A Pair of Schoolgirls, Angela Brazil [unputdownable books TXT] 📗

some specimens I've found. We have heaps of wild flowers growing in the lanes at Hurford."

"Whitewashed, but not exonerated! Your manual smacks too much of school for my taste. Why don't you take a leaf from me and practise tennis?"

"No luck for such a bad server as I am."

"Well, I didn't say you'd win the championship. I've no chance myself against Val and Margaret. Here's Alison; she'll reason with you. She isn't on the rising balance of the Form any more than I am myself. Alison, tell Dorothy to quit this everlasting studying. Don't you agree with me that it makes it far harder for us slackers?"

Alison laughed good-naturedly. She never troubled much about her own lessons, for her mother was generally so anxious regarding her health, and so afraid of her overworking herself, that an hour's preparation sufficed for her home work—and, indeed, if she took more, Mrs. Clarke would threaten to complain to Miss Tempest.

"Yes, Dorothy's turning into quite an old bookworm," she replied. "She even insisted on looking over her Latin in the train this morning. I can't stand that, because I always like to talk. I don't get too much of Dorothy's company."

It was still a grievance to Alison that her mother would not sanction any closer intimacy with her friend. She had hoped, after the visit to Ringborough, that matters would be on a different footing, and that she would be allowed to introduce Dorothy at home and invite her frequently. She could not understand why, for no apparently adequate reason, she must be debarred from her society. The fact that she was discouraged from being on too familiar terms had the effect of making her even more enthusiastic in her affection. There was a strong vein of obstinacy in her disposition, and if she once took up an idea she was apt to keep to it.

"Uncle David likes Dorothy," she argued. "He told Mother not to be ridiculous. I heard him say so. Perhaps in time I shall get my own way."

Mrs. Clarke, anxious not to thwart her darling more than was necessary, had many times proposed that some other classmate from Avondale should be asked to Lindenlea. But Alison had flatly refused.

"I can't possibly have Grace Russell or Ruth Harmon without inviting Dorothy. She'd think it most peculiar and unkind. No, Mother dearest, if I mayn't have her I'd rather not ask anybody at all."

"But you ought to have young companions, Birdie," protested Mrs. Clarke fretfully. "Your uncle was speaking to me on that very subject before he went to Scotland; and he is your guardian, so he is partly responsible for you. I believe I shall have to send you to a boarding school after all."

"No, no; I should be miserable, and so would you without me. I'd hate to leave the Coll. Don't worry, Motherkins, Uncle David shan't lecture you. Naughty fellow! I won't be friends with him if he hints at boarding school again."

"I shall certainly talk it over with him when he returns from Lochaber," said Mrs. Clarke.

"When is he coming back? Is he really going to take a house near here, Mother?"

"I don't know. He may possibly settle in the South, in which case I should certainly decide to remove, and to go and live near him."

"Oh, please no! I don't want to leave Latchworth or the Coll.," protested Alison.

Alison was indeed absolutely happy at Avondale. For a day school the arrangements were perfect, and there were many features of the course there which suited her tastes. She liked the Ambulance Guild and the Tennis Club, and both the gymnasium and the laboratory were large and specially well equipped, far more so than in most boarding schools. This term, also, Miss Carter, the science mistress, had begun a very interesting series of Nature Study lessons, which included birds and insects, and made a special point of botany; and Alison, who adored flowers, threw herself into it heart and soul. It was the one subject over which she really gave herself much trouble. She collected specimens and pressed them, identified them from the big volumes of "Sowerby" in the library at Lindenlea, mounted them on sheets of cardboard, and printed their names neatly underneath.

"I shall have something to send to the Arts and Crafts Exhibition," she said, "though I'm no good at anything else."

"No good! Fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Dorothy.

"True, my dear! Have you ever seen me top at an exam., or even second? Why, I only get 'excellent' once in a blue moon, and then I'm so astonished, I think it must be a mistake! I'm not picked out to play at school concerts, or recite, or act, or show off in any way. Oh, don't think I'm complaining! I don't crave for notoriety. There's nothing I detest worse than having to perform in public. But pressed flowers are different. I can do them in private at home, and let them be seen without exhibiting myself. I wish I could find a few more specimens. I believe I've picked everything that's to be had at Latchworth."

"Miss Carter promised she'd take us a botanizing ramble some afternoon," said Dorothy.

"So she did. We must keep her to her word. Let us try to catch her now in the corridor, and see if we can get her to name a definite day. Ask Mavie and Grace to come too. They're the keenest next to us."

The little group of enthusiasts waylaid the mistress as she came out of the library, and, reminding her of the projected expedition, nailed her to the point.

"Very well, we will decide on next Saturday afternoon, provided, of course, that it's a fine day," replied Miss Carter.

"And the place?" asked Alison.

"I think we can't do better than Beechfield. We could walk along the embankment to Longacre, and take the train back from there. We ought to find plenty of flowers on the way."

"And we might stop and have tea somewhere," suggested Alison, who was determined to make an outing of it.

"Yes, so we might. There's an inn by the river about half-way to Longacre, and several cottages that cater for visitors."

"We can start quite early, I suppose?"

"I'll look up the railway guide, and pin a programme on the notice board to-morrow."

"There, you see!" said Alison, as the deputation returned in triumph, "there's nothing like sticking to a thing. I believe in people keeping promises when they make them."

"We shall have a ripping afternoon. Miss Carter is ever so jolly."

"And I expect she'll be jollier still when she's 'off duty'."

Notwithstanding the tempting nature of the programme, only ten put down their names for the botanizing expedition. In summer there were many diversions for Saturday's holiday—the tennis season was in full swing, and the girls had attractions at their own homes that outweighed a country ramble.

"It's far nicer without too many," declared Alison. "I've been school excursions before, at Leamstead, and it's generally so hard to get everybody to come along. Half the party is always lagging behind, and then a dozen come running up and want all the explanations over again, just when the mistress has finished describing something. You waste an immense amount of time in collecting people. I mean to stick to Miss Carter like glue the whole afternoon."

"Absorbing information like a piece of blotting-paper!" laughed Mavie. "Quite a new character for you, Alison Clarke."

"Don't mock. You're as keen on going as I am myself."

The ten Nature students met Miss Carter at Coleminster station at half-past two on the Saturday, and started off for Beechfield, which was on a different line from Hurford and Latchworth. Neither Dorothy nor Alison knew the place, so to them at least it had the charm of novelty.

"I've often walked over the fields to Longacre," said Grace Russell, "but I don't mind going again. It will seem fresh if we're looking for flowers. I like an object when I'm out."

"And I like the fun of being out, object or no object," said Mavie. "I honestly confess I'm looking forward to tea-time."

"You shameless materialist!" said Miss Carter. "You shan't have a single cup unless you can name a dozen flowers. I shall put you through an examination first."

"I'll be attentive—with tea as my goal."

There was no doubt about it—Miss Carter was jolly. She talked and joked as merrily as the girls themselves, climbed stiles with agility, and, much to her pupils' amusement, exhibited an abject terror of cows.

"It was born in me, and I can't conquer it," she declared. "I suppose it's partly because I'm town-bred. The very sight of their horns puts me in a panic."

"I'll walk along first and shoo them away with my umbrella," said Dorothy, laughing.

"What heroism! I really envy your courage. To me the pleasures of botany are sadly spoilt by cows; there is invariably one in the meadow where I want to pick my best specimens."

In spite of her real or pretended fears, Miss Carter ventured to take the path which led over the fields to Longacre. It was a pretty walk, partly through a park shaded with beautiful trees, and partly along an embankment which formed the remains of an ancient fortification against the Danes. The hay was still uncut, so the fields were full of flowers, and without unduly trespassing into the long grass the girls were able to pick many specimens. Alison kept to her intention of sticking to Miss Carter, and scarcely left her side; she enjoyed the explanations, and passed them on to Mavie, who was collecting her dozen plants with ostentatious zeal. Dorothy was told off as policeman to bring up stragglers.

"We shall never get there at all if you can't keep together and come along," said Miss Carter. "I can see a little peep of the river, and one chimney of the inn over there in the distance. Don't you feel inclined for tea?"

"Rather!" agreed the girls, making a spurt.

The inn was one of those small, wayside places common in rural districts. It catered for anglers and tourists, and had a pretty, flowery garden, set with wooden benches and tables ready for picnic parties. It was a suitable spot for a halt; everyone felt warm with the walk, and disposed to welcome the sight of cups and saucers.

"How sweet it is here!" said Alison to Dorothy. "Something smells perfectly delicious—I don't know what."

"I think it must be honeysuckle down by the river."

"Then let us go and see. It's rather early for honeysuckle; I haven't found any out yet. It might perhaps be a sweetbrier. Tea isn't quite ready, so we shall have plenty of time."

The two girls strolled out of the garden and down a short lane that led to the river. It was beautiful there—the grassy banks were white with tall, lacy, umbelliferous plants, and groups of willows drooped their picturesque, shimmering boughs over the water.

"Look at the old weir," said Alison. "I believe there used to be a mill here once, only it isn't working now. Dorothy, what's that growing in the river? Isn't it water plantain?"

"It looks uncommonly like it."

"I must have a piece—I positively must! How can we get some? Do you think we could walk along the edge of the weir and reach it? It's only a few yards off."

"I dare say we might, if we could hold on to those willows."

"Let us try. Give me your hand."

"It's rather slippery," said Dorothy, as she essayed to follow.

Catching on to the branches of a willow, the two girls stepped cautiously along the uncovered stones at the edge of the weir towards the spot where the water plantain was growing so temptingly.

"There's a splendid piece almost within reach," said Alison. "Stick tight to my hand, Dorothy, and I'll bend over. I'm within an inch of it."

"Be careful!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Don't pull!"

But her warning came too late.