Part 8 (1/2)

”You have a treat before you!” Dulcie a.s.sured her. ”You may talk about your Sicilian flowers, but just wait till you have seen an English wood full of bluebells! There's nothing to beat it in the whole world. I've often heard of Sir Ra.n.a.ld Joynson's grounds. We're in luck to get leave to go in them, because I believe he's generally rather stingy about allowing people there. I wonder how Miss Walters managed it.”

”She's a clever woman,” said Gowan. ”She always seems to manage to get what she wants. Some people do!”

”I wish _I_ did!” wailed Bertha. ”I've wanted a princ.i.p.al part in the French plays ever since I came to school, and Mademoiselle never will give me one; I always have to be a servant, or an extra guest, and speak about two lines!”

”Well, your French accent is so atrociously bad, I don't wonder!”

returned Gowan. ”You certainly wouldn't be a credit to Mademoiselle in a princ.i.p.al part. And you're very stiff and wooden in acting, too!”

”Thank you for your compliments!” sniffed Bertha, much offended.

”Oh, don't be sarkie! I must tell the truth. Cheer up! It's a picnic on Sat.u.r.day, not a French play!”

”Thank goodness it is!” rejoiced Dulcie. ”I hate Mademoiselle's French afternoons! I don't know which is worst; to have to learn and act yards of dialogue, or to sit in the audience and listen while other people show off. I like out-of-doors treats! I'm an open-air girl.”

The occupants of the Blue bedroom decided that it was high time something happened to stir up Carmel, who was behaving more like an exile than an heiress. Now the first excitement of her arrival and unpacking was over, she had relapsed into a piteous fit of homesickness.

”I believe she's crying again!” said Dulcie, laying an ear to the door that communicated with the dressing-room. ”Do you think I ought to go in to her?”

”It's no use!” declared Lilias. ”I went last night and tried to comfort her, and I'm sure I only made her cry harder. Best leave her to herself.”

”Homesick people always do cry harder if you sympathize,” proclaimed Gowan. ”I was prefect of the junior dormitory at my other school before I came here, and the new kids always turned on the water works at first.

I learnt how to manage them. Sympathy makes them worse. What you want is to switch their minds off thinking about home, and make them enjoy school life. Carmel will come round in time.”

”Meantime,” said Bertha, ”she reminds me of that picture in Miss Walters' study: 'The Hostage.' You know the one I mean, the girl who's standing leaning over the castle wall and gazing out to sea, and evidently thinking of her own country. I wonder if princesses who were sent to be married to foreign princes felt homesick?”

”I dare say they did,” grunted Gowan, ”but I'm sure my plan's the best for curing the complaint. Smack them on the back and make them cheer up, instead of letting them weep on your shoulder. I don't like a damp atmosphere!”

To do Carmel justice, however acute her sense of exile might be, she had not obtruded her woes upon her schoolfellows, and had conducted her weeping in secret. If sounds of distress filtered through the door, it was only when matters seemed particularly hopeless. On Sat.u.r.day she came down dressed for the jaunt, and all smiles.

”Sit her between Edith and Bertha,” commanded Gowan, ”and tell them they may be their silliest! Make her laugh till she's weak. I'll take a turn at her myself later. Don't let her mope about in the woods alone. Keep close to her, and make all the insane jokes you can. I tell you I was homesick myself once, though you mayn't believe it. I don't often dab my eyes now, do I?”

”Here are the wagonettes,” said Dulcie. ”Why, that driver has stuck up a flag! How nice of him! It looks so festive. Bags me go in his chariot.”

It took a little while to arrange mistresses, girls, and tea-baskets inside the two motors, but at last everything was packed in, and they started off in the direction of Bradstone. Other people were out enjoying Sat.u.r.day's holiday, and cars, bicycles, and conveyances were frequent on the road. Grinsdale Park, their destination, was approached by great gates, outside which the wagonettes stopped and unloaded their pa.s.sengers. Miss Walters, armed with Sir Ra.n.a.ld Joynson's letter, called at the lodge for permission to enter, and, her credentials being in strict order, the party was duly admitted.

”Won't everybody who sees us go in be just green with envy?” rejoiced Edith. ”Did you see how those two cyclists tried to hang on to us and push in too? Miss Walters looked at them most witheringly. 'May I ask if you have a private permit?' I heard her say to them. It squashed them flat, and they beat a retreat.”

”I believe Sir Ra.n.a.ld used to let the public in at one time,” said Noreen, ”but people behaved so atrociously that he had to stop. Rough boys used to tear about and break the bushes, and take the flowers, and do a great deal of damage.”

”I know! I've heard about it,” said Lilias. ”They went bird-nesting, too, and took all the eggs. That was the absolute finish. Sir Ra.n.a.ld is very keen on natural history, and he keeps these grounds as a sort of bird sanctuary. I believe quite rare kinds build here, and he never lets them be disturbed.”

”I wonder he gave us a permit to come!”

”Well, you see, most of the young birds are fledged by now, and, besides, he wouldn't expect us to go about climbing trees and robbing nests!”

Carrying the picnic-baskets amongst them, the party started forth along the drive, but after ten minutes' walking turned down a bypath into the woods. They were at the edge of a beautiful lake, and on one side of them stretched a gleaming expanse of water, edged with s.h.i.+mmering reeds, and on the other grew thick groves of trees with a carpet of wild hyacinths beneath. The sun glinted through the new green leaves on to the springing bracken and bluebells, and made long rifts of light across the water, birds were flitting about and twittering in the trees, and everywhere there was that delicious scent of the woodlands, a mixture of honey and flowers and warm moist earth and damp moss, which is the incense nature burns at the shrine of the G.o.ddess of spring.

It was so lovely that the party straggled considerably. They could not help putting down the picnic-baskets and leaving the path to explore and gather flowers. There were so many delightful surprises. Phillida and Noreen noticed a moorhen's nest built on an overhanging bough that swept the lake, and saw four tiny downy creatures swimming away very fast to take cover; Ursula found a specimen of the Truelove-knot, and triumphed immensely, partly on botanical grounds and partly because she regarded it as an omen of early matrimony, though needless to say this latter aspect of her rejoicing was not communicated to Miss Walters, only chuckled over in private with her intimate friends.

Knowing that the girls would not do any damage, the mistresses allowed them to disperse, on the understanding that they came at once when they heard the Guide's whistle.