The Jolliest School of All

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER III

  Hail, Columbia!

  Irene, finding herself in her new form, looked round inquiringly. A fewof the girls with whom she had taken coffee were seated at desks in thesame room, but the rest of the faces were unfamiliar. Her teacherentered her name on the register, and seemed to expect her to understandthe lesson which was in progress, but the subject was much in advance ofwhat she had hitherto learned at Miss Gordon's, and it was verydifficult for her to pick up the threads of it. She grew more and morebewildered as the afternoon passed on, and though Miss Bickford gave herseveral hints, and even stopped the class once to explain a point, Irenefelt that most of the instruction had been completely over her head. Itwas with a sense of intense relief that she heard the closing bell ring,and presently filed with the rest of the school into the dining-room fortea. Her place at table was between two girls who utterly ignored herpresence, and did not address a single remark to her. Each talkeddiligently to the neighbor on either side, but poor Irene seemed aninsulator in the electric current of conversation, and had perforce toeat her meal in dead silence. She was walking away afterwards in a mostdepressed condition of mind, when at the door some one touched her onthe arm.

  "You're wanted in the senior recreation room," said a brisk voice."Rachel has convened a general meeting and told me to tell you. So hurryup and don't keep folks waiting. We want to get off to tennis."

  Marveling why her actions should hinder the tennis of the rest of thecommunity, Irene obeyed the message, and presented herself in the roomwhere she had been introduced on her arrival. It was now full of girlsof all ages, some sitting, some standing, and some squatting on thefloor. Rachel Moseley, the owner of the long dark pigtail, seemed in aposition of command, for she motioned Irene to a vacant chair, thenrapped on the table with a ruler to ensure silence. She had to tap notonce but several times, and finally called:

  "When you've all done talking I'll begin." There was an instant hush atthat, and, though a few faint snickers were heard, most of the audiencecomposed itself decently to listen to the voice of authority.

  "I've called this meeting," began Rachel, "because to-day an unusualthing has happened. Three new girls have arrived, although the term iswell under way. By the rules of our society they must give some accountof themselves, and we must explain what is required from them. Will theykindly stand up?"

  Blushing considerably Irene rose to her feet, in company with thedark-eyed damsel who had crossed in the same steamer with her fromNaples, and the fair-haired child whom she had privately christenedLittle Flaxen.

  "Name and nationality?" demanded Rachel, pencil and note-book in hand.She wrote down Irene Beverley, British, without further comment; thefact was evidently too obvious for discussion. At "Mabel Hughes,Australian, born in Patagonia," she demurred slightly, and she hesitatedaltogether at "Desiree Legrand."

  "_That's_ not English!" she objected. "We don't reckon to take Frenchieshere, you know!"

  "But I'm _not_ French," came the high-pitched voice of the little,fair-haired girl. "I'm as English as anybody. I am _indeed_!"

  "Then why have you got a French name?"

  "Legrand isn't French--we come from Jersey."

  "Very much on the borderland," sniffed Rachel. "What about Desiree? Notmuch wholesome Anglo-Saxon there at any rate."

  "I was called Desiree because I was so very much desired. Mother says itjust fits me."

  An indignant titter went round the room and Rachel frowned.

  "I'm afraid you won't find yourself so much desired here," she saidsarcastically. "I'll enter you British, though I have my doubts. Nowcome along, all three of you, and lay your hands on this book. You'vegot to take an oath of allegiance. I'll repeat the words, and you mustsay them after me:

  "'I hereby promise and vow that being of Anglo-Saxon birth I will upholdthe integrity of Great Britain and her colonies and of the United Statesof America, and strive my utmost to maintain their credit in a foreignland.' Now then, do you understand what your oath means?"

  Her eyes rested on Irene as she asked the question. That muchembarrassed damsel stuttered hesitatingly:

  "We're not to trouble our heads about learning foreign languages?"

  A delighted chuckle came from several members of the audience at thisinterpretation of the vow. Rachel hastily condescended to explain.

  "Oh, no! You'll have to study French and Italian, but what we mean isfor goodness' sake don't stick on all the airs and graces that some ofthese foreign girls do. Remember we're plain, wholesome, straightforwardAnglo-Saxons, who play games and say what we mean, and call a spade aspade and have done with it. Whatever Italian friends you may makeduring the holidays please forget them during term-time, and try andimagine that the Villa Camellia stands in Kent or Massachusetts. Do youunderstand my drift now?"

  "Oh, yes!" sighed Mabel languidly. "Anglo-American patriotism,crystallized in a nutshell, I suppose! _I'm_ not going to offend yourprejudices, I'm sure!"

  "You'd better not, or you'll hear about it," said Rachel, looking at hersharply. "Well, girls, that's the wind-up. The three freshies areadmitted and you've witnessed their vows. Just jolly well take care theykeep them, that's all. Juniors are due now at netball practice, and anyseniors who want the tennis courts----"

  But Rachel's sentence went unfinished for her listeners were tired ofsitting still, and the second they found themselves dismissed had jumpedup and fled from the room.

  "Now that that ordeal's over I guess you may smooth out the kinks inyour forehead, honey!" said a serene voice at Irene's elbow.

  Turning quickly she saw the short girl who had braved Rachel's possiblewrath and had offered her coffee on her arrival. It was a pleasant facethat gazed into hers, not exactly beautiful, but with a charm thateclipsed all mere ordinary prettiness; the sparkling gray eyes weredark-fringed, the cheeks were like wild roses under their freckles, thetip-tilted little nose held an element of audacious sauciness, anddimples lay at the corners of the wide, smiling mouth.

  "I'm Priscilla Proctor, called Peachy for short. Oh, yes, I knew allabout you beforehand, although you happen to be the newest girl. Dadwrote me a whole page--wonderful for him!--and said he'd stayed at yourhouse in London, and I was to tack myself on to you and show you round,and see you didn't fret and all the rest of it. Are you wanting a crony,temporary or otherwise? Then here I am at your service. Link an arm andwe'll parade the place. I guess by the time we've finished there's notmuch you won't know about the Villa Camellia."

  "Have you been here long?" asked Irene, accepting the proffered arm withalacrity, and submitting to be led away by her cicerone.

  "Just a year. Cried myself to a puddle when I first came, but I like itnow. I didn't realize who you were when you first arrived, or I'd havegiven you a tip or two straight away. Thank goodness you're fairly infavor with Rachel at any rate. Any one who starts by offending her has abad term. I don't envy Mabel Hughes. That girl will get a feweye-openers before she's much older, and serve her right. She rooms withyou? Well, I'm sorry for you. I wish there was a spare bed in ourdormitory, but we're full up to overflowing. Now then, I've brought youout by the side door to show you what we consider the best view of thegarden. Ah, I thought it would make your eyes pop out! It's _some_ view,isn't it?"

  The garden of the Villa Camellia was certainly one of the greatestassets of the school, and to Irene, who had been transported straightfrom the desolation of a London suburb in January, it seemed like avision of a different world. The long terrace, with its marblebalustrade, edged a high cliff that overtopped the sea, while at presentthe setting sun was lighting up the white houses of the distant outlineof Naples, and was touching the purple slopes of Vesuvius with gold.Pillars and archways formed a pergola, from which hung roses andfestoons of the trumpetflower; from the groves near at hand came thesweet strong scent of orange blossoms, and the little favorites of anEnglish spring, forget-me-nots, pink daisies, and pansies, liftedcontented heads from the border below. In the basin of the great mar
blefountain white arum lilies were blooming, geraniums trailed from tallvases, and palms, bamboos, and other exotics backed the row of lemontrees at the end of the paved walk. Here and there marble benches werearranged round tables in specially constructed arbors.

  "These are our summer classrooms," explained Peachy. "When it'sblazingly hot we do lessons here early in the mornings, and it'sripping. No, we don't use them at this time of the year, because themarble is cold to sit upon, and the garden is damp really, although itlooks so jolly. You should see it in a sirocco wind! You wouldn't wantto have classes outside then, you bet! It's luck you're in theTransition form. If you'd been one of Miss Rodger's elect eleven, or oneof Miss Brewster's lambs, I'd have had to chum with you by stealth. I'dhave managed it somehow, of course, to please Dad, but it isn't donehere openly. School etiquette is like the law of the Medes and Persians.We keep to our own forms. Hello! There's Sheila Yonge. Sheila! If youcan find any Camellia Buds that aren't playing tennis bring them alongright here for a little powwow with Irene."

  "Is she a 'buddy' yet?" whispered Sheila.

  "Of course not! She's only been here a few hours. What a dear old sillyyou are. Hunt up some of that crew all the same, and I'm yours forever.Don't you understand the situation? Well, Irene's folks entertained Dadin London and were just lovely to him--nursed him when he was sick andtook him round the shows when he got well. He's been bursting withgratitude ever since, and he wrote and told me Irene was coming here andI must pay her out--no, pay her back--pour coals of fire on herhead--Great Scott, I'm getting my similes mixed! I mean give her a rightdown good time as far as I can, and make her think the Villa Camellia isa dandy place. Twiggez-vous, cherie?"

  "I twig!" laughed Sheila. "I'll beat up all I can muster," and she ranlightly away along the terrace.

  "A decent girl, though a little hard of comprehension," Peachy noddedafter her. "Doesn't she look adorable in that blue tam-o'-shanter?"

  "She's awfully pretty!" agreed Irene readily.

  "She'd be the beauty of the school if she'd any idea how to use heradvantages," sighed Peachy. "Give me her complexion and that classicalnose and--well, I guess I'd blaze out into a cinema star before I'd donewith life. I hope she won't be all day raking a few girls together.She's not what you'd call quick. I've misjudged her. Here she comes withhalf a dozen at least--and, oh, no, Sheila! You don't mean to say you'vebrought candy? Well, you _are_ a sport! Let's squat under the mimosatree and hand it round."

  The little group of Peachy's favorite friends who settled themselvesunder the yellow mimosa bush to suck taffy and watch the flaming sunsetwere all afterwards intimately bound up with Irene's school career. Eachwas such a distinct personality that she sorted them out fairlyaccurately on that first evening, and decided the particular order inwhich they would rank in her affections.

  There was Jess Cameron, a jolly Scottish lassie. She rolled her r'swhen she spoke, and was a trifle matter-of-fact and practical, but wasevidently the dependable anchor of the rest of the scatter-brained crew,the one who made the most sensible suggestions, and to whom--though theyteased her a little and called her "Grannie"--they all turned in the endfor help and advice. Jess was slightly out of her element in a southernsetting. Her appropriate background was moorland and heather and grayloch, and driving clouds and a breeze with fine mist in it, that wouldmake you want to wrap a plaid round your shoulders and turn to theluxury of a peat fire. Quite unconsciously she suggested all thesethings. Peachy once described her as a living incarnation of one ofScott's novels, for she was steeped in old traditions and legends andsuperstitions, and could tell tales in the gloaming that sent eerieshivers down the spines of her listeners, or would recite ballads with aswing that took one back to the days of wandering minstrels. She was nota girl to make a fuss over anybody, and she did not greet Irene with theleast effusion, but her plain "If you're a friend of Peachy's I'm gladto see you," was genuine, and better than any amount of gush. Jessundoubtedly had her faults; she was what her chums called "toocock-sure," and she was apt to be severe in her judgments, flashing intothe righteous wrath of one whose standards are high, but her veryimperfections were "virtues gane a-gley," and she was a considerableforce in the molding of public opinion at the Villa Camellia.

  If Jess, calm, canny, and reliable, stood for the spirit of the North,attractive, persuasive, fascinating little Delia Watts represented theSouth. She came from California, and was as quick and bright as ahumming-bird, constantly in harmless mischief, but seldom getting intoany serious trouble. Her highly strung temperament found schoolrestrictions irksome, and she was apt to blaze out into odd pranks whichin other girls might have met with sterner punishment. But Miss Morleyhad a soft corner for Delia, and, though she did not exactly favor her,she certainly made allowances for her excitability and her stronglyemotional disposition.

  "Delia's like a marionette--always dancing to some hidden string," theteacher remarked once to Miss Rodgers. "She mayn't be strong-minded butshe's immensely warm-hearted, and if we can only pull the love-stringshe'll act the part we want. You can't force her into prim behavior;she's as much a child of nature as the birds, and if you clip her wingsaltogether you take away from her the very gift that perhaps God meanther to use. Let me have the handling of the little sky-rocket, and I'lldo my best to keep her within bounds, but she's not the disposition to'be made an example of' or to be set on the 'stool of repentance.' Fiveminutes with Delia in private is worth more than a long publicadmonition. You've only to look at her face to know her type."

  And Miss Rodgers, who stood no nonsense from really naughty andturbulent girls, yielded in this case, and left the exclusive managementof Delia in the hands of her partner.

  Of the seven damsels who sat under the yellow feathery flowers of themimosa bush, three of them--Peachy, Jess, and Delia--talked so hard andcontinuously that none of the others had a chance to chip in withanything more than an occasional yes or no. Irene realized in a vagueway that Esther Cartmel was plain and stodgy looking, but that every nowand then a world of light suddenly flashed into her eyes, andtransfigured her for the brief moment; that Sheila Yonge giggled at allPeachy's remarks, and that Mary Fergusson was a pale and weak copy ofJess, and slavishly followed her lead in everything. It was the seventhmember of the little party, however, who particularly attracted herattention. Lorna Carson was quiet, probably from sheer lack ofopportunity to speak, but her pale face was interesting and her darkeyes met Irene's with a curious questioning glance. It was almost as ifshe were asking "Have we known each other before?" Irene could not helplooking at her, and ransacking the side cupboards of her memory to tryto light upon some forgotten clew as to why the face should seem halffamiliar.

  "Have I seen her in London? Or is she like some one else? No, I can'tfix her at all. Surely I must have dreamed about her," mused Irene,while aloud she said, almost as if compelled to speak:

  "Have you been long at school here? Are you English, or American, orcolonial, or what?"

  "A little bit of anything you like," smiled Lorna. "Rachel gets verymuddled about me. I've such a sneaking weakness for Naples that Ibelieve she thinks I'm an Italian at heart. That's a crime Rachelabsolutely can't forgive. 'Foreign' is the last word in her vocabulary."

  "So I gathered when she made me take that oath. I suppose she's headgirl and that's why she rules the roost? Is she decent or does she keepyou petrified? I don't know whether I'm expected to say 'Bow-wow,' or tolisten in respectful humility when she deigns to notice me."

  "You'd better not have any 'bow-wows' with Rachel," broke in Peachy,"though you just jolly well have to wag your tail the way she wants.She's not bad on the whole, but rather a tyrant, and it would do her allthe good in the world if some day somebody had the courage to knocksparks out of her. We do what we can in a mild way," (here the otherchuckled) "but she's got the ears of both Miss Rodgers and Miss Morley,and if you go on the rampage against her you only land yourself in ascrape. Of course, for purposes of protection the Transition girls haveto unite a
nd----"

  "Peachy! Take care!" exclaimed Jess warningly.

  Peachy blushed crimson under her freckles.

  "I wasn't telling anything!" she retorted. "I suppose Irene----"

  "_Do_ shut up!"

  "Well Agnes said herself----"

  "It doesn't matter what Agnes said."

  "She's fixed----"

  "Peachy Proctor, if you blab like this you'll be tarred and feathered.Girl alive, can't you keep a still tongue in your head? If you'd livedin the Middle Ages you'd have ended your days in a dungeon!"

  Jess spoke hotly, and, by the general scandalized look on the faces ofthe others, Irene judged that luckless Peachy must have been on theverge of betraying some secret. She tactfully turned the conversationwith a remark upon the beauty of the sunset, and the clanging of thegarden bell opportunely broke up the gathering, and sent the girlshurrying helter-skelter along the terrace in the direction of the house.Irene paused for a moment to look back at the sea and the sky, and thedistant twinkling lights, and to curtsy to the crescent moon that hunglike a good omen in the dome of blue. There was a scent of fragrantlemon blossoms in the air, and she trod fallen rose petals under herfeet. Suddenly a remembrance of the desolation of Miss Gordon's gardenin a February fog swept across her mental vision. Whatever trials shemight encounter here--and she did not expect her new life to be absoluteParadise--the environment of this school in the south was perfect andwould make up for many disadvantages.

  "Give me sunshine and flowers and I'll always worry on somehow," shemurmured, plucking a little crimson rose, and tucking it into her dressfor a mascot, then ran with flying footsteps under the orange trees tocatch up with her companions, who were already mounting the marble stepsthat led to the Villa Camellia.