The Youngest Girl in the School Part 25

'Rope-climbing--Barbara!' a.s.serted Jean.

'What are you talking about?' cried Mary, with contempt. 'Barbara is simply not _in_ it with Charlotte; and what's more, you know she isn't, Jean Murray.'

'Oh, the wicked stories some people can tell,' sighed Angela. 'Have you seen Barbara Berkeley swarm up the----'

'Please, please don't,' implored Babs. 'Can't you see that Hurly-Burly wants to say something else?'

Being the champion in question, she could not very well side with Jean, as she usually did. Her appeal had some effect on the disputants, and Miss Burleigh, remembering it was a half-holiday, shrugged her shoulders good-naturedly and took advantage of the pause to proceed.

'The display will take place at five o'clock on Thursday,' she proclaimed; 'supper will be at seven, and after supper, the Canon, who is coming from the North on purpose, will give away the prizes to the two successful compet.i.tors----'

'That's Margaret and Charlotte Bigley,' interrupted Mary, noisily; and Hurly-Burly gave it up and fled, with her hands over her ears, just as Angela, with a yell of defiance, lost her balance and plunged down head-first from her perch on the vaulting-horse.

'No, no! Margaret and Jean!' she gasped out breathlessly, as she scrambled up again from the floor and brushed the dust from her hands and knees.

Jean sprang to her feet on the top of the vaulting-horse, and danced up and down in her excitement.

'Margaret and the Babe!' she shrieked, waving her arms wildly round her head.

But Barbara had slipped down after Angela, though not quite so precipitately, and had retired from the contest to a particular corner of the gymnasium, where the hot-water pipes projected sufficiently to form what might with imagination be considered a seat. It required some ingenuity, perhaps, to preserve any sort of balance on the edge of a row of hot-water pipes; but that was nothing to a small person who could never sit down tamely on a chair like other people, but always preferred the slanting surface of a desk, or something equally unaccommodating. So Babs felt the hot-water pipes with her grubby little hands, to make sure they were just the right heat to be sat upon, and then squeezed herself on to them contentedly, curled her legs away underneath, and in a few seconds was supremely unconscious of what was going on at the other end of the gymnasium. Jean Murray might yell herself hoa.r.s.e in her defence, for all she knew or cared; for at that moment her mind was occupied with a far more important question.

It was Angela who first grew tired of waging war with Mary Wells without the valuable support of Barbara Berkeley. Angela could shriek with the shrillest, when once some one had told her what to shriek; but there was a solid calmness about Mary that carried more conviction with it, and Barbara's wit was the only thing to make any impression upon that.

Besides, if Angela shrieked 'Margaret and Jean,' and Jean shrieked 'Margaret and the Babe,' who was there left but the Babe to shriek for Angela herself? So in a very short time Angela Wilkins also left the contest, and found her way to the place where the hot-water pipes projected into a perch for the youngest girl in the school.

'Hullo, Babe! What's up?' she inquired.

Barbara looked at her vaguely. Some one in a scarlet gymnasium frock certainly stood in front of her, but it had nothing whatever to do with what she was worrying over in her mind; so, at first, she did not take any notice.

'Aren't you coming to practise rings?' pursued Angela, who had seen Barbara look like this before, and knew from experience that in time the child would rouse herself sufficiently to answer her.

'Rings?' repeated Babs, vacantly.

'Oh, come on!' said Angela, impatiently. 'How you do moon about the place, to be sure! Don't you want to win the Canon's prize?'

Barbara's expression changed swiftly, and she frowned. 'Get away,' she growled, with unusual fierceness; and Angela stared and withdrew.

'Barbara Berkeley is in an awful fury,' she announced, when she got back to Jean.

'What about?' asked Jean.

'Oh, not _about_ anything,' answered Angela, shrugging her shoulders.

'When the Babe is in a fury, it's never _about_ anything, is it? It's inside her, or something,' she added, seeking in her mind for some explanation of the strange moods that made Barbara Berkeley a puzzle to every one.

'Inside her!' echoed Mary Wells, scornfully. 'What you two can see in that child I never can make out. Fancy making friends with any one who loses her temper _inside_!'

'Well, it's better than losing it _outside_ and upsetting everybody by howling like a baby, because you can't find your pencil-box, isn't it, stupid?' cried Jean.

Mary blushed painfully at the personal reference, and hastily changed the conversation. 'Barbara Berkeley is a spoilt little kid,' she retorted.

'She's the most sullen, ill-tempered, obstinate little----' The words stayed at the tip of her tongue, for the unconscious subject of them had suddenly joined the group round Mary, and was staring at her in her most solemn and disconcerting manner.

Mary Wells felt foolish. There was something about the youngest girl in the school, when she looked like that, that would make any one feel foolish. But Babs had evidently not heard a word she had been saying.

'Come on,' she said, hooking her arm into Jean's; 'I want to ask you something.'

The two wandered away together down the long gymnasium.

'Look here,' began Barbara, impetuously, as soon as they were out of hearing of the others. 'Are you keen on winning that prize?'

Jean drew a long breath. She wanted to take that prize back with her to the little home in Edinburgh, where she had been adored and spoiled for twelve whole years, more than she had ever wanted anything in the world; and she did not know how to answer Barbara's unexpected question.

'Why?' she asked, at length.

Barbara took hold of a rope and waved it backwards and forwards to give herself courage. 'Because,' she blurted out, 'I want to get it too,--_awfully_, and so does Angela, and--and we can't all get it, can we?'

'No,' said Jean, looking at her curiously. She had thought she really was beginning to understand the Babe; and here she was, showing herself in a more puzzling light than ever.

'You see,' Barbara went on, swarming up the rope a couple of feet and making her next remark to the black hook in the beam above, 'I'd like awfully to win it, because I don't want the boys to think I've got too much like a girl to do things now; and because it's so--so splendid to feel you _can_ do things.'

She slid down the rope again, and Jean saw how her eyes were glowing and shining, and she felt a little more puzzled than before.

'Then, Angela wants to get it because she's always bottom in everything else,' continued Barbara. 'That's not much of a reason, I think, especially when she hasn't got any brothers--only millions of sisters, who don't count; but still, she'll be awfully disappointed if she doesn't get it, won't she?'

'Yes,' said Jean.

Babs curled the rope round her waist, and swung herself gently to and fro.

The movement seemed to aid her reflections. 'Why do _you_ want to get it, Jean?' she asked softly.

It was never easy to induce Jean to talk about herself; but if any one could do it, Barbara was the person. And, this time, she succeeded.

Jean drew another long breath, and clenched her fists.

'Because I want to be first,' she said slowly. 'I want to be first in _everything_. I'd sooner be bottom than second! Of course you'll think I'm a conceited pig,' she added, almost fiercely, 'but I can't help that; I don't expect you to understand.' Then she muttered in a lower tone,--'n.o.body ever does, excepting only mother and father.'

Barbara's eyes were fixed on her face, and there was a warmth in their blackness that Jean had only seen there once, and that was when she was writing to her father in America.

'Good old Jean!' she murmured. 'It's awfully hard to understand; but I'll try--_truthfully_. And I'd like you to get the prize--I would, really.

I didn't want you to have it before; but I do now, Jean, old girl!'

'I ought to want _you_ to have it, but I don't,' sighed Jean, trying vainly not to be behindhand in unselfishness; 'I just want it myself, so it's no good pretending I don't.'

There was silence between them for an instant; and from the other end of the gymnasium drifted the monotonous war-cries of Mary Wells and Angela Wilkins.

'Margaret and Charlotte Bigley!' shouted one.

'Margaret and Jean Murray!' added the other.

The enthusiasm was too infectious to be resisted. With a wild scream of glee, Jean and Babs raced the whole length of the room and flung themselves into the fray, without a thought of the opposite sentiments they had just been expressing to each other.

'Margaret and the Babe!' yelled Jean, brandishing an Indian club.