The Third Class at Miss Kaye's Part 8

Hazel was a girl about whom Miss Kaye often felt some uneasiness. The eldest in her cla.s.s, she was also old for her age, and she had brought a good many notions to school with her that were not at all in accordance with the simple ideas which were encouraged at Heathercliffe House. She thought far more of dress and position than she had any business to do, criticized the other girls' clothing, compared the value of her birthday presents with those of her schoolmates, and was apt to boast of her abundant pocket money. She was also not always as open and truthful as might have been wished, and though it could never be exactly defined, she somehow kept up a slight spirit of hostility against the mistresses, and would never respond heartily to any kindness from headquarters. Miss Kaye thought she was not altogether a wise friend for Linda, who, being a whole year younger, was likely to be easily influenced, and it was on this account that she had not allowed the two to share a bedroom.

Linda was an affectionate little girl; she did not notice the faults in Hazel's character, and would have been delighted to include both her companions in a triple friends.h.i.+p. But that did not content either, and though Sylvia had the advantage at morning and evening, Hazel generally triumphed during the day.

Sylvia would watch with jealous eyes as the pair walked arm in arm down the avenue or played draughts together in the recreation hour.

She tried to console herself with reading, but somehow the books did not seem nearly so absorbing as they had done at home, and she sat with one ear open to hear what Linda was saying. She did not care to make friends with any of the other girls, though Nina Forster proffered a few advances, and Connie Camden was always "hail fellow well met" with everybody.

One wet afternoon the Third Cla.s.s and some of the members of the Fourth were sitting round the playroom fire indulging in oranges, which Miss Kaye had given as a special treat.

"I like to suck mine with a lump of sugar," said Gwennie. "If you do it carefully you can get every sc.r.a.p of orange out without breaking the peel."

"I can't eat orangeth," sighed Sadie Thompson pensively. "They alwayth make me thick."

"Make you thin, I should think," laughed Marian. "You're the skinniest little creature I ever saw."

"I don't mean fat, I mean thick--ill."

"Oh, sick! Then why don't you say so?"

"Becauthe I can't help lithping," replied Sadie, who was rather proud of her accomplishment, and did not make any great effort to overcome it.

"I wish I lisped," said Connie Camden enviously. "I'd have such fun with Miss Arkwright in the reading lesson. She'd stop for five minutes worrying over one word. Don't you remember when I pretended I couldn't say 'meritorious'? I'm going to cut my orange in half if anybody will lend me a penknife."

"Where's your own?"

"Lost it long ago. I never can keep them. I got one in my Christmas stocking and another on my birthday, and I had a new one at the beginning of this term, but they're all gone. My pencil wore down to such a perfect stump yesterday I couldn't finish my sums, and I daren't borrow, because Miss Arkwright said she'd give a bad-conduct mark to the first girl who spoke one word. I tried to signal to Nina, but she wouldn't look. Hazel, lend me yours!"

"No thanks!" replied Hazel. "Not to cut oranges. It's a new one and you'd spoil it."

"Oh, you mean thing! Who'll be generous?"

"You may have this if you like," said Sylvia. "I don't much mind if you keep it; it's only an old one, and I have another in my pencil box."

"You dear, I'd love it! I shall have to give you something in exchange, though, or else it will be unlucky. What will you have?" And Connie turned out the very miscellaneous contents of her pockets, displaying various stumps of lead pencil, a much worn indiarubber, a b.u.t.tonhook, two or three dominoes, a walnut sh.e.l.l, some acorn cups, a stone with a hole in it, a whistle, a sticky piece of toffee, and a calendar.

"I don't want any of them," said Sylvia, shaking her head.

"But you must. Knives cut love, and we shall quarrel if you don't. The calendar's not much good; it's last year's, and I only kept it for the picture of the dog on the back. But have this," pressing one of the pencils into her hand. "It's the longest piece I have, and rather a nice soft one."

"Let us try putting our pips in the fire," said Nina. "You name one after yourself, and another after someone you like, and then say:

'If you hate me, pop and fly; If you love me, burn and die,'

and see whether you and the person you have chosen will stick to each other or not. I'm going to try Evelyn Hastings."

"Is she your latest?" enquired Marian.

"I think she's perfectly beautiful. She let me carry her umbrella for her this morning, and said I might do it to-morrow if I wanted. May Spencer never speaks to me now."

"I should think she's tired of you. You must have been such a nuisance always clinging on to her arm. Why can't you let the first cla.s.s alone? They don't want us."

"They mayn't want you, but they want me," said Nina, whose adoration of the big girls was a perpetual joke in her cla.s.s. "I held Evelyn's wool yesterday, and pulled off her goloshes, and she never even asked you."

"I shouldn't have done it if she had," declared Marian. "I'd let her wait on herself. I think you're the silliest girl I know. Put your wretched pips in the fire if you're going to."

The result was unfortunate. The one christened 'Nina' popped away promptly, much to its owner's indignation.

"You won't stick to her, you see," laughed Marian, "You'll get tired of her, and throw her over, as you do everybody else."

The amus.e.m.e.nt proved popular, and all the girls insisted upon trying the fortunes of themselves and their friends.

Connie Camden was faithless to everybody; Jessie Ellis had a solitary failure, but would not divulge the name she had chosen or make another attempt; and Gwennie, to her great disgust, turned traitor to her beloved Marian.

"We must go in together of course," said Hazel, throwing two pips, for herself and Linda, into the flames. They were fat, juicy ones, and it was a little while before they caught fire. Pop, pop, they both went, each shooting to different sides of the grate with such violence that they fell out into the fender.

"They haven't finished. We must try them again," cried Hazel, stooping over the guard to pick them up.

"No! No!" exclaimed the others. "They've flown as hard as any could fly. You've both done with each other entirely. Now someone else.

Linda, see if you have better luck with Sylvia!"

It was very foolish, but Sylvia looked on with quite a feeling of anxiety as Linda dropped two carefully chosen pips into a ruddy hollow among the coals. Would they both fly apart, she wondered, or would only one leave the other, and if so which? Or would they linger together until they were burnt to ashes? It seemed to her as though it were an omen of their friends.h.i.+p.

"They're burning," said Nina. "One's just going to pop! No, it isn't.

It's changed its mind. They've both rolled down into that hot piece.

There they go! They're burnt as black as cinders. You two are friends.

You're the only ones who have kept together of all we've tried."

Sylvia squeezed Linda's hand hard with pleasure. To be her friend and stick to her through thick and thin was the height of her ambition, and she was glad that their trial had proved so favourable.

"It's a silly game and doesn't mean anything at all," said Hazel, flus.h.i.+ng angrily. "I wonder you're such babies as to believe in it.

You'll be counting your fortunes by the holes in your biscuits next.

Nina, you were a goose to begin it."

"Well, really! You were ready enough to try," said Nina. "You've no need to be such a crab-stick that I can see."

"You've about as much sense as a sparrow," declared Hazel, "and you'll never have any more if you live to be a hundred. I shan't trouble to play your rubbishy games again!" And she turned away to get out her writing case, and begin a home letter, with such a cross expression on her countenance that the others wisely left her alone.

It was only a few days after this that an incident occurred which unfortunately caused the first shadow of a quarrel between Sylvia and her friend. The dancing cla.s.ses had commenced and were held weekly in the large schoolroom at half-past two o'clock. Everyone was expected to appear in a light frock and thin shoes, so the afternoon seemed almost more like a party than a lesson. Miss Delaney, the teacher, was immensely popular with the girls, and they looked forward to Friday throughout the whole week.

Linda, who was particularly graceful and light of foot, was considered one of the best dancers in the school, and always included in a tarantella or gavotte, or any figure which required a little more skill than was possessed by most of the beginners. Linda's music lesson happened to be on Friday afternoon at two o'clock and she went straight from Miss Denby and the piano to the dancing cla.s.s. Now on this particular day she had put on her white dress as usual, but just as she was opening the door of the practising-room she suddenly noticed that she had completely forgotten to change her shoes. What was she to do? There was not time to run back for them now, as Miss Denby had caught sight of her and she dare not beat a retreat; neither could she go after her lesson, because the girls were strictly forbidden upstairs when once the school bell had rung. Hazel, however, happened to be pa.s.sing down the corridor exactly at that moment, and Linda managed to find time to gasp out: "Ask Sylvia to bring my dancing shoes to the dressing-room," before Miss Denby said: "Come along, Linda! What are you waiting for?" and she was obliged to enter and shut the door.

Hazel was in no hurry to deliver her message. She waited until about twenty-five minutes past two, then, going into the playroom, where most of the others were collected, she strolled leisurely across to Sylvia.

"Here, you," she said insolently, "you've got to go and fetch Linda's dancing shoes. She's forgotten them."

"Who says I've got to go?" asked Sylvia angrily, for Hazel's tone had roused all her worst feelings.

"I do for one!"