A Fourth Form Friendship (11 page)

"Won't he ever come back?" said Mabel, falling in with her friend's humour.

"Just for a little while; but he always has to go in the winter, like Proserpine, who was bound to spend half the year with Pluto in Hades. I suppose there's no country, except the lost Atlantis, where it keeps summer all the year round."

"Why, you sound quite melancholy!"

"So I am."

"But why?"

"I don't know, except that it is so sad to see the summer gone."

Aldred could scarcely explain her attitude of mind, though she was conscious that the change in the world without affected her strongly. She had an extreme love of nature, an intense appreciation of beautiful things. No ancient Greek ever joyed in the sunshine more than she, or took greater pleasure in the scent of the flowers, or the blue of the sea and sky, or the song of the birds in springtime. Her artistic, poetical temperament was highly sensitive to all outward impressions; she was so keenly alive to the great, dramatic human tragedy and comedy that is being enacted around us, so in touch with the wonder and mystery of life, that what would pass unnoticed by many was to her the very essence of being.

Few people had ever sympathized with this side of her disposition. Her father had not realized it, Keith could not understand it, and Aunt Bertha had repressed it sternly. Modern schoolgirls are certainly not sentimental; they are more prone to laugh at poetic fancies than to admire them: and Aldred knew that on this score she would probably meet with ridicule from her form-mates. In consequence, she confined herself in public to the practical and prosaic, and, with the exception of an occasional private confidence to Mabel, kept her reflections locked in her own bosom.

There was certainly nothing in the atmosphere of the Grange to foster any tendency towards morbidness. The days were so fully occupied as to leave no time for dreaming. Though Aldred was clever, it took her whole energies to secure the place that she wished in the school. She was determined to be head of her Form, and, holding that object in view, toiled with a vigour such as nothing else would have wrung from her, and which would have caused unfeigned amazement to her former governess. It was not all plain sailing, for Ursula Bramley and Agnes Maxwell were also good workers; and even Mabel, though not specially bright, was very plodding and conscientious. Aldred soon found that she had to revise entirely her old method--that a careless German exercise could completely cancel a brilliant score in history, and that she must give equal attention to every subject if she wished to chronicle a record. The little tricks she had practised on Miss Perkins were not equally successful at Birkwood: she had tried reeling off her lessons very fast, so as to gloss over mistakes, but Miss Bardsley would allow her to finish, and then say: "Yes; now you may repeat it again, slowly. I did not quite catch the second person plural;" and Aldred, to her disgust, would be compelled to reveal her ignorance in a more deliberate fashion, and take the bad mark that ensued. She was at first a venturesome guesser, till her many bad shots drew scathing comments from her teachers and smiles from the rest of the Form.

"Even Lorna Hallam knows that Sir Philip Sidney didn't write the
Faerie Queene
, and she's supposed to be our champion bungler!" observed Ursula Bramley sarcastically, on one occasion. "As for history, you muddle up Thomas Cromwell with Oliver Cromwell! You'd better get an elementary book, and learn a few simple facts."

The girls would not tolerate Aldred's conceit. She quickly discovered that if she wished to be popular, it was unwise to claim too much credit for her achievements. The week after she arrived she had taken her place among the others at a singing lesson. Miss Wright, the mistress, began to teach the class the old English ballad, "Should he upbraid"; it was one with which Aldred happened to be familiar, so she at once took the lead and sang away lustily, beating time in a rather marked manner, and accomplishing the many little runs and trills with an air as if she considered herself indispensable. At the close of the lesson, as they were filing out of the room, she could not resist remarking to Ursula Bramley:

"It was a good thing I knew that song so well, wasn't it?"

"Why?" asked Ursula pointedly, looking her straight in the eyes.

Thus cornered, Aldred could hardly say that she thought the class would have managed badly without her aid; her tact told her that the remark would be unpalatable and indiscreet, so she quickly changed her ground.

"Oh! only that I find it difficult to learn new things," she replied, in some confusion.

"Indeed! Well, I suppose you'll improve when you've been here a little while," returned Ursula, with a meaning smile that was partly a sneer, and made Aldred decidedly red and uncomfortable.

During the earlier part of the term, try as she might, Aldred was not able to see her name in the coveted position of heading the list for the Fourth Form. One week she failed in geometry, another in French; if her German was correct, her arithmetic proved inaccurate, and some unexpected slip would pull her down. At the end of the sixth week, however, she at last dared to hope. She was aware that she had done unusually well, both in the ordinary class subjects and in the Friday morning examination; while Ursula, her chief opponent, had had an exercise returned, and received a bad mark for botany. The lists were always posted up on the notice-board in the corridor just before tea-time on Saturday afternoon, and there was generally a rush to read them. On this particular Saturday, Aldred determined to be the first to cull the news. She was too proud to allow herself to seem anxious, so she hung about the corridor, pretending that she was searching for a lost piece of india-rubber, and that she was thrillingly interested in the view of the dripping garden through the side window. At last Miss Drummond appeared, pinned the papers neatly on to the notice-board, and re-entered the library. Aldred strolled up as casually as she could; but Mabel, who had also been on the look-out, was before her.

"You're top! You're top!" shrieked the latter. "There it is: 'No. 1, Aldred Laurence.' Oh, how lovely! You've beaten Ursula by twenty marks. It's splendid! Come and see for yourself!"

Though inwardly she felt she had satisfied her ambition, Aldred took the announcement with the greatest outward sang-froid.

"Oh! am I?" she replied nonchalantly. "No, I don't want to see, thanks; I can take your word for it."

"How calm you are! I should have been fearfully excited if it had been: 'No. 1, Mabel Farrington.'"

"What's the use of getting excited? Let us go into the dressing-room, and wash our hands for tea."

Mabel linked her arm affectionately in that of Aldred, and accompanied her down the passage, talking as she went.

"I knew you would come out top, dearest!" she said. "You were certain to, as soon as you had grown used to the work here. It's always difficult for a new girl, when she has been accustomed to a different teacher; but I think you have fallen into Birkwood ways marvellously quickly. Don't you feel proud?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, I do, for you! To think of being twenty marks ahead of Ursula! It's a tremendous score! How do you manage to be so clever?"

"I'm not clever. It's sheer good luck, I expect."

"No, it's not good luck," said Mabel, putting back Aldred's dark curls with a caressing hand. "It's something far more, only you're too modest to acknowledge it. You're behaving just as you did at Seaforth. Oh, I've heard about that episode! We all know of it, though you may think it was done by stealth."

"What episode?" gasped Aldred, suddenly red to the tips of her ears.

"Don't blush so, darling! I won't speak about it again, if you'd rather not; but I should like to tell you how much I admire you, not only for what you did, but for the way you've tried to make nothing of it afterwards. It's only one girl in a thousand who would have had the courage to rush into that blazing house, and crawl upstairs and down again; or the presence of mind to tie a wet handkerchief over the little boy's mouth. I should never have thought of that, I'm certain. Do you mind my mentioning it to you just this once?"

Now was Aldred's chance. The occasion when she might deny her identity with the heroine of the fire had come at last! How easily the mistake could be corrected, and the matter set right! She looked nervously at Mabel, and words struggled painfully to her lips.

"I--I'm afraid--you----" she began.

"Yes, dearest?" There was a little thrill in Mabel's voice.

"You're--you're thinking too--too well of me----" stammered Aldred, trying desperately to take the fatal plunge.

Mabel simply smiled. Her blue eyes were gazing into her friend's with adoring affection; her face showed how deeply her feelings were stirred, and how earnestly she meant all she had said.

"I was at Seaforth----" continued Aldred.

"I know that."

"But--but----"

Oh, how hard it was to utter her confession! In the act, Aldred's resolution failed her; she stopped again, and was silent. Her embarrassment was most apparent.

"Would you really rather not speak of it, dear?" said Mabel gently.

Why did Aldred hesitate? Opportunity, like an angel of light, still tarried, and held open the door of honour. If she could only screw up her courage to the sticking-point!

"All right! If you don't like me to mention it, I'll say nothing more. I'm satisfied now I've let you know that your deed isn't absolutely hidden under a bushel. You're famous, in spite of yourself. You darling! I only wish I were worthier to be your friend."

Aldred shrank back at the words, and, disengaging Mabel's clinging arms, made an excuse to hurry away. She had the grace to be thoroughly ashamed of herself, and to feel that she could not bear any more praise at present.

"Why didn't I tell?" she moaned, in an agony of remorse. "I know I'm mean, and dishonest, and horrid, and the exact opposite of what she supposes. What would Keith say, if he knew? He'd never forgive me. He scolded me for not explaining that Mr. Bowden had painted part of my picture, and this is twice as bad. Keith is so absolutely honourable! I suppose I ought to go to Mabel now, and put things right. No, I can't! I simply can't! It would be worse than ever. I couldn't force myself to say it--the words would choke me!"

A letter from Keith had arrived only that morning, a particularly nice, jolly letter, full of chatty news and of such affectionate enquiries about her own doings at school that it seemed to bring her into closer touch than usual with her brother. She wanted so much to stand well in Keith's opinion; and she recalled with a groan what he had said to her in the cornfield about her sketch: "Of all the sneaks, you're the biggest!" and, "Be a little straighter in future, if you want to keep chums with me." Yes, she was a sneak; it was not a pretty epithet, but it was a true one. In Keith's eyes this affair would be serious; he would never tolerate such conduct for one single moment. If she wished to act up to his principles, she must undeceive Mabel immediately, her own self-respect told her that. Yet she could not bring herself to do it, and for a whole week she wavered, her conscience reproaching her bitterly, and her pride pleading and ever pleading to put off the evil moment.

"It's impossible to tell her straight out," she decided at last. "I'll write a letter and give it to her; that will be much easier, because I needn't stay to watch her read it. I know Keith would have gone and owned up; but then, I'm not Keith--I always mind things so much more than he does."

Having resolved to make an explanation through the medium of pen, ink, and paper, she retired, when tea was over, to the empty classroom, and set herself to the unwelcome task. How difficult it was! She scribbled sheet after sheet, and tore up one after another. Her confession looked so bald and paltry when she saw it in black and white! It seemed so awkward to explain adequately how the mistake had arisen. After five fruitless attempts, she at last managed to arrive at a result which, if it did not satisfy her, at least contained the truth. She placed it in an envelope, and addressed it to Mabel Farrington, then stood turning it over and over in her hand. Was this letter to break their friendship?--so small a thing to have such a fateful result? Well, if it must be, she had better let it be done as quickly as possible; it was no use delaying any longer. Bracing up her nerves, therefore, she went down to look for Mabel.

It being Saturday evening, there was no preparation. Relays of girls were having their hair washed in the bathroom, and others were finishing stocking darning, or various pieces of mending; tidying their drawers, putting out their clean clothes, and performing the many small duties that seemed to accumulate at the end of the week.

The Lower School recreation room happened to be temporarily deserted by its usual rollicking crew, and Mabel was there alone, standing warming her hands at the fire. She looked up brightly as Aldred entered.

"Come along!" she said. "Isn't this a glorious blaze? We've got the room all to ourselves for once, and we'll have such a cosy chat! Why! what's this you're giving me? A letter? From whom?"

"From me. It's something I want you to know," replied Aldred shortly; and she would have turned to leave the room had not Mabel caught her by the arm and forced her back to the fire.

"Don't run away!" she exclaimed. "You're the most absurd girl! What are you writing to me about?"

"You'll find out when you've read it," gulped Aldred.

"But why couldn't you tell me? What's the matter? You're actually crying! Dearest, have I done anything to offend you?"

"No, no! Do let me go, and then open the letter!"

"I shan't. You must stay here till I know why you are crying. Has anybody been nasty to you?"

"No; it's I who have done something wrong--I wanted to let you know--I'm afraid you'll never care for me afterwards--I daren't tell you--so please read it, and don't keep me now!"

Mabel looked puzzled, then suddenly enlightened; but instead of loosening her hold on her friend, she pulled her down on to the hearth-rug, before the fire.