Miss Pollard was extremely nervous on the subject of the mumps1. She insisted upon waiting until long after the usual period of disinfection before she would allow Mavis and Merle to return to 'The Moorings.'
"One can't be too careful!" she fluttered. "I know in a doctor's house they are apt sometimes to take these things too lightly. It's far better not to run any risks."
As Merle had a medical certificate of complete recovery, and neither Mavis nor Clive had developed the complaint, there was now no reason for keeping the girls away from school, and one Monday morning they were received back into the fold. They had lost a considerable amount of ground in regard to their lessons, and had to work hard to try to make up for the weeks that were missed. At hockey, too, Merle found her teams were slack. It needed much urging to persuade them to play a really sporting game.
"I daren't fix a match yet with any other school," she assured them. "We should only be beaten hollow, and it's no use playing if we have no chance to win. You must all buck2 up and get more into the swing of things. Perhaps next season we shall be a stronger team."
"If we never play matches we shall never improve," objected Sybil, who was anxious to accept the challenge of the Beverton County School.
"We've got the credit of 'The Moorings' to think about!" snapped Merle. "You wouldn't like them to go home crowing they'd absolutely wiped us off the face of the earth? I've had a little experience in matches and I know what I'm talking about. It would be downright silly to give ourselves away."
Sybil was rather a thorn in Merle's side. She had come from another boarding-school, and on the strength of this experience thought she had the right to become at once a leader at 'The Moorings.' She was very disgusted not to be in any position of authority, and consoled herself by continual criticism of the monitresses, particularly Merle, with whom she was always sparring. She was a curious character, all precept3 but not much practice. She loved to give good advice and to lay down the law, and was rather priggish in bringing out moral maxims4 for the benefit of others. She had a tremendous sense of her own importance and what was due to her, and was very ready to consider herself overlooked, or neglected, or misunderstood.
"Look here!" said Merle bluntly one day. "Why, I ask, why should people be expected to make such a fuss over you? I don't wonder you're neglected! I'd neglect you myself! And serve you jolly well right too!"
Whereupon Sybil dissolved into tears, and confided5 to her nearest friend that so long as Merle Ramsay was monitress she was afraid she would never be happy at 'The Moorings.' Poor Sybil had her good points. She was generous in her own way, and rather affectionate, but nature had not endowed her with tact6, and she would go blundering on, never seeing that she was making mistakes. Her very chums soon tired of her and discreetly7 left her to some one else.
"I sometimes think she's a little bit dotty!" opined Nesta.
"Nonsense! She's as sane8 as you or I. It's all swank! I've no particular patience with her!" said Merle.
One particularly aggravating9 feature of Sybil was the way she traded upon rather delicate health. There was really nothing much the matter with her, but she sometimes had slight attacks of faintness, which, the girls declared, always came on when she thought she could be a subject of interest. She liked to extract sympathy from Miss Mitchell, or to arouse Miss Pollard's anxiety. Moreover, it was often a very good excuse for slacking off in her preparation or her practising.
One afternoon Merle, coming back to school, met Miss Mitchell by the gate.
"I was just looking for you!" said the teacher. "I've arranged an extra hockey practice at three, instead of English language. Will you tell the others?"
This was excellent news. The Fifth hated the English Language class, which consisted mostly of learning strings10 of horrible derivations, and to have it cut out for once in favour of hockey was quite an event. Merle walked up the drive smirking11 with satisfaction. By the porch she found Sybil, with an English language book in one hand, half-heartedly helping12 Miss Fanny, who was nailing up creepers. She looked very sorry for herself.
"I wish you'd hold the ladder, Merle!" she sighed, eager to thrust her duties on to a substitute. "I don't feel quite well this afternoon. I get such a faintness. Aren't these derivations too awful for anything?" she added sotto voce. "I don't believe I know one of them."
"Buck up!" whispered Merle with scant13 sympathy.
"It's all very well to say 'buck up'! You don't know what it is to feel faint. You're as strong as a horse. I'm really not fit to stand about!"
"Shall I ask Miss Fanny to let you go in and lie down?"
"I wish you would! I don't like to ask her myself; it seems making such a fuss."
Merle proffered14 the request, with which Miss Fanny, rather astonished, complied.
"Certainly, Sybil, if you really are ill! Shall I give you a dose of sal volatile15?"
"No, thanks! I shall be all right if I can just rest on my bed," answered the plaintive16 voice.
"I daresay you'll soon feel better. It's a pity you'll miss the hockey practice," said Merle.
"What hockey practice?"
"Miss Mitchell has just told me to tell everybody. We're to play instead of having English language this afternoon."
Sybil's face was a study. But Miss Fanny's eyes were fixed17 upon her with such a questioning look that she was obliged to preserve her air of faintness and continue to pose as an invalid18. There was nothing for it but to go and lie down. As she turned, however, she managed to whisper to Merle:
"You're the meanest thing on the face of this earth! Why couldn't you tell me sooner about the hockey?"
"Your own fault entirely19!" chuckled20 Merle. "You nailed me straight away to do your job for you. Hope you'll enjoy yourself! Yes, Miss Fanny! I'm coming to hold the ladder! I was only opening the door for Sybil, she still-feels rather faint!"
It was about a week after this episode that Miss Mitchell, who was keen on nature study, took the Fifth form for a botanical ramble21. They started punctually at two o'clock, so as to be back as soon as possible after four, on account of Beata Castleton and Fay Macleod, who must not keep Vicary's car waiting. They went off ready for business, all taking note- books and pencils, some carrying tin cases, and some armed with boards with which to press their specimens22 on the spot. Their exodus23 was rather characteristic, for Aubrey was chatting sixteen to the dozen, Iva was trying to scoot ahead so as to walk alone with Kitty Trefyre, Muriel was squabbling with Merle as to which should appropriate Miss Mitchell, and Sybil was, as usual, seeking for sympathy.
"I couldn't find my boots! I had to put on my shoes instead, and the heels are worn down and they're not comfortable, and I shall very likely twist my ankle!" she complained. "What would you have done? Ought I to have gone to Miss Pollard and asked her about my boots?"
"And kept everybody waiting? You are the limit!" exclaimed Merle impatiently. "No, I'm not going to hold your case for you while you tie your hair ribbon. You always want to dump your things on to other people."
"You might carry the camera, at any rate!" wailed24 Sybil.
"Why should I? You insisted on bringing it, though I told you it would be a nuisance."
"It's for your benefit! I'm going to take a group of the whole party."
"Right-o! But don't expect to get the credit and make us carry the camera! You like to do your good deeds so cheaply!"
"Really, Merle!"
"I'm only telling you a few home truths. No, Mavis! I shan't let you load yourself with Sybil's property! You've got quite enough of your own to lug25 along!"
There was keen competition among the girls as to who could find most specimens. They rooted about in hedgerows, climbed banks, and made excursions into fields. Durracombe was not quite so good a neighbourhood for flowers as Chagmouth; still, they found a fair variety, and were able to chronicle early blooms of such specimens as the greater stitchwort, the ground ivy27, and the golden saxifrage. It was a fresh March day, with a wind blowing scudding28 white clouds across a pale blue sky. Rooks were beginning to build, green foliage29 showed on the elder trees, and the elms were flowering.
"We shall all be pixie-led if we gather the white stitchwort!" said Mavis. "They're the pixies' flowers, so Mrs. Penruddock told me! It's a very old Devonshire superstition30."
"Is that so? I never heard it before," said Miss Mitchell. "I know ever so many of the flowers are supposed to belong to the fairies in various parts of the country. Foxgloves are really 'the good folks' gloves,' and they're called fairies' petticoats in Cheshire, and fairies' hats in Ireland. Wild flax is always fairy flax, and harebells are fairy bells."
"Our old nurse used to call funguses pixie stools," said Edith Carey, "and the hollow ones were pixies' baths. She wouldn't let us pick elder, I can't remember why."
"That's a very old superstition. The 'elder mother' is supposed to live inside the tree, and to be very angry indeed if any harm is done to it. In the good old days, people used to ask her permission before they dared to cut down an elder. They knelt on bended knees and prayed:
"Lady Elder! Lady Elder!
Give me some of thy wood.
"There's a story about a man who hadn't the politeness to perform this little ceremony. He made a cradle for his baby out of the elder tree. But the sprite was offended, and she used to come and pull the baby out of the cradle by its legs, and pinch it and make it cry, so that it was quite impossible to leave the poor little thing in the elder cradle, and they had to weave one of basket-work for it instead."
"Tell us some more fairy lore31 about the plants!" begged the girls.
"Well, the St. John's wort is called 'the fairies' horse.' If you pick it after sunset a fairy horse will rise from the ground and carry you about all night, leaving you in the morning wherever you may chance to be at sunrise. You know if you keep fern-seed in your pockets you'll have the chance of seeing the pixies. The moonwort is supposed to be a very supernatural plant, and to have the power of opening locks if you place a leaf of it in the keyhole. No, I've never tried to burgle with it! I've never found any moonwort. It's an exceedingly rare plant now, and it's not been my luck to come across any. If you're troubled with warts32, you ought to go at sunrise to an ash tree, stick a pin into the bark, and say:
"Ashen33 tree! Ashen tree!
I pray thee buy these warts of me!
"Then the ash tree would cure you, that's to say, if you'd repeated the charm properly!"
"I suppose it was always wise to leave a loophole in case the cure didn't come off!" laughed Mavis.
They had been walking by a footpath34 across the meadows, and found themselves in the little village of Bamberton, a small place with picturesque35 cottages close to a river. Miss Mitchell, who was an enthusiast36 upon architecture, marched her party off to view the church, much to the disgust of several of them.
"Don't want to see mouldy old churches! I'd rather be out of doors!" grumbled37 Merle.
"And there are actually sweet violets growing in a field on the opposite side of the river," said Edith, who knew the neighbourhood.
"Oh, are there? Do let's get some."
"It'll be too late by the time we've been all round the monuments and read the inscriptions38 and the rest of it!"
"How long will Miss Mitchell stay in the church?"
"A good twenty minutes, I daresay. You can't get her away when she starts talking about architecture. Dad took her round our church one day, and I thought she'd never go. Tea was getting cold, but she went on asking questions about windows and pillars and things!"
"Then why shouldn't we slip out and run and get the violets while she's inside the church with the others?"
It was a naughty thing for a monitress to propose, but even Sybil, who happened to overhear, did not wax moral for the occasion.
"I'll come with you!" she said eagerly. "I'm not at all fond of going round churches, and looking at monuments. It always makes me wonder if I'm going to die young! When Miss Mitchell took us to Templeton Church and read us the epitaphs, I cried afterwards! There was one about a girl exactly my age. 'Sweet flower, nipped off in early bloom,' it said, or something of the sort."
"Don't be so sentimental39!" snapped Merle.
"But come with us if you like. Yes, you too, Beata! But for goodness' sake don't tell any one else or they'll all want to come, and if the whole lot try to scoot, it will put a stopper on the thing. We'll wait till the others are inside and then just slide off. Mum's the word, though!"
It was quite easy to loiter among the tombstones pretending to read the inscriptions, but the moment Miss Mitchell and her audience had safely passed through the porch and opened the big nail-studded door, the four confederates turned and fled.
Edith knew a short cut, and took them between rows of graves, regardless of Sybil's protesting shudders40, to a tiny stile that led down an alley41 to the riverside. Here there was a tumbledown wharf42, and an old ferryboat which worked on a chain. Years ago a ferryman had had charge of it, but there was so little traffic that it was no longer worth his while, so the boat had been left for passengers to use as they liked. It was lying now at the edge of the wharf. The girls, following Edith, stepped in, and began to wind the boat across the river by pulling the chain. It was rather an amusing means of progression, and they enjoyed their 'Dover- Calais crossing,' as they called it. Arrived at the opposite bank, Edith scrambled43 out.
"Tie the boat up, somebody!" she called, and set off running over the meadow to the hedge where the violets grew.
Somebody is an exceedingly vague term, and generally means nobody. Merle and Beata went scampering45 after Edith, and Sybil, who was last, flung the boat chain hastily round a post and followed her friends. The violets were lovely, sweet-scented and blue and modest and everything that orthodox violets ought to be.
The girls gathered delicious, fragrant46 little bunches, and felt that they were scoring tremendously over those unfortunates who were receiving information about architecture inside the church.
"We mustn't stay too long!" sighed Edith. "It's a pity, but I'm afraid we really ought to go now. They'll be looking for us if we don't."
So they walked back across the meadow to the bank. Here a most unpleasant surprise greeted them. The boat, into which they had meant to step and ferry themselves back, had drifted into the middle of the river.
"Good gracious! Didn't you tie it up?" exclaimed Edith, aghast.
"Of course I did, but-well, I suppose I didn't tie it tight enough. I never thought it would float away," confessed Sybil.
The boat, though still working on the chain which spanned the river, was quite inaccessible47 from either side. The girls were in an extremely awkward position. Nobody knew where they had gone, and unless it occurred to some of their party to come and seek them by the wharf, or unless some chance passer-by happened to notice their plight48, they might wait for a long time without rescue.
"What are we to do?" fumed49 Beata. "If we're not back at four the 'sardine-tin' will be waiting for me, and Mr. Vicary will be so cross! The last time we were late he went and complained to Father and said he'd have to charge us extra for wasting his time. There was an awful row, and Violet scolded Romola and me, although it was really Tattie's fault."
"Can we get to Durracombe on this side of the river?" suggested Sybil.
Edith shook her head.
"We could; but there isn't a bridge till you get to Parlingford, and that's five miles round. I think we'd better stay here."
"I could slay50 that wretched boat for playing us such a trick!" said
Merle.
Meantime Miss Mitchell and the rest of the girls had finished their survey of the various monuments, and, catching51 sight of the church clock, realised how late it was, and that they must start back at once. Of course the four truants52 were missed, and a hasty search was made for them, in the chancel, and behind the organ, and outside among the tombstones.
"They're not anywhere here!" reported the scouts53.
"Then they must have walked on," said Miss Mitchell. "Beata knew she had to be back by four o'clock. I expect we shall catch them up on the road. Come along!"
[Illustration: "WHY DIDN'T 'EE FASTEN UP THE CHAIN"]
So the party set off at full speed, all unwitting that four disconsolate54 maidens55 were marooned56 on the farther side of the river, waiting for some faerie boat to ferry them across. For a long time no knight-errant arrived for their relief, but at last, as chance would have it, an urchin57 came down on to the wharf, with a string and a bent58 pin, intent on fishing. He was at least a link with the outer world, and they yelled hopefully to him across the water. He stopped and stared, then took to his heels and ran, but whether in terror or to fetch help they were uncertain. After what seemed a weary while, however, he returned, escorted by his father, who evidently understood the situation, for he shouted something which the girls could not catch, then went away.
"Has he left us to our fate?" asked Merle indignantly.
"Gone to get somebody else, perhaps!" ventured Edith more hopefully.
She proved correct, for after another eternity59 of time an old man hobbled on to the wharf, unlocked a boat-house, and slowly took out a punt, by means of which he reached the ferry-boat, climbed in, and worked it across the river to the farther bank.
"Why didn't 'ee fasten up the chain?" he asked; but as he was almost stone-deaf he did not understand either their excuses or professions of gratitude60, and simply motioned to them to enter.
Arriving back on the wharf the girls, after subscribing61 a shilling amongst them to reward their rescuer, hurried up to the churchyard, where, of course, there was no sign of their party, then started as fast as they could to walk along the high road. They had gone perhaps half a mile when they heard a warning hoot62 behind them, and, looking round, what should Merle see but the little Deemster car with Dr. Tremayne at the driving-wheel. She shouted wildly and stopped him.
"Oh, Uncle David! Are you going back to Durracombe? Could you possibly take Beata at any rate! Her car will be waiting for her at school. We'd be everlastingly63 grateful!"
"I'll try and cram44 you all in if you like," smiled Dr. Tremayne. "Open the dickey, Merle!"
It was a decided64 squash. Edith and Sybil sat in front, and Merle and Beata managed to get together into the little dickey seat behind, where they each held one another in and clutched the hood26 for support.
"I have to pay a visit, but I'll run you back first," said Uncle David, setting off at a pace that made Merle and Beata cling for their lives as they whisked round corners. They arrived at 'The Moorings' exactly as the town-hall clock was chiming the quarter after four. Mr. Vicary, his face a study of patience, was standing65 by the side of the 'sardine-tin,' which was already packed for transit66, and whose occupants set up a joyful67 screech68 of welcome.
"Of course, if Dr. Tremayne motored you back with Merle it's all right, though you ought to have asked me first," said Miss Mitchell, to whom Sybil gave a much edited explanation, omitting the ferry-boat incident altogether, and suppressing the violets.
So the four culprits, who had expected trouble, got off a great deal better than they deserved.
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1
mumps
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| n.腮腺炎 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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precept
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| n.戒律；格言 | |
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maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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5
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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warts
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| n.疣( wart的名词复数 )；肉赘；树瘤；缺点 | |
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ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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44
cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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45
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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51
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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52
truants
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| n.旷课的小学生( truant的名词复数 )；逃学生；逃避责任者；懒散的人 | |
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53
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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54
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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56
marooned
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| adj.被围困的；孤立无援的；无法脱身的 | |
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urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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59
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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61
subscribing
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| v.捐助( subscribe的现在分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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62
hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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