CHAPTER III

I GO TO SCHOOL

"The noises intermixed, which thence resound, Do learning's little tenement betray."

I had now been nearly two years in England, and the keen edge of the remembrance of my southern home was beginning to fade slightly from my mind, though never my love for my father. Spanish I had utterly forgotten, scarcely a word remaining in my memory, and I think the foreign ways which Aunt Agatha had objected to had vanished along with it. It was decided that the time had come to send me to school, and the particular establishment to be chosen was a subject for much discussion between Aunt Agatha and her friends.

Lucy and I were sometimes allowed to have afternoon tea in the drawing-room, "to improve our manners", and on these occasions I found that my education was the main topic of conversation.

"Send her to Fairfield College, my dear," said Mrs. Montgomery, whose own daughters were the champion hockey-players of the neighbourhood. "It is splendid for games. Compulsory cricket, Swedish gymnastics every day, and a thoroughly healthy and active out-of-door existence. Just the life for a rather delicate child."

"Now _I_ think they overdo athletics at most schools," said Mrs. Buchanan Smith, the gay widow of an officer. "Give me the French system of education. My Stella is at a convent in Paris. I consider the Sisters teach the most _adorable_ manners, and the girls return home with a finish that is very different from the hoydenish ways they learn at _some_ of our colleges."

"If you ask me, I have no opinion at all of foreign schools," said Mrs. Northby, the doctor's wife. "My husband says the sanitary arrangements are generally most defective, and that English children, accustomed to plenty of fresh air and ventilation, would be very liable to contract typhoid. I think, too, that the French 'jeune fille' is brought up in an atmosphere of falsehood and deceit, and without any idea of rational enjoyment, and I prefer to send my little girl to a day-school, where she can get a sound education, while I can keep her under my own eye. I do not like the plan of sending children away to boarding-schools just at the time when their health needs most attention, and they are forming their strongest opinions."

"I'm afraid I don't agree with you," said Mrs. Montgomery. "I consider a boarding-school is the world in miniature, and it helps a girl to find her own level. She will learn many other things besides her lessons, and will no doubt make some pleasant friendships; but the school must be a good one, for inferior companions are worse than none."

"It is no question of terms," said Aunt Agatha. "My brother-in-law is anxious for her to have every advantage. It's simply a matter of choosing the best, and I feel the responsibility of my position."

"If you will take my advice, you will send her to The Hollies," said Mrs. (Archdeacon) Carrington, who had listened silently so far to the conversation. "Mrs. Marshall only receives forty pupils, but I consider she turns out the best-informed and best-mannered girls of my acquaintance. She has so many applications, that it is sometimes difficult to secure a vacancy, but I think on _my_ recommendation it might be arranged."

The Archdeacon's lady was the leader of society among Aunt Agatha's friends, and her opinion carried weight.

"We all know how particular she is," said Mrs. Buchanan Smith afterwards. "And any school which _she_ recommends must be _most_ select, both as regards education, and the girls who are there. Indeed, if Stella had not already returned to Paris, I think I should have seriously considered the possibility of sending her to The Hollies."

My aunt was inclined to take the same view, and when on further inquiries it was found that Mrs. Marshall was equally highly thought of in other quarters, and that Mrs. Winstanley's only daughter Catherine was already a pupil at the school, the question was considered settled. I was to be sent after the Easter holidays, and Uncle Herbert determined that Lucy should accompany me. We were full of the importance of our departure.

"We're to learn German and dancing," said Lucy. "And music from an Italian master. Our school clothes won't be made by Miss Jenkins; Mother is going to take us to her own dressmaker. We're each to have a new trunk, and umbrellas with silver tops."

Aunt Agatha escorted us herself to The Hollies, for she had not yet seen either the school or the neighbourhood, though she had had an interview with Mrs. Marshall in London. It seemed a long journey into Derbyshire, and our pent-up excitement had plenty of time to cool while the train ran through the rather uninteresting scenery of Northampton and Leicester, but it burst out again with renewed vigour when we at length drew up at the little station of Helston Spa.

With what curiosity we viewed every other girl upon the platform, wondering whether she were bound for the same destination as ourselves, and how soon we should get to know her. We looked rather longingly at an omnibus laden with a jolly, laughing crew, who seemed to be in charge of a teacher; but my aunt bustled us into a cab, and we drove away along a white limestone road, bordered with tall crags on the one side and a brawling stream on the other.

The Hollies proved to be an old-fashioned red-brick house with a trim garden, and playing-fields beyond.

"It's a nice open situation, and the air feels bracing," said Aunt Agatha, sniffing the breeze as if to test its quality. "I notice that it faces south, and there's a pretty view over the woods and hills. It ought to be healthy, I'm sure, so far away from London smoke and fog."

Lucy and I looked with delight at the gray hills in the distance, and the line of fresh green trees which fringed the river; after the long, dull streets of our suburban home, it was pleasant to feel that our school was in the country.

Mrs. Marshall received new arrivals in the drawing-room, and when we had bidden a rather hasty good-bye to Aunt Agatha, who was returning to town by the next train, and had unpacked our boxes in the pretty little bedroom which we were to share together, we were ushered down to the play-room by a teacher, to make the acquaintance of our school-fellows. There was a pause in the loud hum of conversation as the door opened, and I caught the words "new girls". Miss Buller, the governess, seemed busy, and not able to waste any time upon us, so she merely announced: "Lucy and Philippa Seaton. I hope you will make them welcome, girls;" and hurried away, leaving us standing shyly by the door, not quite knowing what to do next.

The little group collected round the fire moved slightly so as to make room for us, and a pretty fair-faced girl, with a mop of frizzy pale-gold hair, came forward.

"Come along," she said brightly, "and I'll tell you who we all are. I'm Doris Forbes, and this is my sister Janet, and these are Ellinor Graham, Millicent Holmes, Blanche Greenwood, and Olave and Beatrice Milner," pointing to each as she spoke. "Most of the others are still upstairs unpacking their boxes, and a few of us haven't arrived yet. Now as you're new girls, we want to know all about you. To begin with, which is Lucy, and which is Philippa? Are you sisters, and have you ever been to school before?"

"I'm Philippa," I replied, "and this is my cousin Lucy. We've never been to school before; we had a governess at home."

"All the better for you," put in the tall girl in the blue dress whom the others called Millicent Holmes. "Mrs. Marshall never likes girls who come from other schools. She says she has to teach them everything all over again."

"That's just to make you think her ways are better than anyone else's," said Ellinor Graham. "I've had five music masters, and every one has put me back to the beginning, and told me the others didn't know how to teach."

"Then you'll get put back again this term," laughed Blanche Greenwood. "For Herr Goldschmidt has gone home to Germany, and we're to have an Italian, named Signor Salviati, instead."

"No!" cried the girls with thrilling interest. "Have you seen him? What's he like?"

"Oh, don't excite yourselves! He's not a romantic-looking Italian, with long curls and a twisted moustache; he's a nasty little fat oily kind of a man, with a pointed beard, who looks as if he could be horribly cross if you played wrong notes."

"How disgusting!" cried the others. "Are there any other changes?"

"Miss Buller is to have the fourth class," said Blanche, who seemed to be the general fund of information. "Janet, Beatrice, and Olave are on the early-morning practising list for this month" (groans from Janet, Beatrice, and Olave at the bad news), "the Simpsons have the bedroom at the end of the passage, with the balcony, and Miss Percy is to take the sewing this term."

"What a nuisance!" lamented Janet. "She's _so_ particular! I can never make my stitches small enough to satisfy her. I hate poking over sewing. I wish we went to Ecclestone, where our cousins go, it's exactly like a boys' public school; they have a matron to do all the mending, and the girls play football."

"I know they do," said Millicent, "and Mother says it is _most_ unladylike. We know several girls who go there, and they behave so badly, sitting on the edges of the drawing-room tables, and gulping their tea, and bolting their cake, and talking the most atrocious slang."

"My sister goes to St. Chad's," said Ellinor Graham, "and they weigh the girls every time they go back. They won't let them do any work if they're not 'up to standard', and Patty's so thin that she's always 'turned out to grass', as they call it, for at least a fortnight at the beginning of each term. I think she has a lovely time."

"Yes, but you have to wear the school costume at St. Chad's, even in church," put in Doris. "And it's ever so ugly--a blue serge dress with no shape in it, a plaid golf-cape, and a cricket-cap. I shouldn't like that at all!" and she smoothed down her pretty dress with evident satisfaction.

"You haven't yet told us what class you're to be put in," said Blanche Greenwood, turning to Lucy and myself, who had been listening with much interest to the conversation.

"In the fourth, I believe," said Lucy. "Mrs. Marshall said she expected we could both manage the work."

"The fourth! That's to be Miss Buller's. Janet and Olave and I are in the same class, and Catherine Winstanley is to be monitress for the month. By the by, where is Cathy? Has no one seen her?"

"Here!" said a voice from the door, and a slender girl of about thirteen came forward to join the group. She was a pretty girl, with long, curling brown hair, and a very graceful way of holding herself. Her pleasant manner and bright winning smile attracted me to her at once. Her dark eyes seemed familiar, and I wondered where I had seen them before, till in a sudden flash of remembrance I recalled how eyes just the same had looked into mine when Mrs. Winstanley had held me close in her arms, and told me she was my mother's friend. So this was the little daughter of whom she had spoken, and as I watched her I hoped with all my heart that we, too, might become friends. She seemed to be a general favourite, for there were many affectionate greetings between her and the other girls, and numerous interchanges of home and school news, but at length she turned to where Lucy and I were standing.

"I think," she said, speaking to me, "that you must be Philippa Seaton. Mother told me you would be here, and that I was to look out for you. I suppose this is your cousin Lucy. I'm so glad that we're all to be in the same class. I hope your bedroom is near mine. Oh! there's the tea-bell, and we must go, but I shall see you again afterwards."

She walked away, with her arm linked in that of Janet Forbes, and Lucy and I followed the others to the dining-room, where tea was being dispensed in an informal manner by Miss Buller and one of the under teachers. For this first meal there were no special places, and I found myself sitting at table next to a rather stout, rosy-cheeked girl, perhaps a year older than myself, whose name appeared to be Ernestine Salt.

She moved very grudgingly to make room, but she did not speak to me, nor take any further notice. Lucy and I sat silently watching our thirty companions. It was all new and strange to us--the fresh faces, the school-girl chaff, the jokes and allusions to things of which we as yet knew nothing, and we wondered how long it would be before we could take our part in that lively conversation.

"I never can eat anything the first night," declared one of the girls, mopping her eyes rather ostentatiously with a lace-edged pocket-handkerchief. "I'm always so terribly homesick, and they cut the bread so thick!"

"Nothing spoils my appetite," proclaimed Ernestine Salt. "I'm so frightfully hungry, I shall eat your share. I didn't have half enough sandwiches on the journey, though I bought three oranges and two jam-tarts at the railway-station as well. Where is the bread-and-butter?"

As the plate was within my reach, I handed it to her. She looked me coolly up and down, as if she were taking in every detail of my appearance, but she did not thank me.

"Oh, never mind manners, just help yourself and shove it on," she said carelessly. "We do as we like the first evening. Mrs. Marshall will come down to tea to-morrow, and then it'll have to be prunes and prism."

"Not so loud, Ernestine, I can hear your voice above all the others," said Miss Buller, who seemed trying to check the talk that every now and then threatened to become too uproarious.

A fresh instalment of girls, who had arrived by a later train, and now joined the tea-table, claimed general attention, and the meal at length being over, the whole party trooped away to the play-room. It was a chilly evening, and I stood by the fire warming my hands, while I watched the various girls who were walking about arm in arm, or standing together in select little groups. They were most of them laughing and talking with much excitement, but the loudest and noisiest of them all was Ernestine Salt, who with a few choice spirits had taken possession of the table, where she sat dangling her legs and eating chocolate, the silver paper from which she made into small hard pellets, and fired at unsuspecting passers-by, provoking shrieks of laughter from her companions. So amusing did she evidently find this occupation, that, the pellets being exhausted, she fished some walnut-shells out of her pocket, and commenced a perfect onslaught on a neighbouring group of girls. They, however, did not take it so peaceably, for, suddenly seizing the table, they tilted it over, sending her ignominiously sprawling upon the floor, while, seating themselves in her vacant place, they announced their intention of holding the fort against all comers.

"I don't care!" said Ernestine, picking herself up, and moving away towards the fire. "It's horribly cold, and I was going to get warm anyhow. You can keep your old table, if you want. Here, get out of my way, you little animal!" and, pushing me rudely aside, she pulled a chair forward and seated herself in the very front of the cheerful blaze.

"I'm not an animal!" I said with some indignation, for I thought her manner most disagreeable, and I was determined to hold my own.

"Mineral, then, if you prefer it!" she returned, with a laugh.

I looked her up and down as coolly as she had surveyed me at the tea-table.

"I should think it is you who are the mineral, if your name is 'Salt'," I said quietly. "I only wonder they didn't add 'pepper' when they were christening you!"

Her companions tittered.

"You've met your match, Ernestine?" declared one.

"Sharp little thing! Who is she?" whispered another.

"You won't put 'salt' on that bird's tail!" said a third, laughing at her own joke.

Ernestine looked as black as thunder, but for the moment she had no repartee ready, and she was saved from the necessity of a reply by the tinkle of a bell, and the voice of the head-girl, who announced that a general meeting of the various committees of the school sports and games was about to be held, at which everybody was requested to attend.

"I'm glad you stood up to Ernestine Salt," said Janet Forbes, who had been a silent listener. "But I'm afraid she'll hate you ever afterwards, and she can be uncommonly nasty when she likes. You'll be in for the cricket? We all have to play, whether we want to or not. I suppose you didn't bring a bat? The tennis-courts are reserved for the upper forms, but the fourth and fifth classes are getting up a Badminton club, and I advise you to join that. I'll propose you for the archery, too, if you like; it's splendid fun when we have a tournament."

Lucy and I were only too ready to be included in anything that might be going on, and soon found ourselves duly elected members, not only of the Badminton and archery, but also of a croquet club and an athletic society, which was to practise various feats of skill for the annual sports.

"How are you getting on?" said Catherine Winstanley, making her way across the room to us from a quieter group of girls who seemed to have been having a private meeting apart from the others. "I'm glad you're joining all the games. Shall I propose you for the dramatic society? We always get up a piece at the end of the term. Mother told me how you were playing at carnival that time she saw you in London, and how well you had dressed up all your cousins, so I'm sure you must be fond of acting."

"I wish you would," I replied; "I should like to join immensely."

"Then let us go at once; they're just electing the members now. Janet, come here! I'm going to propose Philippa for the dramatic society. Will you second her?"

"Of course I will," answered Janet heartily; and they stepped across to the select committee, who were seated on the top of a long row of lockers at the end of the room.

"I beg to propose Philippa Seaton as an active member of this society," said Cathy, with a little business-like air.

"And I beg to second this proposal," added Janet, pulling me forward to show me to the committee. The president, a tall girl in spectacles, took out her note-book and a well-worn stump of pencil ready to record my name.

"The candidate has been duly proposed and seconded. Has any member any objection to raise?" she enquired.

"I veto the election!" said Ernestine Salt hastily, rising before anyone else had time to reply. "The candidate is a new girl; we don't know yet whether she can act, and we don't want to admit members who can't speak up, and who turn their backs upon the audience!"

"I can answer for it that she wouldn't do that," said Cathy, flushing rather indignantly.

"How do you know? Don't be absurd, Cathy Winstanley! We're not going to spoil the society to oblige you, or anybody else. Besides, ten members are quite enough if we want to give parts to each, and I, for one, sha'n't consent to any more being brought in."

The committee seemed inclined to take Ernestine's view of the matter, and, the bell ringing for prayers, the meeting broke up in confusion.

"I'm so sorry!" said Cathy, squeezing my hand as we went up the stairs together. "I'm sure you can act. I can see it in your face. They would certainly have elected you if it hadn't been for Ernestine. Never mind, you'll get your chance later, and then you must show them what you can do."

Lucy and I went to bed that night feeling as if it were years since we had left home, so much seemed to have happened already in the short time we had been at school.

"There are two things I'm quite certain of," I remarked, as we discussed the day's doings while we brushed and plaited our hair. "I shall dislike Ernestine Salt exceedingly, but I've simply fallen in love with Catherine Winstanley."