The Jolliest School of All

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER XX

  The Cameron Clan

  Lorna had never realized before how much of life can be compressed intoa few days. The interval between her father's departure for Naples andhis return for the week-end was spent almost entirely with her friends.It marked for her an altogether new phase of existence. She had read inbooks about jolly families of brothers and sisters, and parties of youngpeople, but her own experience was strictly limited to school. Here inCapri, for the first time she tasted the delights of which she had oftendreamed, and found herself cordially included in a charmed circle.Though the Beverleys were mainly responsible for thus taking her up, theCamerons also offered much kindness. "The Cameron Clan" as they calledthemselves, consisted of father, mother, Jess, and two brothers, Angusand Stewart, and almost every evening the young folk would meet at theirvilla and gather round a wood fire in the salon. Though the days were sowarm the nights were chilly, and it was cheerful to watch the blazinglogs. What times they had together! It was an established rule thateverybody contributed some item to the general entertainment, and inspite of fierce denials even the least accomplished were compelled toperform. It brought out quite unexpected talent. Peachy, who had alwaysdeclared her music "wasn't up to anything," charmed the company bylilting darkie melodies or pathetic Indian songs, Captain Prestonremembered conjuring tricks which he had learned in India, Mr. Roperproved a genius at relating short stories, and Mrs. Cameron could reciteold ballads with the fervor of a medieval minstrel. The walls of theItalian salon seemed to melt away and change to a wild moorland or anorthern castle as she declaimed "Fair Helen of Kirconnell," "The Lamentof the Border Widow," "Bartrum's Dirge," or "The Braes o' Yarrow."

  "Modern people want more poetry in their veins," she insisted. "I've nopatience with the stuff most of them read. There's more romance in oneof those stories of ancient times than you'd find in a whole boxful ofthe latest library books. People weren't ashamed of their feelings then,and they put them into beautiful words. Nowadays it seems to me they'veneither the feelings nor the language to clothe them in. I'm a centuryor two too late. I ought to have lived when the world was younger."

  If his wife adored her native ballads Mr. Cameron, on his part, had agood stock of Scottish songs, and would trill them out in a finebaritone voice, the audience joining with enthusiasm in the choruses ofsuch favorites as "Bonny Dundee," "Charlie is my Darling," and "Over theSea to Skye."

  "There's a ring about Jacobite melodies that absolutely grips you," saidMrs. Beverley, begging for "Wha wad na fecht for Charlie," and "FarewellManchester." "Perhaps it's in my blood, for my ancestors were Jacobites.One of them was a beautiful girl in 1745, and sat on a balcony to watchher prince ride into Faircaster. The cavalcade came to a halt under herwindow and 'Charlie' looked up and saw her, and asked her to dance atthe ball that was being given that night in the town. She was greatlyset up by the honor, and handed the tradition of it down the family assomething that must never be forgotten. Oh! I'd have fought for the'Hieland laddie' myself if I'd been a man in his days. Is the spirit ofpersonal loyalty dead? We give patriotic devotion to our country, butlove such as that of an ancient Highlander for his hereditary chiefseems absolutely a thing of the past."

  While their elders entertained the circle with northern legends orborder ballads the young people also did their share, and contributedsuch choice morsels as ghost stories, adventures in foreign lands, orweird tales of the occult. Stewart, who was an omnivorous reader ofmagazines, tried to demonstrate the romance of modern literature, thoughhe could never convince his mother of its equality with old-worldfavorites. Marjorie Anderson, who had a sweet voice, loved soldierditties, and caroled them much to the admiration of Captain Preston, whoalways managed to contrive to get a seat near her particular corner ofthe fireside.

  "I believe those two are 'a match,'" whispered Peachy to Irene oneevening.

  "So do I. They met first when Marjorie was at school. Dona told me allabout it, and it was quite romantic. They'd have seen more of each otheronly, after the armistice, his regiment was ordered out to India. He'shome on leave now. He wrote to Marjorie all the time he was away,regularly. She's tremendous friends with his sisters, and they asked herto join them on this tour. Looks suspicious, doesn't it?"

  "Rather! I hope it will really come off," answered Peachy, lookingsympathetically at the attractive pair whose chairs always seemed togravitate together. "She's pretty! And his brown eyes are the twinkliestI've ever seen! Yes! I'm prepared to give them my blessing! I only wishhe'd get on with it. Why doesn't somebody give him a push over the brinkand make him propose? He's marking time, and for two cents I'd tell himso myself. I guess his eyes would pop out, but I shouldn't care! Don'tbe alarmed! I promise I won't interfere. But onlookers see the most ofthe game, and with an affair like this under my very nose I'll be mad ifthey don't fix-it up."

  Captain Preston was hardly likely to conduct his love-making under fullfire of inquisitive eyes, but he generally managed to appropriateMarjorie on walks or excursions; they strolled out together to admirethe moon, hunted for orchids on the hills, searched the beach forshells, and saw enough of one another's society to satisfy the mostardent matchmakers. It was an established fact that these two shouldalways sit together in boat or carriage, but the rest of the partyrevolved like a kaleidoscope. Lorna sometimes found herself escorted byStewart or Angus, sometimes by Charlie or Michael Foard, the friends whowere staying with them, and oftener still by Vincent Beverley, whosefair hair, blue eyes, and merry face--so like Irene's--speciallyattracted her. She was so unaccustomed to have a cavalier at all that itseemed wonderful to her that any one should take the trouble to carryher basket, pick flowers that grew out of her reach, help her updifficult steps or hand her into a rocking boat. This new aspect of theworld was very sweet. Insensibly it affected her.

  "Lorna's growing so pretty," commented Peachy to Irene. "She's a queergirl. At school she goes about looking almost plain and as dreary as anowl. She's suddenly jumped into life here. Anybody who hadn't seen thetwo sides of her wouldn't believe the difference. When she's animatedshe's nearly beautiful."

  "I don't think she's ever been really appreciated at the VillaCamellia," replied Irene. "Mums likes her immensely. She says there's somuch in her, and that she only wants 'mothering' to bring her out. Asfor Vin, his head's turned. He's made me vow faithfully to engineer thathe sits next to Lorna in the boat to-day. Are you going with Stewart?Well, I've promised Michael if he's a particularly good boy I'll let himrow me in the little skiff. I dare say Charlie will be angry, but Ican't help it. The Foards are as alike as buttons in looks, but theyounger one is so infinitely nicer than the other."

  Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had slipped blissfully by. Except forthe few hours daily during which the steamer from Naples visited Capri,with promenade deck filled with tourists, the little island waswonderfully quiet, and by keeping away from the Marina Grande or thehighroads it was possible to avoid other holiday-makers. If they werenot on the sea "the clan," as the whole party liked to call themselves,generally went up the hills to escape civilization. The natives hadbegun to know them, and though they might be offered oranges, figs, ordates by street vendors they were not continually pestered to takecarriages, engage guides or donkeys, or buy picture post-cards or longstrings of coral. Irene loved occasional excursions into the white townon the rock. The strict rules and convent seclusion of the VillaCamellia had given her no opportunity of sampling shops at Fossato, so,except for her half-term holiday at Naples, this was her firstexperience of marketing in Italy. The unfamiliar money and measures wereof course confusing, but the quaint little cakes, the lollipops wrappedin fringed tissue paper of gay colors, the sugar hearts, the plaitedbaskets, the inlaid boxes, the mosaic brooches, the beads, and thehundred and one cheap trifles spread forth on stalls or in windowsfascinated her, and drew many lire from her purse. She only knew a fewwords of colloquial Italian, but she used these to the best advantage,and made up the rest with nods and smiles, a language
well understood bythe kindly people of Capri, to whom a gesture is as eloquent as a wholesentence. Vincent, whose talents ran more towards prowess at footballthan a gift for languages, would often escort his sister, and conductedhis bargaining by pointing to what he wanted and counting the price inlire on his five fingers, an operation that caused fits of amusement tothe shopkeepers, with whom the fair young Englishman became quite afavorite. As long as Vincent could see what he wished for on sale andindicate it with a finger he got along all right, but matters grewcomplicated if he tried to explain himself. One day his mother, havingrun short of methylated spirit, for her teakettle, sent him with abottle to buy some more. He looked the words up in a dictionary, entereda chemist's, and demanded "alcohol for burning" in his best Italian. Theassistant seemed mystified, but suddenly a light flooded his intelligentface, he flew to a series of neat little drawers behind the counter,rummaged about, and in much triumph produced an "Alcock's porousplaster," which he vehemently assured Vincent would be sure to burn, andwas a real English medicine, imported with great trouble and expense,and certain to cure the ailment from which he was suffering. How Vincentwould have got out of the tangle, or convinced the chemist's assistantthat he was not in need of medical aid, is uncertain, but at that momentIrene, who was walking with Lorna in the square, spied him through thewindow, and brought her chum to the rescue. Lorna's Italian wasexcellent; she soon unravelled the matter, returned the porous plasterto the disappointed assistant, and explained to Vincent that the localname for methylated spirit was "spirito," and that it was generallyprocured from an oil colorman's.

  "How was I to know?" grumbled Vincent dramatically. "A fellow goes bythe dictionary."

  "It's always called 'alcohol' in Rome, and in some other places,"pacified Lorna, who was still laughing at the mistake, "and I've boughtit at a chemist's myself in Naples. Come along round the corner andwe'll find the right shop. I had my own bottle filled there yesterday,so I know where to go."

  On the Friday, Mrs. Cameron, who by universal consent had constitutedherself organizer of the various joint expeditions, sent out invitationsfor a grand gathering of the Clan to go and view the ruins of the villaof Tiberius. This was one of the principal sights of the island, and, asthe Preston party were not staying over the following week, it wouldhave seemed a pity for them to miss it.

  "It's a case of taking nose-bags and going for the day," said Stewart,delivering his messages at the various villas. "Meeting-place, thepiazza in the town. Those who like to come up by the funicular can doso. We'll wait for them. I think the Mater will take the train and saveherself some of the climb. She doesn't like these endless steps, andit's certainly a pull from our place to the town. It's worth whilewalking down to the Marina to get the railway."

  Mrs. Beverley, Mrs. Roper, and Joyce Preston joined Mrs. Cameron intaking advantage of the little "Ferrovia Funicolare" that connected theharbor with the town, and arrived on the piazza cool and fresh comparedwith those who had preferred to toil up the steep path.

  "I told you to come with me, Renie child," chided Mrs. Beverley. "Lookhow hot you are already. You'll be quite overdone before we get to thesummit."

  "Oh, Mums darling, I'm not tired! I've saved the fare and bought thisswanky little cane instead. Look! Isn't it dinky?" protested Irene,proudly exhibiting her newly purchased treasure. "It has a leather strapand a tassel and a knob that one can suck."

  "You baby," laughed her mother. "We shall have to buy you a tin trumpet.I don't believe you're out of the nursery yet."

  "Tin trumpet, Mums darling? Oh! You've given me such an idea," purredIrene, running to Michael Foard and whispering some communication intohis sympathetic ear, which caused him to walk back to a certain streetstall and purchase nine tin whistles, with which the younger members ofthe party armed themselves and immediately began a desperate attempt toreproduce "The Bluebells of Scotland," hugely to the entertainment ofthe natives, who flocked to their doors all smiles and amusedexclamations.

  "Bairns! I think shame of you," declared Mrs. Cameron. "They'll take usfor a wandering circus. Put those unmusical instruments in your pocketstill we're clear of the town. I never heard a poor Scottish air somangled. You may practice your band on the hills and scare the goats.Don't play it in my ears again till you catch the proper tune."

  The musicians, after their first burst of enthusiasm was expended, wereglad to save their breath for the climb. When houses were left behindtheir way wound between high walls, up, up, up, along a paved pathwayamong orange groves, till at last the allotments disappeared, and theywere on the open hillside, among the low shrubs and the rough grass andthe beautiful flowers. Irene, running up a bank in quest ofbee-orchises, broke her new cane into four pieces, but was somewhatconsoled by a stick which Michael cut her from a chestnut tree.

  "It hasn't a knob to suck," he laughed, "but I'll tie a stick ofpeppermint on to the end of it if you like."

  "Don't tease me, or I'll throw a squashy orange at you."

  "I thought you were fond of peppermint."

  "So I am, and if there's another of those creamy Neapolitans left inyour pocket I'll accept it and forgive you."

  "Right you are, O Queen! There are two here. Does your Majesty prefer apurple paper or a green?"

  The ruins, which formed the goal of their expedition, were the remainsof a once splendid villa erected by the Emperor Tiberius, and usedconstantly by him until his death in A.D. 37. Most of the party weredisappointed to find them, as Peachy expressed it, "so very ruiny." Itwas difficult to picture what the original palace must have been like,for nothing was left of all the grandeur but crumbling walls, over whichNature had scattered ferns and flowers. At the very top some of the oldmasonry had been used to build a tiny church; this was closed, but,peeping through the grille in the door, the visitors could catchglimpses of blue-painted roof and of little model ships, placed asvotive offerings by the sailors in gratitude for preservation fromdanger at sea. Outside this chapel was a great stone monument built sonear the edge of the cliff that, when sitting on its steps, one couldlook down a sheer drop of several hundred feet into the blue watersbelow. The view from here was magnificent, and as the Clan, in turns,scanned the neighboring coast of Italy with field glasses, they believedthey could even distinguish the Greek temples at Paestum. The girlsdescribed the glorious excursion they had taken there from school.

  "You were lucky to be able to go all the way by char-a-banc," commentedMrs. Cameron. "Dad and I went there on our honeymoon, years and yearsago, and traveled all the way from Naples by a terrible little joltingtrain that carried cattle-trucks and luggage-trucks as well as passengercarriages. I shan't ever forget that journey. We had to leave thestation at 6.30 and when we came downstairs we found it was a pouringwet day. It was only the fact that the sleepy looking waiter at ourhotel must have roused himself at 5 A.M. to prepare our coffee, and thatwe did not like to ask him to do it again another morning, that forcedus to set off in the rain. I never felt so disinclined for an excursionin my life. Dad said afterwards if I'd given him the least hint he'dhave joyfully relinquished it, but each thought the other wanted to go,so off we set. All the way to Cava it simply streamed, and we sat in ourcorners of the carriage secretly calling ourselves idiots, and wonderinghow we were going to look over temples in a deluge. But our heroism wasrewarded, for just as the train crossed the brigand's marsh the rainstopped and the sun shone out, and the effect of blue sky and clouds wassimply glorious. We had a great joke at Paestum. A mosquito had stung mebadly on one lid so that I looked as if I had a black eye. It was mostuncomfortable and painful, I remember. Well, a party of French touristswere going round the temples, and as they passed us they glanced at myeye and then at Daddy--a husband of three weeks' standing--and theymurmured something to one another. I couldn't catch their words, butquite plainly they were saying: 'Oh, these dreadful English! He'sevidently given her a black eye, poor thing! That's how they treat theirwives!'

  "The French people went on to the second temple, and Dad a
nd I sat downto eat our lunch. We were fearfully annoyed by dogs that sat in front ofus and watched every mouthful, and barked incessantly. (Did they troubleyou too! How funny! They must surely be the descendants of our dogswho've inherited a bad habit.) Dad got so utterly exasperated that hesaid he must and would get rid of them, so he seized my umbrella, shookit furiously at them and yelled out '_Va via_' in the most awful andblood-curdling voice he could command. Just at that moment the Frenchtourists came back round the corner. They turned to one another withnods of comprehension, as if they were saying, 'There! Didn't I tell youso! See what a brute he really is,' and they cast the most sympatheticglances at me as they filed by. Isn't that true, Daddy?"

  Mr. Cameron lazily removed his cigarette.

  "It's a stock story, my dear, that you've told against me for the lasttwenty years. I won't say that it's not exaggerated. Go on telling it ifyou like. My back's broad enough to bear it. Shall I return good forevil? Well, as I walked through the town to-day, waiting till you cameup by the funicular, I saw one of the Tarantella dancers, and I engagedthe whole troupe to come to the house to-night and give us aperformance. You said you wanted to see them. Will our friends herehonor us with their company and help to act audience?"

  It seemed an appropriate ending to such a delightful day, and all theparty readily accepted the invitation. After twilight fell theyassembled at the Camerons' villa and took their places in the salon,which had been temporarily cleared of some of its furniture. TheTarantella dancers, who were accustomed to give their small exhibitionto visitors, brought their own orchestra with them, a thin youth whoplayed the violin, a stout individual who plucked the mandolin, and anenthusiast who twanged the guitar. The performers were charminglydressed in the old native costumes of the country, the men in soft whiteshirts, green sleeveless velvet coats, red plush knickers, silkstockings and shoes with scarlet bows, while the girls wore gay skirts,striped sashes, lace fichus, and aprons, and gold beads round theirshapely throats. They danced several sprightly measures, wavingtambourines and rattling castanets, or twining silk scarves together,while the musicians fiddled and strummed their hardest; then six of themstood aside and the two principal artists advanced to do a "star turn.""Romeo" sang an impassioned love song, with his hand on his heart, while"Juliette" plucked at her apron and appeared doubtful of the truth ofhis protestations. Then the "funny man" had his innings. He sat in achair with a shoe in his hand and tried to smack the head of a humoristwho knelt in front but always managed neatly to avoid his blows, thewhole being punctuated by vigorous exclamations in Italian, and muchenergetic music from the orchestra.

  A pretty girl sauntered next on to the scene, and sang--in a ratherpeacock voice--a little ditty lamenting the weather, at which avelvet-coated cavalier came to the rescue, and chanting his offer ofhelp sheltered her with a huge green umbrella, under which theyproceeded to make love, and finally executed a dance beneath itsfriendly shade. The whole of the little performance was very gracefuland attractive, savoring so thoroughly of Southern Italy and showing thecourteous manners and winning smiles to the utmost advantage. Thedancers themselves seemed to have enjoyed it, and stood with beamingfaces as they bowed their adieux and thanked the audience for their kindattention.

  "Aren't they just too perfect," commented Peachy.

  "_I_ want to wear a velvet bodice and a green skirt with a yellowborder. I want to dance the tarantella with a tambourine in my hand."

  "Won't a two-step content you?" said Angus. "Mater says since theroom is cleared we may just as well finish with a little hop ourselves.May I have the pleasure? Thanks so much. Mrs. Beverley's going to playfor us. It's a beast of a piano but it's good enough to dance to. Wemustn't notice if the bass is out of tune."