Nancy was very full of all the delightful events of next term; there would be the Cup Matches first of all, and the teams of the various houses were discussed "up and down and round and about"; then would come Field Day. "I'm not sure," said Nancy, "just which is the nicest day of all at school; sometimes I think it's the day of the Reunion suppers when the Old Girls come back, or Prize-giving Day, or the day of the final Cup Match, and then when Field Day comes I'm perfectly certain it's the best of all."
Then there was the Reunion play to discuss; it was to be "Pride and Prejudice" this year and Judith had been reading the story during the holidays. Would Catherine be the heroine or would Eleanor be chosen, and what about Genevieve for one of the other parts? She would make a good Mrs. Bennet. Of course she could act splendidly, but still—Judith expressed her astonishment at Genevieve's returning popularity. "After what she did I don't see how some of the girls can admire her so much," she said to Nancy.
"But popularity's queer, anyhow," said Nancy; "look at Rosamond Fraser. I suppose some people would say that Rosamond was one of the most popular girls in the house, and we know it's because she always has such good 'eats' to give away. And then there's Eleanor, we know she's popular because she is such a brick. There ought to be another word for her kind of popularity. Genevieve is clever, you know, and she's awfully funny," she continued, smiling as she remembered Genevieve mimicking Miss Langton in a temper; "anybody who is amusing can be popular," she concluded sagely.
Judith was impressed with Nancy's wisdom. "Well, but—Miss Ashwell and Miss Marlowe are popular, too, aren't they?"
"Yes," said Nancy; "but it's not the same kind of popularity as Miss Morton's. Miss Morton is like Rosamond; the West House girls say you can always get a special permission from her if you're sweet enough to her. She positively likes 'slush.'"
"And Miss Marlowe is like Eleanor," assented Judith thoughtfully. "Nancy, which do you like the best, Miss Ashwell or Miss Marlowe?"
But this was a question not to be easily settled; they spent a most enjoyable though perhaps not highly profitable morning discussing this and various other items of burning interest; they loved to gossip, as all schoolgirls—and most of the rest of us—do, but it was harmless enough and never unkind.
Aunt Nell, apparently, was determined that Judith should have a gay week-end, for after luncheon she warned them that this was to be their last quiet morning. Yip, it seemed, was so proud of his skill in concocting wonderful salads and ices, that he had no objection to company—and Judith was to invite any one she liked for dinner to-morrow, and they were to lunch with Mrs. Nairn downtown and go to a matinee, and Aunt Nell would be delighted to give them a tea-party the day before school opened.
They had the jolliest time possible; Judith loved playing hostess, and carte-blanche for a dinner and a tea-party was a great treat; and to have Nancy to discuss everything with—"just bliss" Judith confided to Aunt Nell.
And if holidays will end, it wasn't hard to go back to the "Jolly Susan" and look forward to the good times which were promised in "the best term of all."
CHAPTER XIII
THE MESSENGER
"Come on, do, Nancy," urged Judith; "it's on Friday, there is nothing else doing and it's sure to be interesting, for there are to be pictures of the work in Italy and in Russia. Miss Ashwell's going to take us. I'm going to be her partner," she added importantly.
"Well, that settles it," said Nancy; "you and your Miss Ashwell! I won't go if I can't go with you. It's a long walk from the University to the cars and I'm tired of Red Cross, anyway."
Judith and Jane were curled up on Nancy's couch eating chocolates; Nancy had just had a birthday and Jack had sent her a gratifyingly large box of candy with the injunction to go "fifty-fifty" with Judith and thus save herself from a bilious attack.
"I can't see why you are so keen on another Red Cross meeting, Judy. I should think you'd be tired of the subject after writing that long essay for Miss Kingston—but I forgot about your Uncle Brian.—Get off my foot, Jane, do."
Jane selected another chocolate, and said with a chuckle:
"You should have been in our French division this morning! Dear Miss Watson, how she hates me."
"I don't wonder," said Catherine, who was on the window-seat mending a lace ruffle. "Don't tell me that you've been tormenting her again."
"Certainly; we always do at the beginning of term, though we get tired of it after a while. We had verbs this morning with lots of r's in them—accourir and servir and reconnaître—so I winked to Althea and Maggie and we had a dandy time. It saves lots of work," she added reflectively. "Every time Miss Watson rolled an r, one of us put up a hand and asked to have the word repeated. We just couldn't understand her. We made it last for most of the period, and the poor dear didn't get to the exercise at all."
"I'd have sent you packing, the whole lot of you, to Miss Meredith. You deserve it, and then I guess you'd be sorry, you little worms!"
"Oh, would you?" retorted Jane shrewdly; "not if you had reported us all two days ago for setting a metronome going in class. That was fun! Miss Meredith is getting tired of Miss Watson's returned lessons and bad marks, though she gave us a jolly good scolding, I must say. No, I think we are pretty safe for this week." And she chuckled reminiscently.
"Choose some one your own size, Jane," suggested Catherine, hunting for a piece of chocolate ginger; "'t isn't sporting to pick on Miss Watson like that."
"Well, why not?" demanded Jane. "She isn't on her job—she's just plain stupid—I don't believe she ever thinks about anything."
"Well, you're wrong there—she's just crazy about reading—she reads everything—her room is full of books, and Miss Ashwell says she knows more about Russian literature than most people in this country. None of you children been bothering Miss Ashwell, have you?"
There was an indignant denial, and Judith, remembering that she had seen her friend and comforter looking very much as if she herself stood in need of comforting, asked quickly:
"Oh, well, she seems bothered," was the rather vague answer.
Judith ran down to Miss Ashwell's room at visiting time that night, and tapping at the door put in her head and enquired, "May I come in?"
"Not just now, Judith," said Miss Ashwell, "I'm busy."
Judith with a mumbled apology disappeared at once, but not before she had seen that Miss Ashwell's busy-ness had to do apparently with the snapshot of a handsome soldier propped against the reading-lamp—a despatch case lay open on the floor beside her and there were letters strewn over the table and in Miss Ashwell's lap.
"Now, wasn't that too bad of me to rush in like that," thought Judith, as she hurried away. "I wonder if that's the picture she showed me the other day—she was probably going to write to him—wouldn't it be exciting?"
Miss Ashwell looked complacently next day at her line of forty girls as they were ushered into reserved seats near the front of Convocation Hall. They might some of them look like young hoydens in middy blouses and gymnasium bloomers—which costume most of them affected during school hours—but now, in their trim serge suits and chic little hats, they were a credit to their chaperon, and as it was considered bad form to misbehave "in line" at church or concert or lecture, Miss Ashwell settled down and gave herself up to the luxury of her own thoughts.
Judith, sitting beside her and looking eagerly at the portraits of founders and benefactors, decided that they could not be very happy thoughts, for she heard one soft little sigh and then another. Miss Ashwell was unhappy again! Something pathetic about the droop of her lips made Judith feel sudden anger against the unknown cause of Miss Ashwell's melancholy. It might, of course, have been a large millinery bill, or indigestion, or a blouse that wouldn't fit, but Judith's romantic soul would have none of these. It must be that man in the Italian snapshots. How pretty Miss Ashwell had looked that day when she had showed Judith the Italian pictures! How her eyes had deepened until they were almost violet, and how her cheeks had glowed! Perhaps he was an unfaithful lover, perhaps he had married an Italian girl, or even a German in a sudden impulse of pity, and now could not come home to Canada to face his old love. No, not married, just betrothed, because of course he must come home, and Judith was already staging Miss Ashwell's wedding when the President and faculty members, together with distinguished guests and officials of the Red Cross Society, took their places on the dais.
Judith leaned forward eagerly. How delightfully the red and blue splashes of colour of the professors' academic hoods showed up against the old-oak panelling. That must be an Oxford hood, and there was an Edinburgh one. Daddy had showed her one like that—but the President was speaking. He regretted that Dr. Johnson, who was to have lectured this afternoon, was unavoidably absent through illness, but a distinguished graduate of their own, who had been with the Intelligence Staff in Italy and had won the Military Cross because of a particularly brilliant piece of work there, who had been a prisoner in Russia for nearly a year, and who had recently been engaged in relief work in Serbia, had been prevailed upon to take Dr. Johnson's place. He had much pleasure in introducing Major David Phillips.
The York Hill line bent forward eagerly—an M.C.—a Russian prisoner—name David—David was a favourite name just then—one of their own University boys, wounded, tall, thin, dark hair turning grey at the temples in the most approved fashion! How satisfactorily romantic!
But just how romantic, not one of the forty guessed but Judith. She alone heard the quick intake of Miss Ashwell's breath, she alone saw the flood of colour sweep over Miss Ashwell's face, she could almost hear the thumpings of Miss Ashwell's heart, and Judith guessed at once that the here who was being enthusiastically applauded was the hero of the Italian snapshots, and Miss Ashwell's face was sufficient confirmation. How thrilling, how wonderful! He was home again, Miss Ashwell would be happy, everybody would be happy! Probably they would be married right away—she had forgotten the imaginary German bride—and maybe Miss Ashwell would let her help her in her shopping. She could go down on Saturday mornings. Aunt Nell knew an awfully good shop for linens, an Irish shop.
"Say, Judy," whispered Frances, "isn't that your Uncle Tom in the back row on the platform?"
Yes, it was. Judith blushed with vexation. Why couldn't Uncle Tom be more careful? His tie had slipped its moorings and was gradually working its way to the top of his collar. Really, relations ought to be less conspicuous unless they could be more presentable; she hoped Catherine wouldn't see him. He did look ridiculous. Whatever had he done to his hair? It looked as if he had gone to sleep in it, thought Judy indignantly.
Judith stole another glance at Miss Ashwell; the colour had faded and her face was white; it looked almost stern. Whatever was the matter? The lights went off for the lantern slides and Judith, greatly daring, whispered:
"Isn't that the Major Phillips you used to know, Miss Ashwell? The one who was with Uncle Brian in Italy?"
"Yes, I used to know him, Judith, a long time ago," in stiff, cold, dignified tones.
Judith felt dazed for a moment; then a happy inspiration came to her; a lovers' quarrel—that's what's the matter. Now, if they could just meet again without either of them having to give in, they would be sure to make it up.
It was very trying having no one to talk to. She wished fervently that Nancy or Sally May or Josephine or Joyce or some one other than Frances were beside her; she must think hard. Miss Ashwell was in love with Major Phillips, that was clear. Major Phillips must be in love with Miss Ashwell, that went without saying. Miss Ashwell was unhappy. Of course it wasn't her business at all, at all, but Judith didn't think of that. There was something appealing about Miss Ashwell at all times, and Miss Ashwell in trouble made Judith certain that something must be done. She hardly heard a word the lecturer said, but sat frowning, thinking hard; then her face cleared; she had a plan. She would make a dash for the platform and Uncle Tom the minute the last picture was put on the screen, and beg him to introduce her to Major Phillips, and she would ask him if he would speak at the Arts and Letters Club, for she knew they wanted some one for next week. Probably Miss Ashwell would be very much annoyed and would come after her, and then—further than that Judith didn't go, for she was immediately involved in the difficulties of how to get away from Miss Ashwell in order to make her dash for the platform. The York Hill girls would wait, of course, a few minutes until some of the people had gone before they tried to leave the building; perhaps by that time Major Phillips would have disappeared. Judith was still struggling to think of something plausible to say to Miss Ashwell when the lights came on again; and when the organist began "God Save the King" and the audience rose, Judith knew that she must act quickly if she were to to save the situation. Her heart thumped so loudly that there was a buzzing in her ears and her hands were icy cold. Miss Ashwell would be angry; she might even report Judith to Miss Meredith; Judith quailed at the thought; the last note sounded.
"Excuse me, Miss Ashwell, but there's Uncle Tom. I simply must speak to him." And before an astonished and, it must be confessed, a dreaming Miss Ashwell could say yea or nay, Judith had slipped past her down the aisle and was making her way to the platform. The line was transfixed with horror.
"Judith Benson! Who does she think she is, anyway, going right up there amongst all those 'brass hats?' Is she crazy?"
Judith was lost to York Hill eyes as she disappeared into the group of people at the back of the platform, who were apparently waiting to have a word with the speaker. She clutched Uncle Tom's arm with both hands, and if the warmth of her greeting astonished him he made no sign.
"Why, yes, I know him," he replied in answer to her eager questioning. "What you doin' here by yourself? Oh, are they?"—and he turned to get a view of the line. "Arts and Letters Club, eh? Sounds frightening. I don't know whether he'd dare." This in Uncle Tom's facetious manner. "Hey, Phillips"—to the hero who was making a determined effort to escape his questioners—"Here's a young lady who is a hero-worshipper." And as he made the necessary introduction, he added, to Judith's huge disgust, "She wants your autograph or something."
Judith made her request politely and, as with sinking heart she saw that he was going to refuse, she added clearly, "Miss Elizabeth Ashwell is waiting down there for us with the others—the line I mean." Judith was thrilled at the change in Major Phillips's face.
"Oh, then, you are Miss Ashwell's messenger," he said eagerly.
"Not exactly," stammered Judith; "but she's waiting for us," she repeated firmly.
Major Phillips lost no time.
"In that case we had better go, not keep a lady waiting, eh, Mr. Hilton? Perhaps I ought to say forty ladies," he continued as they made their way down the aisle.
Judith's knees were trembling. She didn't dare lift her eyes, as Uncle Tom greeted Miss Ashwell and she heard him say,
"Major Phillips I believe you know already."
Major Phillips had Miss Ashwell's hand in his and was clearly paying no attention to Uncle Tom. The line was divided afterwards as to whether he shook her hand eagerly or just held it. The majority favoured the latter opinion, but all agreed that he looked right into her eyes and that his voice was "as different as anything from what it was before."
Somehow or other they started on their homeward way with Miss Ashwell and Major Phillips bringing up the rear, for Williams the janitor had magically appeared with the latter's stick, and Uncle Tom thoughtfully made his adieus and departed.
If Major David Phillips hadn't been too ecstatically happy to notice anything except the curve of Miss Ashwell's pink cheek and the length of her eyelashes and a soft little curl which hung in front of her ear, he might have been surprised at the extreme quiet of the forty girls in front of him; they might have been walking to a funeral. What he wouldn't have guessed was that every ear in the line was stretched backwards to catch his slightest word or he might have lowered his voice. As it was at least half the line could hear him:
Yes, he was glad to be back in Canada.
Yes, two months ago.
He'd been delayed in England over the Serbian work.
No, he wasn't in town. He had a cottage, really a little old farmhouse, about ten miles out of the city. His Aunt Joan had died while he was away and had left him "White Cottage." He was living there with his batman, who was awfully handy and did the cooking and everything, and between them they had turned the parlour and the spare bedroom into a studio. They had made a great northern window and Jennings was now building a piazza. Elizabeth must come and see it. However, she would have to come soon, as he was going to France in June.
"Elizabeth," said the line to itself, "and she didn't call him David?" They felt they wouldn't have been so behind-hand.
Judith meanwhile, being partnerless, had wormed her way down to the prefects who were leading the line.
"Cathy," she whispered urgently, "do go slow, please; he's limping, you know, and don't stop when we get to the cars. Please, please, just walk on slowly, and perhaps Miss Ashwell won't notice. I'll tell you why later. It's awfully important."
"Right you are, Mr. First Mate," answered Catherine, and Judith, not without some whispered chaffing, got back within earshot.
Major Phillips was talking about his experiences in the Russian prison and Judy needn't have worried lest Miss Ashwell should notice when they reached the cars; Miss Ashwell was in another world entirely; the line did not exist for her. They walked on and on and Major Phillips's voice became lower. The line began to feel rebellious.
"Fourteen blocks," said Frances Purdy to her neighbour. "I'm nearly dead. I shouldn't wonder if we had to walk all the way."
And they did. Miss Ashwell didn't "notice" till they began the ascent of the hill and Major Phillips was obliged to go very slowly, indeed. Miss Ashwell was full of remorse. His leg must be hurting, but the school was in sight. He must come in and rest. He had walked too far, and lines of pain and fatigue were plain to be seen. Miss Ashwell decided that she must take him to the common room, and then get Mrs. Bronson to make him some hot tea. But probably he couldn't walk so far! Perhaps he would faint. Whatever should she do? Suddenly to her great relief she saw Miss Meredith in her car evidently returning from town. Miss Ashwell moved over to the side of the road, Major Phillips limping after her, and the line stood still awaiting developments. Miss Ashwell explained her predicament to an amazed Head Mistress. Miss Meredith thought and acted quickly. Major Phillips was welcomed with both hands and tucked into the car. Catherine was summoned.
"My compliments to Mrs. Bronson, Catherine, and please ask her if she can provide you all with hot cocoa and cake after your walk. Miss Ashwell is coming home with me for tea."
The car drove off, and though the line moved on decorously towards the much-desired rest and cocoa, Major Phillips would have been considerably surprised if he could have heard its sudden galvanization into speech.
Catherine, who took Miss Ashwell's place at the end of the line, was obliged to send a runner ahead with the request,
"Less noise till we reach bounds, please."
But the instant they reached the school gates the line dissolved and Judith was surrounded by an excited mob.
"Oh, go on, tell us, Judy."
"Whatever were you doing on the platform?"
"Who is he, anyway?"
"Don't be a piker! Tell us, Judy."
"Fancy Miss Meredith whisking him off like that."
"Is he really Miss Ashwell's?"
But Judith, though triumphant, was loyally discreet. He was an old friend of her Uncle Brian's. She had to speak to Uncle Tom, and then Uncle Tom and Major Phillips came down to speak to Miss Ashwell.
There were some who felt that this was not all, but Catherine supported Judith and adjured them not to go into their own houses and spread romantic tales.
But there are some things which even a popular prefect cannot achieve. The affair was discussed in all its details by the tired forty as they consumed much cocoa and cake in the sitting-room, and even later, when the running of many bath-taps proclaimed loudly the fact that forty tired bodies were being refreshed, scraps of conversation floated over the bath partitions.
"Good thing it's his left arm that's hurt."
"Isn't his hair lovely? I adore hair that is slightly greying!"
"Is it a V.C. he's got?"
"When do you suppose they'll be married?"
"Did you say he was an artist or an engineer?"
"Won't she look lovely in a wedding gown?"
"I wouldn't be married in anything but white."
"Judith Benson thinks she's it. What is she doing in it anyhow?"
Judith smiled happily in her bath. She had decided on her bridesmaid's frock.
CHAPTER XIV
JUDITH WINS THE TENNIS CUP
Spring came early this year and the school spent much time out of doors during the last term. Many classes were held in the big sun porches and in the sheltered spots in the grounds, and the various teams were hard at basket-ball and cricket and tennis, even before breakfast.
It was not so hard now to get up at a quarter to seven, and Judith and Florence even joined the B.B.B.'s—"Before Breakfast Brigade"—who pledged themselves to get up in time for a dip in the swimming-pool or a game before the breakfast-bell rang.
Judith was especially keen about tennis, and she improved her game so much that, to her surprise and delight, even high and mighty prefects like Patricia and Catherine were asking her for practice games in preparation for the House and School Tournaments later on. Catherine was a very busy person, indeed, just now; she had an important part in the play given during prize-giving week and she was a member of the Senior basket-ball team. Judith would never be a basket-ball enthusiast, but she filled a very respectable position on the Junior team and she could share in the excitement about the Senior match which was to be played against Queen's School. Patricia was working her team hard; every spare hour was devoted to goal practice, and team practice came every day as a matter of course.
Nancy had much to tell Judith of last year's triumph when Eleanor's brilliant play had won the coveted trophy for York Hill. This year Queen's were reported to have a marvellous centre and school gossip held that the York Hill team would have a hard battle to keep the shield. Unfortunately, the very day before the match, Helen Burton, a prefect of West House, slipped and wrenched her knee, so that her playing was out of the question. She was not their most brilliant player by any means, but she was steady and used her brains in the game better than most. Althea Somerset was put in as a substitute, but it was disconcerting to lose a tried warrior before the fight began.
Nancy was a timekeeper, and on the day of the match Judith took her stand beside her with the lemons for the refreshment of the teams. The whole School had lined the campus to watch the game; at one end were a group of Old Girls and the staff; near by was a splash of scarlet marking the visitors from Queen's School. Judith, watching the trim figures of the players line up, Queen's with scarlet ties and bands, York Hill with gold ties, felt a sudden rush of loyalty at the sight of her own well-loved prefects.
"They must win—they must—there can't be a doubt of it," said Judith to herself.
The much-talked-of Queen's centre was as wonderful as gossip had reported. She seemed like a veritable spider, all arms and legs; try as she would Althea could not prevent her getting the ball. And there was a fair-haired girl—Pamela by name—who was the best shot Judith had ever seen.
The score mounted rapidly for Queen's and at half-time, when Judith distributed her slices of lemon, things looked rather dark for York Hill.
But Patricia had been using her brains while she played, and Judith and Nancy ministering to the team heard her final injunctions.
"We'll beat 'em yet. Watch that right centre and Pamela Price on the left guard; they're both dandy shots, and they both want a chance to show off. Mark my words, we'll get some fine shots the last half. Their weak point is team-work, and I'm glad to say we're playing together—watch your passing—we're bound to win!"
Judith and Nancy went back to their posts in a state of great excitement. There was an infectious courage and cheeriness about Patricia's words. Certainly Queen's had five points to their favour, but just as certainly York Hill would win!
Up went the ball again and up went the spider-like centre's long arms, and away went the coveted ball in the wrong direction. Judith's heart sank—this half was going to be just like the other—how terrible!
Thirteen-eight—Fourteen-eight.
The whistle blew. Judith couldn't see what had happened, but evidently there had been a foul, for Catherine had a free throw.
York Hill let themselves go for a minute. Good for Cathy! Seconds were precious now and the play was swift.
This time Patricia took the ball.
York Hill held its breath.
Fourteen-ten.
Nothing succeeds like success!
The York Hill team quickened and became tense during those last few seconds like a great orchestra for the finale of a symphony, in answer to the conductor's baton. Patricia felt a thrill of pride. How magnificently the team was responding—they were playing like one person—and that person meant to win—there could be no doubt of it.
"Fifteen-fifteen," said the umpire calmly.
Judith standing quietly beside Nancy wanted to shriek and shout like a young savage—"We're going to beat you! We're going to beat you—yah!"
Fifteen-seventeen! Good for Althea!
Ah, Pamela Price has scored!
"Good play," said York, generously applauding a neat shot.
Seventeen-all—and a minute more to play!
Althea has the ball—no, there it is—Patricia's got it—
That must be Pamela again—no, Catherine has it!
Catherine poised herself and threw.
A soft sighing sound from hundreds of lips marked the safe arrival of the ball in the basket, and then spontaneous cheering drowned the umpire's voice.
York Hill had the cup for another year!
The cheering over, the teams departed for afternoon tea, and the audience, breaking up into little groups, settled down to a discussion of the points of the game.
"They've certainly a dandy centre, and that fair girl was a great shot—but wasn't Cathy gorgeous! If we'd only had another two minutes—one minute—we'd have beaten 'em all hollow."
"Wasn't our team-work simply splendid?" gloated Judith. "I should think Patricia would be awfully proud. By the way, that reminds me—Patricia said I must play off in the House Tournament to-morrow afternoon. Come on over to the tennis court. I'll play you two—I've got a new serve I want to try. Oh, dear! I wish there weren't any exams this term; I'd like to play the whole time."
Next day when Judith looked at the tournament lists she was astonished to find that she was to play against Catherine. Catherine for the last two years had been South's choice to play in the School Tournament, and although she had been beaten by Nelly Smith of West last year, it was pretty generally conceded that she would win in the preliminary House Tournament and play again in the finals.
"Rather rough on me to have to play against a champion," laughed Judith as they tossed for counts a little later, "but I'm going to give you a hard fight, Cathy, see if I don't."
Perhaps it was the spirit of the blue and golden May day, cool enough to be pleasant, warm enough to be a joy, or the little breeze which came floating across the campus carrying an intoxicating scent of lilacs, but whatever the reason, some sprite seemed to have taken possession of Judith, and she threw herself into the game with such enthusiasm, such abandon, such elfin-like nimbleness that Catherine couldn't touch her balls.
There was not a large audience, for cricket and swimming claimed many, but the crew of the "Jolly Susan" were there, you may be sure, and most of South House, for it had been whispered about that Judith's game was worth watching.
"Well played," said Eleanor heartily, as Florence called out the score. "Game and set in Judith's favour! You've improved your game tremendously, Judy."
"Thanks, Judy," said Catherine; "hardly a good fight, I'm afraid, rather a good beating." Try as she did to keep it out there was a little coldness in Catherine's voice. She was tired after yesterday's match, and it wasn't particularly pleasant to be beaten by a youngster after she had been champion for South for two years.
Judith's quick ears had caught the note of coldness, and her gay spirits deserted her instantly. What did winning a game matter if Catherine were displeased with her! She was almost angry with Nancy, who remarked gleefully after Catherine had gone, "You're almost sure to be chosen to play for the House now, Judy, dear. What tremendous luck!"
Judith wouldn't hear of it, and when a little later Eleanor told her that she was the choice of the Committee she begged to be let off.
"It really wasn't fair," she protested. "Cathy was awfully tired and not in good form, and I was feeling tip-top. I'd hate to take her place."
But Eleanor was firm. "Catherine," she said, "is not playing so well—she's had too many irons in the fire, so we'll look to you to win for South. Patricia says she'll take you for fifteen minutes every morning before breakfast. Your net play needs a little steadying—get in as much practice as you can before the tournament."
Eleanor's word was final, and of course it was gratifying to be chosen, but Judith's pleasure was spoilt by her fear that Catherine was hurt and would never be friends with her again. That night at visiting hour she knocked at Catherine's door with the resolve to tell her in some way or other that she was sorry. She didn't know quite how it was to be done, because she might only make matters worse. But instead of Catherine's usual cheerful "Come in," a preoccupied voice said, "Who's there?" and to Judith's answer, replied, "Will another time do, Judy? I'm awfully busy."
Judith went off disconsolately, and when she did try to express her regret at being chosen in place of Catherine, her endeavours, as she feared, were not a success. Catherine merely said that of course she was glad Judith was to play, but again her voice was cold.
"Cathy doesn't really mean it," protested Nancy, in whom Judith confided. "She's just busy with the play—you know she's to be the heroine—and she's writing on her diploma examination too. Cheer up, Judy, don't look so like an owl."
Judith refused to be comforted; the honour of the House meant less to her than the friendship of Catherine whom she had adored from the first day she entered York Hill. However, she practiced hard—Patricia saw to that—and when Tournament Day came she had profited not a little by the week's coaching.
But Patricia was worried. True, Judith's serve had improved, but she lacked the nerve and spirit which had made her playing so irresistible in the House match, and Nelly Smith was an old hand at the game.
The great day came. Surely Catherine would wish her luck, and while Judith put on a fresh white skirt and blouse and made her hair as trim as possible, she listened for the sound of Catherine's footsteps—but no Catherine came, and Judith went off to the match with a heavy heart.
The central courts were lined with spectators, and as they tossed for courts Judith realized that this was an occasion. The cup was to go for a year to the winner of this one match, for Nelly Smith had already beaten Althea Somerset of North, and East, being largely a Junior House, had no representative.
Over by the umpire's stand Judith could see the crew of the "Jolly Susan"—Nancy's pretty golden head and Josephine's untidy red one. Jane seemed to be holding a flag—yes, it must be the "Susan's" flag. If only Catherine—!
Nelly had the first serve, and the white balls began to fly back and forth. Nelly won her serve and then Judith hers. It was steady, interesting playing. They were well matched. But Judith's mind was only half on her game, for while with one half of her brain she countered Nelly's tactics, the other half was still occupied with Catherine and the possibility of losing Catherine's friendship if she won the game.
Suddenly in a flash Judith saw a solution. Supposing she didn't win—and of course she mightn't—Nelly was no mean rival—would Catherine restore her to friendship? Supposing she didn't try her very hardest?
Judith's thoughts were centred on Catherine and the full dishonour of what she was contemplating did not occur to her. She only knew that nothing seemed to matter if she lost Catherine. Nancy, meanwhile, who surmised what was troubling Judith, was watching her anxiously, and because she knew her so well she saw that Judith was not putting her whole self into the game, although she had won the first set by a very narrow margin. Nelly's score was climbing steadily now—five-three, five-four.
"Game and set to Nelly Smith," called the umpire as the players changed courts, and when Nelly stooped to tighten a shoelace, Nancy made a quick decision and whispered in Catherine's ear:
"Judy's nervous, Cathy; please say something to cheer her up the way you did at the play."
The colour deepened ever so slightly in Catherine's cheeks, for she had been mentally shaking herself that she had not been more generous to Judy, so she was quick to seize her opportunity as Judith passed.
"Good for you, Judibus—you're certain to win—you're doing splendidly. Remember we're trusting ourselves to you—but we're sure of the cup—you can play!"
Catherine's old self, all the coldness gone, spoke in the words.
They seemed to be magic words, for a miracle happened then and there. Nelly fought hard and it was a battle worth watching, but Judith was quite certain now that she would win. Nelly really hadn't a chance against some one who suddenly realized that she had not been answering up to the trust her friends had given her; some one who saw herself restored to the favour she coveted; some one who knew now that it didn't matter a bit whether she lost or won as long as she did her very best; some one who was suddenly walking on air, whose eyes and cheeks were glowing with joy, and whose feet and wits seemed so nimble that strategy and tactics were blown to the winds.
The last set went rapidly, and it seemed afterwards to Judith only a few exhilarating moments until the umpire was announcing, "Game and set in favour of Judith Benson," and three cheers were being given for her and three cheers for South. South House had the cup back again!
Judith had just sufficient presence of mind left to shake hands with Nelly and thank her for the game, and then she was in the midst of a happy throng of Southerners who shouted congratulations and told her she was a brick, and a wonder, and a credit to the House.
Invitations for tea at the tuck shop poured in thick and fast, but Catherine answered for her:
"Not a bit of it; she belongs to the 'Jolly Susan' first of all, and we've a spread of ship's rations in my room all ready for the occasion."
Judith looked so radiant at the party that Sally May, who always knew the latest bit of gossip, said disappointedly,
"I suppose you know about Miss Ashwell, Judy?"
"What about her?" said Judith eagerly. "Is she—?"
"Yes, she—is—engaged! It's frightfully exciting—some of the girls saw her ring this afternoon, and she said yes she was, and what do you think?" Sally May paused dramatically.
"Well—?"
"She's going to be married in prize-giving week because the Major is going back to France—and Miss Meredith is giving her a school wedding—only all the Old Girls are going to be there—so they're not sure whether we'll be invited."
Sally May paused for breath.
Here was room for discussion, indeed. A wedding! A York Hill wedding! And their own Miss Ashwell! Surely they would be invited!
Field Day proved another exciting topic—they all decided to enter the suitcase race and provide some merriment for the School by the costumes they would produce. The party broke up reluctantly to dress for dinner. But Catherine managed to detain Judith for a moment and say in an undertone:
"I've been horrid lately, Judy—too busy with the play to be decent. I suppose you're getting busy, too, on the Properties Committee; but I wonder if you could spare time to hear me my part to-night?"
CHAPTER XV
JUNE SHOWERS
The next two weeks were the busiest and the happiest that Judith had ever known. It would have been a joy merely to be alive on such blue, unclouded days of golden sunshine. Even examination tests, which she still dreaded, were bringing with them a curious happiness.
"I don't know how it is," Judith confided to the crew of the "Jolly Susan" one morning as bed-making was in progress, "but there is something nice about exams after all."
"Nice!" came from Josephine and Jane,—"Nice!"
"Well, it may be all very well for you if you want to show off how much ancient history you've crammed up," said Sally May rather crossly; "I don't see anything nice about them. I hate this ancient history, silly old names! I don't know who won one of these battles"—and she continued to mutter to herself a list of battles of the Peloponnesian War, which she was memorizing in preparation for the history test.
"But," Judith persisted, "there is something nice about them; it must be measuring ourselves against others and doing our very best, just like the high jumping on Field Day. Now you know very well you enjoyed that," she continued, going to Josephine's door and noting with surprise that Josephine was actually cleaning her white shoes.
"'Course," said Josephine; "ça va sans dire. Ha! Thought I'd make you open your eyes quoting French as to the manner born, and cleaning shoes into the bargain! Mademoiselle made me learn five phrases—had to write them out a hundred times. What I say is, lessons are lessons, and jumping is jumping; one's nasty and t'other's nice if you like."
Judith was interested in Josephine's French.
"Let's have the other phrases, Josephine."
"Not me," answered Josephine elegantly. "Moi, I shall scatter them about gracefully. Dad will probably think I'm well-educated when I go home, and if I'm tidy, too, my mother will be perfectly satisfied."
"Well, you'd better begin on your room," said Jane who had joined them. "I notice, Miss Burley, that you received 'C' and a disorderly mark last week, and friend Genevieve says that Miss Watson is on the war-path this week."
"Miss Marlowe says I'm incorrigible," said Josephine, sadly shaking her head. "Heigho! It's hard luck being born so careless; I get blamed for everything. 'Eh bien! mademoiselle,' I shall say gently the next time I'm reproved, 'Je ferai mon possible!' and by means of these choice little French phrases and a perfectly clean pair of shoes, my reputation will improve. Voyez!"
Every spare moment was being spent out-of-doors these days, so Sally May and Judith took their history books out under Judith's favorite acacia trees, and Judith good-naturedly, for every moment was precious, gave Sally May a half-hour's grind on her ancient history before morning school. When the ten-minute bell rang, their books were closed with a bang almost before the bell had ceased, and they were dancing and leaping and running across the lawn and round the tennis courts, where they ran into Nancy.
"Just think!" she cried, "Margaret Leslie is going to be house mother for the Old Girls this year, and she says that there are about a hundred out-of-town girls coming to the Reunion, and of course there'll be heaps of town girls. Won't it be heavenly?"—and she hopped on one foot for joy. Then the three had a race to the schoolroom door. Middies and bloomers simply compel one to run and scamper.
Judith thought about the Reunion as the form filed in silently to prayers. Nancy had talked about it all year; she thought it the happiest time of the year, and as she had been at York Hill all her school days she would know a number of the girls who were coming back.
"They are here for four days," Nancy had told her, "so we just pack those days full. There's the Reunion tea, and the grandchildren's party, and the suppers and the plays, and then Sunday and prize-giving. I get so happy I feel that I'll burst if I'm not careful."
Form Five were already hard at work on their songs for the supper party; Judith was to respond to a toast. The play was well under way by Easter-time, as Judith knew, for she was a hard-working member of the Properties Committee. What she did not know was that her name had been seriously considered for one of the parts and Catherine and Eleanor had strongly urged her fitness. But Miss Marlowe had cautioned them: "Judith has had a good first year, but I'm not sure that a prominent part in another play wouldn't spoil it for her. Remember she had an important part at Christmas-time. Don't turn her head." Eleanor saw the point and Judith was instead put on the committee where she was doing good work.
This year there was the added delight of the wedding. Last night Miss Meredith had given the invitations, and the School, you may be sure, would "accept with pleasure."
Form Five A held a meeting at recess time. They must get Miss Ashwell a wedding present.
"Form Two and Form Four are going to give her a hankie shower," said Joyce Hewson, "and Patricia told me that the Sixth Form is going to give her a linen shower."
"And Domestic Science are having a kitchen shower," joined in Frances. "I don't see what there's left for us."
Books were suggested, but voted down. "Besides, we haven't enough money," said Nancy, "Miss Meredith said we mustn't spend much."
Nancy wanted to put the money into a lump sum and buy one nice thing, a picture or a piece of silver or something like that. But the majority of the girls favoured the shower idea. A tea-cup shower was discussed, and seemed to be the most popular of all the plans yet made, when Peggy said she believed the Staff were buying china. She and her mother had met three of the Staff in Smith's on Saturday morning, and she guessed from what they said that that was what they doing.
Judith had been thinking—what would Miss Ashwell like? What does she like to do? And a picture flashed into her mind of Miss Ashwell in garden hat and gloves snipping Miss Meredith's rosebushes and talking to Judith about Gloire de Dijons, and Frau Druschkis and Prince Ruperts and Lady Ursulas, as if they were intimate friends. Judith jumped up excitedly.
"Madam President," she said eagerly, "why shouldn't we have a flower shower? I mean plants, rosebushes and Canterbury bells and lilacs if they haven't got 'em, and maybe a cherry tree," she added as the plan grew before her eyes.
Pros and cons were discussed. Perhaps "White Cottage" already had a good garden. No, she had heard the Major say—here Judith blushed and stammered as she heard Jane observe, "Great friend of the Major's is Judy"—that the garden was no good; anyway, they could find out. Perhaps Miss Meredith would find out for them.
"But it'll be too late to plant cherry trees and lilac bushes," objected Alicia Harris, who was a practical gardener and had been a steady worker in the War Garden Committee. That was so!
Besides, the bride and groom were going to France and what would the garden do in the meantime? Judith looked quite blank. Just when it had seemed such a lovely plan! She could see the climbing rose she meant to give and had already congratulated herself on asking for some extra pocket money for the last term. But Nancy came to the rescue.
"I know; let's give the money and the order for the flowers or bushes to a florist and ask him to set them out in the proper time in the fall, and we'll give Miss Ashwell a card with the name of the flowers we have chosen, and, oh, then we could have rhymes. We'd put 'Violets' on the card and then—