Part 27 (1/2)
”Thought she: ”T will impress him if anything will, For the left hand goes over the right.
He will surely admire my exquisite skill, And perhaps will express his delight.'
”But ah! fondest hopes may be dashed to the ground, Despite what ambition can raise.
Ill pleased by this banquet of beautiful sound, Old Thomas was scant in his praise.
”'Ay, ay, yes, I hear. 'T is not bad, to be sure!
They may teach you in time!' so he grumbled.
But 'twas plain that he thought the performance but poor, And Miranda felt terribly humbled.
”One morn when six months had swift glided away, Again at the instrument seated, Miranda a nocturne had just ceased to play, When old Thomas desired it repeated.
”'Why, Miss,' he declared, 'I can hardly believe That you've made such improvement so soon!
The last time you played, you'd to jump your hand o'er Before you could pick out the tune!
”'You'd humpety lump in the treble at top, Then same hand would return to the ba.s.s.
But now I can see they have taught you to keep Each hand in its own proper place!'
”It's a really true story!” persisted Edith, as the girls giggled. ”It happened to my sister. She always plays at the Band of Hope concerts in our village at home, and she goes down to the school to practise her solos on the piano there. Old Thomas is the verger, and he's such a queer old character. He really _did_ think she didn't know how to play properly when she crossed her hands over, and he told her so. It was a tremendous joke in our family, because Maisie considers herself musical.
She was squashed absolutely flat!”
Neither Lilias, Gowan, Bertha, Prissie, nor Phillida had written anything very original or outstanding in their ma.n.u.scripts, so we will pa.s.s them over, and only record that of Dulcie, who came last of all.
She took the honored seat with a great air of _empress.e.m.e.nt_, nodded triumphantly to Gowan, cleared her throat, commanded strict silence, and began:
”CHILCOMBE HALL.
”MY DEAR EVERARD,
”I must write at once and tell you of the terrible things that have been happening at this school. On Monday last the cook made a mistake, and used a packet of rat poison instead of sugar in our pudding. It was the day for ginger puddings, and we all thought they tasted rather queer, somehow, but it is not etiquette here to leave anything on your plate, so we made an effort and finished our rations. Well, about ten minutes afterwards most of us were taken with umpteen fits. We writhed about the room in agony, and thought our last hour had come. The doctor was sent for, and he motored over so fast that he killed two little boys and a cow on the road, but he said he did not care, and it was all in the way of business.
He stood us up in a line and gave us each an emetic of mustard and water which was very horrid, and felt like a poultice inside. We are beginning to get better now, but Carmel's legs are stiff, and she has a tendency to go black in the face every now and then. The doctor says she will do so for a fortnight, until the rat poison wears itself out of her system. He does not think she will be lame always. At least he hopes not. Lilias squints a little in consequence of the umpteen fits she had, which turned her eyes round, and my face is still swollen, and three front teeth dropped out, but otherwise we are quite well, and the Doctor says things might have been much worse, for at least our lives were spared. I think we ought to see a specialist, but Miss Walters won't hear of it.
”Hoping you are quite well, ”With love, ”Your affectionate sister ”DULCIE.”
”Don't say I can't write fiction!” proclaimed Dulcie, making a grimace at Gowan. ”It's as good as a novel (though I say it myself) and as interesting as anything in a newspaper. Improbable? Not at all! Cooks make mistakes sometimes, like other people! I don't exactly know the symptoms of rat poisoning, but I dare say they are very much what I've described. It's thrilling reading, anyhow, and you ought to give me a good clap for it.”
”Tootle-too! Somebody has lost a trumpeter!” returned Gowan.
”I don't care! I'm sure if we took votes for the most thrills, my piece would win. I'm going to keep it! Hand it back to me, Gowan! I want to show it to Everard some time. He'd laugh ever so over it. He says my home letters are tame. This would wake him up, at any rate! He'd say his sister was breaking out into an auth.o.r.ess! What sport!”
CHAPTER XXI
Carmel's Kingdom
The day following the secret meeting of the Mafia was one of those devoted to home correspondence. The girls were alloted forty minutes during school hours: they brought their writing-cases into the cla.s.s-room, and scribbled off as many letters as possible during the brief time allowed. On this particular Wednesday Dulcie was much in arrears; she wrote three letters to Sicily, one to an aunt in London, a short scrawl to Everard, and was beginning ”My dear Cousin Clare,” when Miss Hardy entered the room in a hurry.