CHAPTER VIII

All-Hallows Eve and Guy Fawkes

October had passed so swiftly that Sylvia could hardly realize that she had now been almost a month at school. In some respects the time appeared short, yet in others it seemed as if she had been settled there for years, and she no longer felt herself to be a new girl. The days, which had been bright and summerlike when first she arrived, were now rapidly closing in; there was no recreation in the garden after four o'clock, as Miss Kaye considered it too damp and cold for them to be out, and they were obliged to amuse themselves in the playroom instead.

The great excitement at present was the near approach of All-Hallows Eve, when it was the custom for the whole school to meet and spend the evening in 'apple bobbing' and other amusements.

"Miss Kaye gets a whole cask," said Linda, "those lovely big American ones, and we have such fun! We all sit up till half-past eight, even the babies, and nobody minds how much noise we make. I don't know which is nicest, Hallowe'en or Guy Fawkes Day."

"Oh, I like the fifth of November!" said Nina Forster. "We don't do Hallowe'en properly here. 'Apple bobbing' is nothing."

"What do you do at home then?" asked Sylvia.

"We have a large party, and put bowls of water in front of the fire, and touch them blindfolded, to see who'll be married first. My big sister once combed her hair before the looking glass at midnight to see if the shadow of her future husband would appear peeping over her shoulder, and my brother Alec crept in and got behind her, and pulled a horrible face, and she shrieked and shrieked. Sometimes, too, we go into the garden, and drag up cabbage stalks, to try our luck."

"Miss Kaye won't let us do any of those things," said Linda; "she says it's silly superstition. She was dreadfully cross one evening with Trissie Knowles and Marjorie Ward because she caught them both curtsying to the new moon. But she lets us have fun with the apples, and that's all I care about."

At seven o'clock, therefore, on October 31st, when evening preparation was finished, the four classes collected for the promised entertainment. Sylvia, whose home life had been a very quiet one, had never been present on such an occasion, and she anticipated it with much delight. As Linda had said, Miss Kaye had been liberal enough to provide a whole barrel of apples, which stood on two chairs placed together near her desk, the ripest, roundest, rosiest ones which could possibly be. Several long strings had been fastened to a beam which ran across the roof, and to the end of each of these an apple was fastened. The girls in turn had their hands tied behind their backs, and had to try to take a bite from an apple as it swung to and fro at the end of its string--a very difficult performance, since it generally bobbed, and wriggled, and slid away just at the critical moment when they were about to put their teeth into it, causing a great deal of mirth and merriment, and much triumph to the lucky one who managed at last to take a successful mouthful, and so secure the coveted treasure.

Three large footbaths had also been brought into the schoolroom, and put on forms, where they were filled with water, and apples. Then the girls were allowed to gather round, and, holding forks in their mouths, to drop them into the water in the hope of spearing an apple; not nearly such an easy feat as it looked, and one which seemed to depend mostly on good fortune. Of course it was great fun, especially when Miss Kaye tried it herself, and her fork just stuck in the largest and juiciest, and then rolled out again, or when Connie Camden, in despair of having any success, dipped her whole head and shoulders into the bath, getting so dreadfully drenched in the process that she was promptly sent upstairs to bed, a sadder and wiser girl; for Miss Kaye had strictly forbidden any wetting of hair under penalty of instant expulsion from the room, and she invariably kept to her word. Sylvia won two apples, both with a fork; she did not prove clever at catching them with her teeth, though Linda carried away four, and Marian Woodhouse six altogether, which, however, she shared with Gwennie, who had had bad luck and gained nothing.

The evening ended with some rousing games of hunt the slipper, dumb crambo, and drop the handkerchief. Even Miss Arkwright ran about and played, and was so pleasant and jolly that Sylvia hardly knew her; and Miss Kaye was the life and soul of it all, managing to include everybody, to see that the little ones got a fair chance, that nobody cheated or took an undue advantage, suppressing quarrels, arranging turns, and directing her flock like the wise shepherd that she always proved herself to be.

It was a quarter to nine before the girls, hot and flushed, and with most untidy hair, said goodnight, and filed upstairs to their rooms, where they were obliged to sober down when the monitresses went their rounds, and go to bed with a due regard for order and decorum, rules and regulations being strictly enforced even on Hallowe'en.

"I'm dreadfully sorry for Connie," said Linda, as she brushed her hair; "I can't think what made her dip her head right in like that. She's always doing silly things. When we went to Llandudno last summer she sat down in the sea when we were wading, and she tumbled off her donkey and scraped the skin from her nose. And only this term, when they were coming to school, Rosie gave her their tickets to hold, and she dropped them on to the line underneath the train. The guard was so angry, he threatened to make them pay their fares, because no one could get the tickets until the train had gone out of the station, and both they and the guard were going in it; but Dolly cried, so he said he wouldn't this once, only they must be more careful another time. Just think of Connie having to stay in bed and hear the noise we were making downstairs! I should have felt pretty cross if it had happened to me. I've sent her one of my apples, and Hazel said she'd give her one of hers; still, it's hard luck all the same."

It was but a few days now to the fifth of November. The school, having spent its excitement over 'apple-bobbing', began to work it up again harder than ever to celebrate the anniversary of Guy Fawkes. The little ones went about singing:

"Please to remember the fifth of November, With Gunpowder Treason and plot; For I see no reason why Gunpowder Treason Should ever be forgot",

till everybody grew completely tired of the tune and squashed them. Miss Arkwright improved the opportunity by making the third class read up the subject in their history book, and write a special essay upon it, with the date and principal persons concerned. The girls had been allowed to contribute from their pocket money to buy fireworks and materials for a bonfire.

"Miss Kaye gets old worn-out hampers and barrels from the greengrocer," said Linda. "Some paraffin is poured over them and they make the most glorious blaze, and then when the fire has burnt down a little we roast potatoes in the red-hot ashes, and they taste most delicious. Mr. Cameron always comes to let off the fireworks. He's Miss Kaye's cousin, and he's so jolly. He keeps making jokes the whole time, though he won't let any of us stand very near for fear of sparks catching our dresses. Then we have heaps and heaps of toffee; it's put on great plates and handed round, and there are big slices of parkin too."

"I heard Emmie Hall say she believed there was going to be a Guy Fawkes this year," said Sylvia.

"No! Is there? Oh, that would be fun! How did she get to know?"

"Edna Lowe had to go to Miss Kaye's room to take a dose of Gregory's powder, and she saw a big mask on the table, and an old jacket hanging over a chair. Miss Kaye whisked them away in a moment, but she had quite time to notice what they were, and, of course, she told Lily afterwards, and Lily told Emmie."

"We haven't had a guy since I was here," said Linda; "and we've never had one at home either. Oh, I do want to see it so much! I hope Miss Kaye's really going to make one. It will be the most delicious, glorious fun that ever was! I wish Wednesday would hurry up and come."

The girls had raised a general subscription to provide the fireworks, which were ordered to be sent from a large shop in the town, but no one was allowed to buy anything privately, Miss Kaye naturally thinking that squibs and crackers were dangerous in young and unpractised hands, and that it was better not to run the risk of accidents.

"We mayn't even get a box of coloured matches," grumbled a few of the third class, as they gathered in the playroom on Monday at half-past four, "and I'm sure there could be no harm in that, for you've only to strike them and hold them in your fingers."

"Miss Kaye makes as much children of us as if we were all in the Kindergarten," declared Hazel crossly. "I wish we had some chestnuts at any rate; it would be so jolly to roast them on the bars."

"You'll have some on Wednesday to roast in the bonfire."

"Yes, but I'd rather have them now. There'll be plenty of things on Wednesday, and it's so slow to-day, there's nothing to do but hang about till teatime. I say, I have an idea!" And she stooped down and whispered something in Linda's ear.

"Oh no, Hazel, we daren't!" cried Linda, her eyes wide with delighted horror; "you don't really mean it?"

"Of course I do."

"Mean what?" asked Nina, full of curiosity.

"I don't think I'll let you know. It's a secret."

"Yes, do. I'll never tell. Truly and honestly I won't."

"Well, why shouldn't we slip out of the side door, and run down the road to that little shop at the corner of Valley Lane; we could buy some chestnuts there, and perhaps some fireworks as well. I have sixpence here in my pocket."

"Oh, we should be caught!"

"No, we shouldn't. If we manage well, nobody will see us, and it won't take ten minutes. There's plenty of time before tea. Who'll come?"

No one spoke. The adventure was so serious that each girl felt rather doubtful about undertaking it, and shook her head.

"Well, you are a set of cowards," said Hazel. "I wish Connie Camden wasn't having her music lesson; she'd go in a second. Linda, you might."

"Don't, Linda," pleaded Sylvia. "It really isn't worth it. I shan't."

"Linda isn't bound to ask your leave," said Hazel sharply. "She can do as she likes, I suppose. Come, Linda. It would be such a joke!"

"I'm sure Marian wouldn't let me go," said Gwennie, "or go herself either. She's at her practising now."

"All right! I don't want either of you, nor Jessie Ellis. But, Nina, you like a little fun, I know. Come with Linda and me."

"I didn't say I would," faltered Linda.

"Yes, you will, and Nina too. We three are the only ones in the class with an ounce of courage."

Nina hesitated a moment and was lost. She was very easily led, and it flattered her so much to have Hazel Prestbury actually begging for her company that she had not the strength of character to refuse. Linda looked first at one of her friends and then at the other; they were almost equally balanced in her affections, but on this occasion Hazel, the elder, the more important, and the more persuasive, slightly turned the scale.

"I don't know whether I'll really go," she said; "but I'll come as far as the gate, and watch you start. There can't be much harm in that."

"Miss Coleman said we mustn't go into the garden to-day. It's raining," volunteered Gwennie.

"Oh, bother! We don't mind the rain. By the way, you girls must all promise faithfully you won't be so mean as to tell," said Hazel.

"You needn't be in the least afraid," replied Sylvia, rising, and going over to the bookcase; "we're none of us telltales, at any rate, whatever other names you may call us."

The naughty trio crept quietly from the playroom into the dressing-room, where their garden hats and jackets were kept; then, quite forgetting either to change their shoes or put on goloshes, they ran into the drizzling rain, and, keeping well behind the bushes, soon reached the front gate and peeped cautiously out. Nobody was in sight, the road looked perfectly clear, and it would hardly take five minutes to gain the small shop in Valley Lane and buy what they wanted.

"Come along!" said Hazel, holding out her hand to Linda.

But Linda stopped. The remembrance of a look she had seen in Sylvia's eyes rose up before her, again her friends seemed to be pulling in two different ways, and her own better judgment told her which was the right one.

"I think I won't," she said. "I only came to see you off, you know. I'm going back to play draughts with Sylvia."

"Very well," replied Hazel, much offended. "Nina and I will go by ourselves. Don't expect any of the chestnuts or fireworks, for you shan't have them."

Linda managed to return through the garden unobserved, and finding Sylvia in the classroom, the two sat chatting quietly until the teabell rang. Nina and Hazel came in to tea rather out of breath, and with very red cheeks.

"We've got them," they whispered. "A whole bag of lovely chestnuts, and two boxes of coloured matches, and a magic snake's egg. We ran all the way back, and didn't see anybody but a policeman."

"We're going to have such a jubilee to-night! Nina's coming into our bedroom to let off the snake with Connie and me," said Hazel.

"It's no fun with only Jessie Ellis," said Nina.

When tea was over, and the girls were just leaving the room, Miss Kaye called to Hazel, Nina, and Linda, saying she wished to speak to them for a moment. She held Elsie Thompson by the hand, and motioned the children into her study.

"Now, girls," she said gravely, "I wish to ask you something. Elsie tells me that she was looking out of the top landing window before tea, and she saw you all three go through the garden to the gate, and run down the road towards Aberglyn. Is this true?"

"No, Miss Kaye," replied Hazel promptly. "We didn't go out anywhere; did we, Nina?"

"No," said Nina, though with less assurance.

It was a bold step of Hazel's to deny what they had done, but Elsie Thompson's habit of making up stories was well known, and on this account she hoped they might escape. Linda gave no reply. She was in a terrible difficulty. To tell the truth would of course implicate the other two; yet she was not prepared with such a deliberate falsehood.

"Did you go down the Aberglyn road, Linda?" asked the headmistress.

"No, Miss Kaye," said Linda, feeling that her truth was only half a truth after all, and more ashamed of herself than she liked to think.

"I am very glad to hear it," said Miss Kaye, looking relieved. "Elsie is such a little girl that I believe she hardly knows yet how naughty it is to tell such wrong tales. I shall have to be very cross with you, Elsie, if you do so again." And, shaking her head at the small six-year-old, she dismissed the four.

Hazel waited till they were safely down the passage, then, seizing Elsie by the arm, she gave her a hard smack.

"You nasty little thing!" she cried; "what do you mean by telling tales about us to Miss Kaye?"

"But I really saw you," wailed Elsie.

"You didn't. And if you say a word about this to Sadie, or May Spencer, or anybody else, a big black bogy will come to your bed to-night and eat you up. Yes, he will," she said, as poor little Elsie fled in terror to the playroom; "he told me so himself."

"I never thought Elsie would see us," said Hazel. "It was most unfortunate. We got out of it better than I expected, though. We shall have to hide away those chestnuts; it won't be safe to roast them, or to let off the snake either."

"Oh, Hazel, I wish you hadn't done it!" said Linda. "We've told the most dreadful stories."

"Well, you haven't, at any rate. Miss Kaye asked if you had been down the Aberglyn road, and you didn't go, so you only said what was quite true."

"Yes, but----"

"Oh, what's the use of 'buts'? We can't help it now! There's the prep. bell, and we shall have to go along. I hope none of the other girls will say anything. I don't suppose they will."

Linda went into preparation with a very uneasy mind. She was a truthful child, and could not bear to be mixed up with any deceit; but on the other hand she did not like to get her classmates into trouble. She was astonished that Hazel should behave so; it spoilt her faith in her friend, and recalled to her memory several other incidents which she had not noticed much at the time, but were nevertheless occasions on which Hazel had not acted in a strictly honourable manner.

"There was the Punch and Judy on the beach," thought Linda, "when she asked the man to begin, and promised we would give him some pennies, and then said she hadn't any money with her. And once she found Winnie Ingham's penknife, and kept it in her pocket for a week without telling her. And it was she who told Greta Collins to call 'stingy' after Nellie Parker, because she only put down threepence for the fireworks; and it was too bad, for Nellie hardly has any pocket money, and she had given all she had. Oh, dear! I wish Hazel wouldn't do such things. She's so nice in every other way. I like her immensely. But what I think is horrid she only laughs at and calls fun. Sylvia never does." And with that last comparison between her two friends, Linda put her elbows on her desk, and her fingers in her ears, and tried to settle herself to the stern task of learning the subjunctive mood of the verb _rendre_, having a lively horror of Mademoiselle's wrath on the morrow if she went to the French class with an ill-prepared lesson.