11 The Weeks Go On
Now the days began to slip by more quickly. Two weeks went—three weeks—and then the fourth week turned up and began to slip away, too.
Everything was going well. There was no illness in the school. The weather was fine, so that the playing-fields were in use every day, and there was plenty of practice for everyone. Work was going well, and except for the real duds, nobody was doing badly. Five lacrosse matches had already been won by the school, and Darrell, as games captain for the fifth, was in the seventh heaven of delight.
She had played in two of the matches, and had shot both the winning goals. Felicity had gone nearly mad with joy. She had been able to watch Darrell in both because they were home matches. Felicity redoubled her practices and begged Darrell for all the coaching time she could spare. She was reserve for the fourth school-team, and was determined¹ to be in it before the end of the term.
The plans for the Christmas entertainment were going well, too. So far no help had been asked from either Mr. Young, the music-teacher, or Miss Greening, the elocution mistress. The girls had planned everything themselves.
Darrell had been amazed at the way she and Sally had been able to grasp the planning of a big pantomime. At first it had seemed a hopeless task, and Darrell hadn’t had the faintest idea how to set about it. But now, having got down to it with Sally, having read up a few other plays and pantomimes, and got the general idea, she was finding that she seemed to have quite a gift for working out a new one!
“It’s wonderful!” she said to Sally. “I didn’t know I could. I’m loving it. I say, Sally—do you think, do you possibly think I might have a sort of gift that way? I never thought I had any gift at all.”
“Yes,” said Sally, loyally. “I think you have got a gift for this kind of thing. That’s the best of a school like this, that has so many many interests—there’s something for everybody—and if you have got a hidden or sleeping gift you’re likely to find it, and be able to use it. There’s your way of scribbling² down verse, too—I never knew you could do that before!”
“Nor did I, really,” said Darrell. She fished among her papers and pulled out a scribbled³ sheet. “Can I read you this, Sally? It’s the song Cinderella is supposed to sing as she sits by the fire, alone. Her sisters have gone to the ball. Listen:

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