bowl of roses on the side table, and the bookcase full of richly bound volumes. Miss Kaye herself, she thought, made part of the picture. She liked her brown eyes, her clear, fresh complexion, and her abundant auburn hair.

"She's good-looking," reflected Sylvia. "Not at all horrid and old and sour. I dare say she could be rather stern, yet she looks as if she could laugh too. I like her eyes, they are so dark and quick and shining. They seem to take one all in at once. I wonder if she's going to be very angry."

Miss Kaye looked up just at that moment and met Sylvia's gaze with an expression which seemed to say: "Well, what do you think of me?" But, seeing the child flush scarlet, she folded her letter, placed it in the envelope, and stamped it; then, ringing the bell, handed it to a servant and told her to take it at once to the pillar box in time for the afternoon post.

"Now I am ready," she said, turning at last to her little pupils.

"Linda and Sylvia, you have been in trouble, and I wish you to tell me yourselves what has occurred."

It was hard to begin, since everyone had a natural awe of the headmistress; but once the plunge was made they found themselves relating their tale fairly connectedly, with the help of a few questions. Miss Kaye listened gravely.

"This is what comes of borrowing without leave and going where you are forbidden," she said. "The tub is used by the gardener for storing water, and no doubt with the rainy days we had in September it has acc.u.mulated a good deal of mud as well. I will take care that the wheelbarrow is recovered and washed, and I shall expect you both to apologize to Sadie. It is one of the rules of the school that the girls should respect each other's property. You may go now, but do not let this happen again."

Rejoiced to escape so easily, the children fled, eager to describe their adventure to the rest of the cla.s.s, who were br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with curiosity after the hurried account which had been whispered by Linda at dinner and pa.s.sed on by the next girl with so many variations that the general version was that Sylvia had taken a ride in the gardener's barrow and fallen down a well. There was scarcely any time before afternoon school, but they managed to give a proper explanation and thoroughly enjoyed the telling and the effect it produced. Marian Woodhouse might turn up her nose and call them babies, but she listened all the same, and, Sylvia could not help thinking, was just a little jealous to find them the centre of so much interest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SYLVIA WROTE HER FIRST LETTER HOME THAT EVENING"]

Sylvia wrote her first letter home that evening after tea, and found she had such an amount to put in it she hardly knew how to begin. It ran thus:

"HEATHERCLIFFE HOUSE, "_October 5th_.

"MY DARLING MOTHER AND FATHER,

"I am much happier than I expected. This morning I fell into a tub full of mud and spoilt all my clothes. Miss Coleman is going to have my new dress washed, but she does not think it will ever look nice again. I am wearing my green merino. I like Linda immensely. She has read the sequel to _Eight Cousins_ although it is a love story and she is only eleven. I wish I might. We are going to have a garden together. Will you please send me some bulbs to plant in it. Marian Woodhouse said I did not know how to spell last night, but I only had three mistakes in dictation this morning and she had four. Miss Arkwright says my writing is bad. She has given me a new copybook. Miss Coleman took my box of toffee away and locked it up in a cupboard. She says I may have some on Sat.u.r.day. I hope d.i.c.ky is well. Please do not forget to give him his groundsel. There is a black kitten here with white paws and a white tip to its tail. I send kisses to everybody.

"Your loving daughter, "SYLVIA."

CHAPTER V

Rivals

Sylvia quickly discovered that life at school was a totally different affair from what it had been at home. She had now very little opportunity of ever being alone. The solitary readings and pretendings with which she had been wont to amuse herself were impossible, for every hour of the day seemed so well filled with work, walks, and games, and even in recreation time the other girls constantly claimed her attention. By the end of a week she had already learnt several very necessary facts; that orders had to be promptly obeyed without either dawdling or arguing, that strict punctuality was the rule, and it was a terrible thing to be even a minute late for cla.s.ses or meals; that she was by no means the only important person in the school, because everybody else thought herself of quite as much consequence, and some rather more so; that schoolgirls had scant sympathy for b.u.mps, bruises, tears, headaches, or any other minor woes, and only said "You baby!" if she complained; and lastly, that, though it seemed most peculiar to have no one to make a special fuss over her, on the whole there was so much fun going on that it was a great deal more interesting than doing lessons by herself with Miss Holt.

The girls of the third cla.s.s, all of whom could write their ages with two figures, felt themselves very superior and grown-up in comparison with the little ones in the Kindergarten. There were seven of these children, whose ages ranged from six to nine, and as they shared the playroom with the third form it was the fashion to pet them and take notice of them. Dolly Camden, Connie's younger sister, was a merry little soul with the family failing for continually getting into mischief, and was the chief anxiety of Miss Coleman's life, having a capacity for spilling water, inking her fingers, tearing her clothes, and losing her books unequalled by anyone else in her division.

The Camdens were all handfuls, even Rosie, who was sixteen, and might have been chosen a monitress if she had been more sedate, and thirteen-year-old Stella, who enlivened the second cla.s.s with practical jokes. There was a story in the school that Miss Kaye had once written to Mrs. Camden to say that Rosie was unmanageable, and that Mrs. Camden had written back to say that she was very sorry, but she had never been able to manage any of her daughters herself and would Miss Kaye please try again. Whether this were true or false, Miss Kaye proved capable of keeping the unruly four in order, and was about the only person, except their father, of whom they really stood in awe.

Sadie and Elsie Thompson were two puny, motherless little girls of nine and six. They had been brought up by an aunt who was not at all kind to them, and they found Heathercliffe House such a happy exchange that they almost dreaded the holidays, when they must go back to the home that was so unhomelike. Their father was a sea-captain, who came to visit them about twice a year, when he returned from his voyages, and brought them presents from foreign places. He did not forget them either when he was away, and often sent them postcards of strange countries, which had to travel many thousand miles before they reached England. Margie Wilson was a fat st.u.r.dy child with an original mind and a stubborn temper. She had a habit of speaking her thoughts which was apt to be rather disconcerting.

On the first morning after her arrival, May Spencer, who was monitress on her landing, went into her bedroom, and told her it was time to get up. Margie raised herself slowly in bed with the clothes drawn round her neck, and fixed her black eyes on the intruder. "What's your name?" she enquired briefly.

"May Spencer."

"Oh! I don't like you, May Spencer. You've got a snub nose. I shan't get up." And with that she retired under the bedclothes, and absolutely refused to stir until poor May had to fetch Miss Coleman to enforce discipline and uphold her authority.

Edna Lowe was a rather silly little thing, who had been much spoilt at home, and was still surrept.i.tiously petted by her sister Lily in the second cla.s.s, who occasionally had a battle on her behalf with Miss Coleman, who saw no reason why Edna should be treated differently from the others, and rewarded good behaviour or inflicted punishments with an impartial hand. Nessie Hirst, a nervous child, who had been sent to Aberglyn for the benefit of the sea air, was a favourite with the third cla.s.s, her pathetic, wistful, grey eyes, long rich-brown hair, and the beautiful and elaborately embroidered frocks which her mother worked for her, gave her a somewhat distinguished appearance, and among the girls she often went by the nickname of "Little Vere de Vere". The prettiest of all, however, was Greta Collins, a small, golden-haired, blue-eyed rascal, who attached herself promptly to Sylvia like a limpet, sitting on her knee, clinging round her neck with kittenish fondness, and making herself very charming with her coaxing manner.

"It's only because you're somebody fresh," said Marian Woodhouse. "She does this to every new girl. You should have seen the fuss she made of me when first I came. She'll have quite got over it in a fortnight, and will hardly look at you."

"You won't; will you, darling?" said Sylvia indignantly, hugging the child closer, for she was much flattered at being the object of so much adoration.

"No, I'll love you always. Better than any of these horrid girls. Tell them to go away! I don't want anybody but you." And she clasped her arms round Sylvia's neck, and kissed her again and again.

"I know you will," declared Sylvia. "So we'll just take no notice of them. You're my special baby, and I mean to keep you."

"All right, you'll soon find out, and then don't say I didn't warn you!" returned Marian, laughing.

In spite of both Sylvia's and Greta's protestations to the contrary, Marian's words proved to be exactly true. For almost a week the little girl's affection kept at red heat; on the seventh day it began to show signs of flagging. It was in vain that Sylvia tempted her with stories, cajoled her with sweets, or even presented her with one of her lovely new paintbrushes; Greta was tired of her fancy, and though she accepted anything that was offered her, she only gave a half-hearted peck of a kiss in return, and ran back promptly to play with Nessie Hirst. Poor Sylvia was terribly distressed. She had been fascinated with Greta's pretty pink-and-white face, and big blue eyes; she liked to curl the long, golden ringlets round her fingers, to fasten the clean pinafores, or do any other small services for her, and especially to feel that the child clung to her in preference to anybody else. To be thus suddenly deserted was a blow, and it was particularly galling to have Marian Woodhouse say "I told you so." All her efforts at winning back her fickle admirer were absolutely useless. Greta refused to be coaxed, and at the end of a fortnight fulfilled Marian's prophecy by pushing away her former friend and even smacking her, which brought matters to such a crisis that Sylvia, after a storm of tears in private, gave up the attempt and resigned herself to the inevitable.