Part 4

She felt so light-hearted about it that she even condescended to make an affable remark now and again, during the walk home, to the long-suffering Barnes, whom Mrs. Beauchamp insisted should accompany Miss Monica both to and from school, and who had had a sorry time so far. For Monica was so indignant at the idea of requiring a nurse-maid (as one or two of the girls had not hesitated to call the person whom they saw with Monica) that she had vented her spite on Barnes by marching sullenly along without saying a single word.

Barnes, who was accustomed to all sorts of treatment from "that Miss Monica," as she was wont to call her, confided to the other maids over their dinner that school was working wonders in their young lady already, and she wished she'd gone a good bit before.

"Not as I enjoys the constitootional twice a day," she added, "for I can't abear it, and it takes a sight of time. But still, if the missis will have it so----"

"I'm sure I'd just as lief go out a-walking, as tidy up all the rubbidge in her bedroom," sniffed Mary Ann, the under-housemaid, who privately thought herself far more suited to go than Barnes.

"You never need be expecting to, then," replied the maid, with conviction. "You're far too giddy."

"Dear, dear," was the mocking answer, "old maids isn't always the ones preferred!"

"There, that'll do, Mary Ann!" interposed cook good-temperedly; "don't be rude to Miss Barnes." And she adroitly changed the subject.

Meanwhile, Monica was having a _tete-a-tete_ meal with her grandmother in the dining-room upstairs. The old lady had been out the previous afternoon and evening, and so had not had an opportunity of questioning Monica about her first experiences of school life. She proceeded to do so when the parlourmaid left them alone together.

Monica, still happy in the thought of her new-made friend, looked bright and lovable as she sat opposite her grandmother at the lavishly appointed luncheon table; even Mrs. Beauchamp, austere and undemonstrative as she was, felt for the moment a thrill of satisfaction in possessing so handsome a grandchild. But neither her words nor tones gave any indication of such a state of feeling.

"Now give me some account of your school-work, Monica," she said stiffly, as she toyed with a minute helping of orange jelly.

"Oh! I think I shall like it no end," was the girl's off-hand reply, as well as she could between huge mouthfuls of rhubarb tart, which she was discussing with her healthy school-girl's appetite. "It was a bit strange at first, but I chummed up to one of the girls to-day, so I feel quite at home."

"Really, Monica," expostulated her grandmother, "you must not use such expressions; you quite shock me. I do hope they will not allow you to speak improperly at this school." And she sighed voluminously.

"That isn't slang, really, grandmother; everybody says chum nowadays," was Monica's conciliatory reply. "At least, all young people do."

"I do hope you won't grow unladylike, I'm sure. It is doubtful if it was a wise step to send you to such a large school, I am afraid."

"Don't fidget, grandmother," said her grandchild soothingly. "I daresay I shall turn out all right in the end." And she added, mentally: "At any rate, dad, I won't disappoint _you_ if I can help it."

"Well, what about this girl you've made friends with?" continued the old lady helplessly; "who is she?"

"One of Dr. Franklyn's daughters," began Monica, but Mrs. Beauchamp interrupted her.

"Oh! I'm glad you had the sense to choose a professional man's child. Although I don't know much of Dr. Franklyn, I think he is a very respectable medical man. But was there no girl in your own station, Monica, who would have been more suited as a companion for you?"

"I'm sure I didn't give a thought to what her father was," said Monica frankly. "I shouldn't have cared much if he had been a chimney sweep. I've taken a great fancy to Olive Franklyn, and she seemed friendly, so we have agreed to be chums."

"Well, I hope you have not been rash. I must make enquiries about these Franklyns before I can allow you to become further acquainted."

Monica muttered something under her breath, which sounded suspiciously like "What rubbish!" but the look on her grandmother's stern face warned her to be careful, if she would keep her friend.

"I thought Mr. Bertram said the Osmington clergy had daughters at the High School," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp after a pause; "would not one of them have done?"

"I think there's only Amethyst Drury in our form," was the scornful reply, "and I'm sure she's a little prig. She's great friends with Olive's twin sister Elsa, who is just such another as herself, I should think."

Her grandmother inferred from that remark that Monica had evidently chosen a kindred spirit, and she dreaded what might be in store, in the way of added unruliness. But she refrained from saying what was in her mind, and went on to enquire about lessons, and so forth.

Monica gave a very good description of all she had done, with the exception of the caricature episode, and having somewhat ingratiated herself with her grandmother, by repeating a few words of praise that had been bestowed upon her German exercise, she thought it a good opportunity to ask a favour.

"Oh! grandmamma," she said coaxingly, "don't you think I might go without Barnes? It seems so silly for a great girl like me to be obliged to have a maid to walk with me. The girls say nasty things about it, too," she added ruefully.

"I have been considering the matter, Monica," said Mrs. Beauchamp, as she rose from the table, "but I have not decided yet what I shall do."

"Can't I go by myself, grandmother? I'm sure you might trust me."

"I am not so sure, Monica," was the cold rejoinder. "I do not approve of young ladies tearing here, there, and everywhere by themselves, though it may be all very well for girls of the middle classes. I shall probably get a small governess cart, and Richards will drive you in and out."

A drive with the sedate old coachman who had been years in Mrs. Beauchamp's service, and who occasionally "spoke his mind to Miss Monica," was scarcely any improvement on walking with Barnes. But, at any rate, there would be no reason for the girls to ridicule her then. So she made no demur.

"Now, Monica, go to the schoolroom and do some of your lessons, and be ready at half-past-three to accompany me to The Knoll. Put on your cream serge frock, and make yourself as neat-looking as you possibly can, for Mrs. St. Quintin is very particular."

Monica was not over-pleased at the prospect of a longish drive, and drawing-room tea to follow, but even that was preferable to remaining at home alone. So she prepared to do as she was told, and behaved in so exemplary a manner during the rest of the day that Mrs. Beauchamp began to have great hopes from the new educational arrangements.

By the end of the week the governess cart was procured, and Monica was freed from Barnes's espionage. The girls were quick to see the fresh arrangement, and Lily Howell, who had been the one to talk about the nursemaid, was furiously jealous of the smart little turn-out. Her father, a retired soap-manufacturer, was extremely wealthy, and his only and much spoiled child was most extravagantly dressed; indeed, she had everything for which she expressed a wish. But for some unaccountable reason he would not go in for "hoss-flesh," as he called it, preferring to hire a landau from the livery stables when Mrs. Howell wished to drive; so that Lily's pet ambition, which was to drive herself, was not realised. A bicycle she might, and did, have, but she had tired of that, because it was such a "fag"; so that she was dreadfully annoyed when the new girl, with the uppish ways, passed her on her way to the High School, seated in just such a trap as her soul coveted. She made up her mind to vent her spite somehow upon Monica, who took absolutely no notice of her at all, while she was as "thick as thieves" with that Franklyn girl, whose father was as poor as a church mouse.

Now Lily was a sly, deceitful sort of girl, and was by no means a favourite with the others; but she was in the habit of spending money freely, simply because she wanted to show off; so that some of the more greedy girls made a sort of queen of her, and flattered her tremendously on account of the chocolate, and other good things, which she showered upon them. She was so lazy and indolent that she would have been continually getting into trouble with the governesses, had it not been for her little coterie, who managed, by one trick and another, to shield her from exposure; and somehow she managed to pass muster.

On the morning in question she nursed her jealousy of Monica until recreation time came round, and then she found a splendid opportunity, as she thought, of "paying her out."

The usual visit to the housekeeper's room, where the girls could buy various biscuits, and get milk, if they liked, for lunch, having been paid, some of the Fourth Form girls hurried off to secure one of the two asphalted tennis courts, Monica and Olive being among the number. But when they arrived on the scene, it was only to find that the Fifth Form had appropriated them both, and were practising with a view to a tournament which was to take place between the girls of the Osmington and another High School later on.

"Oh, I say! it's too bad of you girls to take both courts," cried Olive breathlessly.

"First come, first served, my dear," replied one of the elder girls condescendingly, as she returned a serve gaily, but so carelessly, that the ball was netted, and her partner groaned, as the umpire scored "forty--love."

"Well, let's have a game of fives, Monica," suggested Olive, as they left the tennis players. But, alas! the fives courts were all filled by then, so there was no amusement left but to saunter about the large playground arm-in-arm, as several of the others were doing, some, like themselves, in couples, and some in school-girl fashion, in strings of four, or even five.

"What do you do on Saturdays, Olive?" said Monica, as they left the tennis players behind them, and strolled round the quieter part of the playground, that nearest to Miss Buckingham's house.

"Oh! all sorts of things. In the summer we have picnics in Disbrowe woods, and sometimes on the river, when my brothers are home."

"You never told me you had any brothers but Pat," said Monica, in surprise. "Are they older than you?"

"Haven't I? Why, yes--Roger, that's the one at St. Adrian's Hospital, is twenty-two, and Dick is seventeen. He's with an uncle of ours who is an auctioneer. They'll both be home in August, and we can have some lovely picnics then, if Mrs. Beauchamp will let you come."

"I expect I shall have to go to the seaside with her again, like we did last year," was Monica's gloomy reply. "She always goes to Sandyshore for a whole month, because it's quiet and restful, she says. It's a hateful little place, _I_ think--no niggers, or band, or anything to amuse you all day long. I do wish we needn't go there this year."

"Oh, dear," sighed Olive lugubriously, "I wish I had half a chance of a month by the dear, darling sea! We are so dreadfully poor that father can never afford a holiday at the seaside for us. At least, we haven't been for years, though we did have a fortnight once, when Elsa and I were about eight or nine, but it is so long ago I can hardly remember it."

"Wouldn't it be awfully jolly if grandmother would let you come with us?" said Monica eagerly.

"If pigs might fly!" was her friend's merry response, as the bell clanging out warned them that "rec." was over.

"Olive Franklyn, I want you a minute."

The girl turned round at the sound of her name, and saw Lily Howell beckoning to her mysteriously from a little distance.

"Whatever does she want? I suppose I must go and see," said Olive, as she slipped her arm out of her companion's. "I'll catch you up in half a minute, Monica."

"All right; I'm glad she doesn't want me. I can't bear that girl."

"Nor I."

Monica went leisurely round the corner towards the entrance the girls generally used; several of them, hurrying past, advised her not to be late.

"I'm just coming," she said, and turned back to look for Olive. There was no one in sight now, except a girl called Maggie Masters, who came flying round the corner in great haste.

"Olive Franklyn told me, if I saw you, to ask you to go back to the tennis courts a minute. It is something particular."

If Monica had been a little more up to school-girls' tricks she would have scented something wrong in the way the girl delivered her message, and then rushed into school. As it was, she hastened back to the tennis courts, only to find the place absolutely deserted, and no trace of Olive anywhere! Feeling sure there was some mischief afloat, Monica retraced her steps hurriedly, determined to find out the originator of the trick. But alas! when she reached the school door it was bolted from within, and rattle at the handle as she would, no one appeared to open it. Growing more angry every minute, she rushed round the playground to the other entrance, only to find that fastened likewise!

Scarcely knowing what to do, Monica was just about to pull the door-bell, when she remembered that the Fourth Form windows were accessible to the playground. She hurried across the small plot of grass, nicknamed "The Square," and by dint of standing on tiptoe could just see into the classroom.

All the girls had taken their places, with the exception of Olive, who was vainly endeavouring to make Fraeulein Wespe understand that Monica Beauchamp must have got shut out. But Fraeulein, who was a very fresh importation from Germany, either could not, or would not understand, so she merely motioned to Olive to take her place, while she ejaculated "Ach, so!" and smiled benignantly.

A hurried glance round the room revealed to Monica that she had been the victim of a practical joke, for Lily Howell and Maggie Masters, who were seated at a desk just under the open window, were engaged in a whispered conversation about her non-appearance while Fraeulein's attention was being taken up with Olive.

"We've put a spoke in her ladyship's wheel, now," whispered Lily, an ugly sneer upon her thin lips.

"Nasty, uppish thing to look down on you, dear!" purred Maggie, who had vivid remembrances of the delicious milk-chocolate she had just been enjoying at Lily's expense.

"I'll be even with them yet," remarked Monica mentally, as she moved to the next window, from which the two conspirators would be unable to see her. Here she rapped loudly on the pane, to attract Fraeulein's attention. That lady was, of course, astonished beyond anything to see one of the pupils still out in the playground, and she began to question volubly in German as to the cause of such behaviour, leaving her desk, as she did so, and walking over to the window.

Now it so happened that Monica was not a bad German scholar, for her age, one of her long-suffering governesses having insisted upon German conversations, and Monica had picked up a very fair smattering of the language during her six months' reign. Therefore she made it sufficiently intelligible to Fraeulein that she had been the victim of a practical joke for that worthy to express pity for the girl who would evidently be one of her best pupils, and, in broken English, she bade some one go and unfasten the passage door.

Olive, of course, was the first to run and do her bidding, and in the second or two they were together Monica learnt that Olive had been decoyed into entering the school by the other door, under some pretext or other, Lily Howell having assured her that she had seen Monica go in the usual way a minute before. Neither of the girls could think of any reason for the trick, except that Olive thought it was "just like Lily Howell."

"She'll hear more about it one of these days," said Monica sententiously, as she entered the classroom, with her haughtiest air, and took her place, without deigning even to glance at the conspirators, who were burning with curiosity to know just how much Fraeulein had been told, and whether any exposure would follow. But as no further notice was taken of the affair, probably on account of Fraeulein Wespe's ignorance of rules, Lily Howell began to feel that her little manoeuvre to get the new girl into disgrace had fallen rather flat!

*CHAPTER VI.*

*"HE WEREN'T CALLED 'SEIZE-'ER' FOR NOTHIN'!"*

The following day was Saturday, and therefore a whole holiday. Monica, who had grown quite accustomed to the new life among companions of her own age, felt quite dismal when she rose in the morning, and remembered there were two long, long days to be got through before she could expect to see any of them again. She fully intended asking her grandmother if Olive might come to Carson Rise (as Mrs. Beauchamp's residence was called) to tea, at least, if not to spend the greater part of the day. But Olive had told her of the previous arrangement that she and Elsa should go to the vicarage (an invitation, by the way, which she now wished she had not been so eager to accept!), so that Monica was compelled to give up her plans for that week.

Whether it was that she missed the wholesome control of school _regime_, or whether, to use a common phrase, "she got out of bed the wrong side" that Saturday morning, it would be difficult to say; but at any rate, things went very much wrong.

To begin with, Mrs. Beauchamp was confined to her bed with a feverish cold, and Barnes came down at breakfast time to say "would Miss Monica please have her breakfast, and then amuse herself as quietly as possible, so that grandmother could get a little sleep, as she had had a very restless night."

Now Monica was not really an unfeeling girl, but being abnormally healthy and vigorous herself, she had scant sympathy with ailing people, and was of opinion that her grandmother coddled herself frightfully. Added to this, she knew that Mrs. Beauchamp had intended driving into Osmington that day, to call on some friends who would be likely to be able to tell her more about the Franklyns, and whether Monica might safely be allowed to mix with them. Now, with this cold, the drive would be impossible, and perhaps several days would elapse before she would get full permission to make a friend of Olive. It certainly _was_ vexing; it almost seemed to the disappointed girl as if her grandmother had caught cold on purpose; and Olive had hinted only the day before that perhaps Mrs. Beauchamp would let Monica come to tea, one day, with them, and the lonely girl was longing to have her first glimpse of real home life, and make the acquaintance of the "Pickle," and see the girls' "den."

And, in her chagrin, Monica, with a hasty movement, pushed the hot water jug roughly out of her way, as she reached after the butter dish, with the result that the silver cream jug, which she had carelessly placed near the edge of the table, tipped over, and spilling its contents on the handsome felt carpet, fell with sufficient force to bend the handle, and to make a very nasty dent in its pretty fluted side.

"Oh, horrors!" ejaculated Monica, "there _will_ be a row!" and she endeavoured to mop up the cream with her serviette, and tried what she could do with the jug.

"I suppose I must ring for Harriet," she muttered, in despair, as the carpet seemed to get worse under her treatment and the jug certainly no better!

Her hasty ring brought the parlourmaid quickly on the scene, and that worthy held up her hands in horror at the dreadful state of the carpet.

"Oh! Miss Monica," she gasped, "whatever will your grandma say? The carpet will be ruined, you may depend. There'll be a nasty looking stain, however much we get it out. That's the worst of these felts," and she hastened away, to return in a moment with cloths and hot water and various remedies for the mishap.

Harriet went down on her knees and applied them vigorously, but an ugly dark patch remained, and, as she seemed to take great pleasure in reminding poor Monica, "it always would." She turned her attention to the cream jug next, but, of course, could do nothing to remove the dent, or straighten the twisted handle.

"Oh, my!" she said; "your grandma will be vexed, Miss Monica, so partikler as she always is about the silver things, on account of their anticwitty, as she calls it. Well, well!"

Poor Monica! How she ached to box the ears of this Job's comforter; and it is to be feared the only motive that she had in refraining from doing so, was that she considered it _infra dig._ of a lady to strike a menial! She had not learnt the lesson "that he that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city." So, merely shrugging her shoulders, she said not one syllable to the retreating parlourmaid, as she departed with her cloths, and the final remark "that it _was_ unfortunate, the missis laid up, and all."

Monica finished her interrupted meal in gloomy silence, meditating upon the scene that would be enacted later on, when her grandmother was made aware of the mishap.

Having made a bad start, unfortunately Monica thought it didn't much matter now if she got into more trouble. So after lounging about in the schoolroom for half an hour, and finding nothing to amuse herself with, she decided upon a visit to the stables.

She knew very well that in going there she was acting in defiance of her grandmother's expressed wish; but the spirit of insubordination had seized hold of Monica, and she felt absolutely reckless. Old Richards was nowhere to be seen, so she proceeded to enjoy herself thoroughly, by visiting "Belle" and "Beauty," the handsome pair of greys in their loose boxes, and then passed on to inspect the new pony "Caesar," who was fastened in his stall.

She had just leaned over the door, the upper half of which was open, when she espied Tom, the stable-boy, in the harness-room beyond, busy over polishing the harness, and humming a tune.

"Mornin', miss," he grinned, as he touched his ragged cap with delight, and went on with his work with extra briskness. He was a bright little chap of fourteen, only recently introduced into the Carson Rise stables, and he appreciated to the full the magnificent opportunity of "getting on" that the situation afforded.

For Tom White meant to "get on" to the very best of his ability; and even Richards, who was rather grudging of praise, could find no fault in the little lad, who was as willing as willing could be, and took the greatest possible pains over all his jobs.

"Is the new pony all right, Tom?" queried Monica, as she stood looking admiringly at Caesar, as he pawed the ground impatiently, and tossed his silky brown mane. "Will he let me pat him?"

"Better not, miss," suggested Tom, with an elderly air, which sat comically upon his young shoulders. "Mr. Richards, he said this mornin' that he thought he were a bit of a tartar, miss." And Tom put down a piece of harness with evident pride in the high state of polish which his efforts had produced. He was just going to attack another vigorously, when Monica bade him come and unfasten the pony, so that she could see his head better.

"Please, miss, I'd rather not." And Tom came slowly out of the harness-room, but made no effort to do as Monica said.

"Why not, pray? You surely aren't afraid he'll bite you?" said Monica sharply. She had an intense scorn for those who were afraid. "You'll never be any good for a coachman if you're afraid of a _pony_." And her proud young face expressed disgust.