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The Nicest Girl
in the School

Contents

Illustrations

CHAPTER I
Packing

"Yes," said Patty, with a rather doubtful tone in her voice, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and beginning to turn over the pocket handkerchiefs, the new blouses, the ties, hair ribbons, and other articles which made up her schoolgirl outfit; "I suppose I am lucky. Perhaps it may be nicer than I think. I wanted to go dreadfully when Uncle Sidney first wrote about it, but somehow now that it's got almost to starting off, do you know I feel as if I'd changed my mind, and I'm not at all sure that I wouldn't rather stay at home. It seems too horrible to have to go amongst so many new girls."

Mrs. Hirst laughed.

"Don't be a silly child," she said. "Of course you will feel strange just at first, but you will soon get over your shyness. It will be quite a fresh world for you, and a very interesting one. I expect to have the most enthusiastic letters from you when you have been there for a few weeks."

"It will be different from Miss Dawson's, at any rate," said Patty.

"I hope it will. Miss Dawson's is the best school we have in Kirkstone, but it is only moderately good. I can't be too glad for you to have this opportunity of going to a better one. Give me your stockings, dear, and the workbasket; I've a corner I want to fill up here."

Patty sat watching her mother's deft fingers in silence for a moment or two, only handing her from time to time the things which she required. She gave a little sigh of satisfaction as she saw all her belongings stowed away in the big box; she had never had so many new possessions in her life before, and in the pleasure of owning them felt some slight compensation for the wrench of parting from home. The two useful navy-blue serge skirts, with their accompanying blouses, the pretty brown velvet dress for Sundays, the flowered delaine for evenings, and the white muslin for school parties, not to mention the hats, coats, and the numberless small articles needed for a girl going away by herself, all represented much thought and some self-denial on the part of her mother, who had made a great effort to send her nicely equipped, and had toiled hard to finish everything in time.

"I don't believe anybody could have a prettier nightdress case or brush-and-comb bag than this," said Patty, proudly smoothing the lace edging which she had helped to stitch on herself; "and the clothes bag is a perfect beauty. Here's the little cash-box, Mother. It seems such a funny thing to have to take to school. I haven't any 'valuables' to put into it, except my pocket money, and you said Miss Lincoln would take care of that. Why must it have two keys?"

"In case you lose one, I suppose. No doubt Miss Lincoln is well accustomed to schoolgirls' careless ways. You can keep your brooches inside it, and your locket and chain. Now give me your serviette ring and your collars, and don't forget that I've put the boot laces in your workbasket."

"I wonder if I shall unpack by myself, or if anyone will come to help me," said Patty.

"You'll soon find out what is expected, and of course Muriel will be able to tell you everything. It's so very nice for you to have your cousin at the school. You'll have a friend there already."

Patty's face fell.

"I'm not sure, Mother," she said, rather hesitatingly. "The truth is, I'm afraid Muriel doesn't want me to go. She was so queer and offhand about it when I was staying at Thorncroft; she wouldn't talk of it at all, though Aunt Lucy did. Somehow I think she won't like me to be at the same school as herself."

"You must be mistaken, dear! Why, Uncle Sidney was so pleased with his project, and said you were to take care of Muriel as if she were your sister."

"I know he did; but all the same, I don't believe Muriel herself will like it. She's never been very fond of me; Horace is always much jollier when I go there. When Aunt Lucy said she hoped we should both be in the same class, Muriel looked quite cross, and said of course I should be lower down, as she had gone to school first, and girls who were in different forms scarcely saw anything of each other; and then, when we were out in the garden together, she said she didn't see why I must be sent to The Priory, and surely there were other schools I could have gone to."

"Never mind, dear! Perhaps she was a little out of temper that day, and may prove nicer when you really arrive. You must try to keep friends with her, even if she's not always quite pleasant. We mustn't forget Uncle Sidney's kindness. I feel very grateful to him, for we couldn't possibly have sent you to such an expensive school on our own account."

"I'll try," said Patty, "as far as she'll let me. If she were more like Milly it would be much easier. Oh! how dreadfully I shall miss you and Father, and Basil, and the little ones! I wish I could go to school and take my family with me. I don't know how I'm to manage for thirteen whole weeks without once seeing any of you. The time will never go by."

"Poor little woman!" said her mother. "It does seem hard, I know, but you must look forward to meeting us all again, and the days will pass much faster than you imagine."

"But, Mother darling, you'll have so much to do while I'm away. Who'll help you with the children? Baby will almost have forgotten me by the time I come back."

"No, he won't; he'll know you in a moment, and give you his biggest hug. It's no use crying, Patty; young birds must leave the nest some time, and learn to fly for themselves. We shall miss you as much as you miss us, but we must brace our minds to bear it, because it's one of those partings that have to come, and are for the best after all. Think what a splendid thing it is for you to be going to such a school as Morton Priory! I only wish I had had such advantages when I was a girl. You must work hard, and make the very most of your time there."

"I'll do my best, but I'm not clever," said Patty, "and I'm afraid I never shall be. Mother, dearest, you're actually crying too! What a horrid, selfish, nasty wretch I am! I believe it's just as bad for you as it is for me. There! I'm not going to say another word, and if I do, please give me a smack. I'm ever so ashamed to have made my darling little Mother cry!"

She got off the bed, and giving a hard scrub to her eyes, stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket with a determined air, as if the tears went with it. All the same, her voice sounded choky, and there were such bright drops glistening on Mrs. Hirst's eyelashes, that I think they both felt it a welcome interruption when a loud tramping was suddenly heard on the stairs, and four children burst tumultuously into the room: a girl of eleven, two boys of nine and seven, and a younger girl of about five years old.

"We ran all the way home from school," they cried. "We didn't wait a single minute to talk to anybody. Oh! have you packed Patty's box already? We did so want to watch you do it!"

"Go to the nursery, children," said Mrs. Hirst, "I cannot have your meddlesome little fingers here. Robin, put down that hat immediately! Wilfred, you're not to open that bag! No, Kitty, my pet, you mustn't peep inside parcels. Milly, take them away, and make them wash their hands. I didn't expect you all home so soon."

"I'll go with them, Mother," said Patty, taking the noisy four under her elder sisterly wing, and escorting them to their own domain, where Mary, the nurse, was endeavouring to attend to the baby, while at the same time she restrained three-year-old Rowley from making acquaintance with the interior of the coal box. "Did you give Miss Dawson my message, Milly? You forgot? Oh, what a careless girl you are! I shall have to write her a letter. No, it's no use your running back now. There wouldn't be time before tea, it's almost ready."

Patty helped the children to put on pinafores and tidy their hair, washed Rowley's hands, and seated him in his high chair at the table, then made herself so useful in passing bread and butter, spreading jam, and handing round mugs of milk, that Mary gave a heartfelt sigh of regret.

"I simply don't know what we'll do without you when you've gone, Miss Patty," she said dolefully.

"Oh! I wish I were going too!" cried Milly. "What lovely fun it would be! Imagine having a gymnasium, and climbing poles, and walking on planks. Muriel told me all about it when she was over here. She said she learnt to swarm up a rope like sailors do. And there's a swimming bath, and hockey, and cricket, and tennis. You can't think how I envy you, Patty. You're the luckiest girl in the world. It will seem so slow to stay on at Miss Dawson's. I shan't like it one scrap now."

"Will they toss you in a blanket, Patty," enquired Robin eagerly, "like they did Cousin Horace when first he went to school, or twist your arm round and punch it?"

"Of course not," replied Patty, laughing; "those things are only done in boys' schools. Girls don't play such silly tricks; they don't 'punch' people at all."

"They do sometimes," declared Robin; "Milly gave me a horrid——"

"Be quiet!" said Milly quickly, administering what appeared to be a kick under the table. "You deserved anything you got, and if you say a word more I'll tell about—you know what!"

"If you dare!"

"Be quiet, then."

"I will now, but wait till I catch you afterwards!" and Robin, throwing her an indignant glance, applied himself so diligently to his bread and butter, that he had no opportunity for further remarks; while Patty, wisely ignoring the quarrel, turned the conversation back to the safer channel of her future experiences, which at present seemed the most absorbing topic they could have to discuss.

"There'll be a great many more girls there than at Miss Dawson's," she began.

"How many?" asked Milly.

"I believe there are about seventy, and at least half of them will be older than I am. Muriel says some of the top class have turned eighteen, and wear their hair up. I shall only be one of the younger ones."

"How funny!" giggled the children. "Will they give you easy lessons, then?"

"Compound addition and the first declension?" suggested Robin.

"Or spelling and tables?" said Wilfred.

"Will Patty do pot-hooks and learning to read, like me?" said Kitty.

"You will find it easier, though, if you're one of the youngest, won't you?" said Milly.

"No, indeed. I expect all the work will be much harder than anything I've ever done yet. It won't be all hockey and gymnasium, I can tell you. I'm afraid I shall find I'm behind most of the other girls."

"Oh, Patty, and you were always top at Miss Dawson's!"

"That's quite different. It's easy enough to be top when there are only four girls in a class, and two of them as stupid as the Simpsons. I may very likely turn out bottom at The Priory."

"You won't! You won't!" cried Milly. "I heard Miss Dawson tell Mother you were one of her best workers, and she knew you'd do well wherever you went. There, you needn't blush! It wasn't anything very particular, after all. If she'd been talking about me, I'd far rather she'd said I was a good runner, and could catch a ball without missing it every time it was thrown to me."

"She did say something about you, though: I heard her," volunteered Robin.

"Then you shouldn't have listened, and you've no need to tell. I hate tell-tales!" said Milly, forestalling his offered confidence. "If you've finished tea, you'd better go and feed the guinea-pigs. Patty, do come and help me to trace my map, it's the last evening but one that you'll be here; and I want you to show me how to do G.C.M., because I was looking out of the window this morning when Miss Dawson told us, and I can't work any of my sums until I know. Come into the summer-house, where we can get a little peace and quiet;" and hastily swallowing her last fragment of bread and butter, she caught up her school satchel, and beckoning persuasively to her sister, led the way downstairs, and out into the garden.

CHAPTER II
The Priory

As this story mostly concerns Patty, I should like to describe her exactly as she looked when she made her first start into that new, strange world where everything was going to be so different from the quiet home where she had spent the thirteen years of her life. She was not very tall nor very short, just an ordinary, healthy, well-grown girl, with a round, rather childish face, plump rosy cheeks, a nose that had not yet decided what shape it meant to be, a mouth that for beauty might certainly have been smaller, a frank pair of blue eyes, and hair that had been flaxen when she was younger, but now, to her mother's regret, was fast turning as brown as it could. No one could really call Patty pretty, but she had such a merry, pleasant, sunny, smiling look about her, that she always somehow made people feel like smiling too, and put them into a good temper in spite of themselves. She was neither dull nor particularly clever, only possessed of average abilities, able to remember lessons when she tried hard, and gifted with a certain capacity for plodding, but not in the least brilliant over anything she undertook. She was never likely to win fame, or set the Thames on fire, but she was one of those cosy, thoughtful, cheery, lovable home girls, who are often a great deal more pleasant to live with than some who have greater talents; and she had a magic way of making things go smoothly in the household, and dropping oil on all the little creaking hinges of life, without anybody quite discovering how it was done. Patty's father was a busy doctor in the small country town of Kirkstone. He was out nearly the whole day long, driving about in his high gig to visit people in distant farms and villages, and had very little time to give to his own family, so they were obliged to make the most of the few delightful half-hours he could manage to spare for them now and then. Patty, as his eldest daughter, held a special place in his heart. She was already quite a nice companion for him, and I think there was no greater treat for both than on those occasions when she was able to tuck herself into the gig by his side, ready to open gates, and hold the reins while he paid his visits. Patty loved those long drives along the quiet roads. She did not care whether the weather were wet or fine, hot or cold. It did not matter in the least if it snowed or hailed, provided her father was there to talk to, and they could indulge in those confidential chats that seemed to bring them so near together, and made her feel quite a little woman instead of only a girl of thirteen. It was not often, however, that Patty could be absent for the many hours of a doctor's country round. School and lessons claimed most of her time, and even on Saturdays she was so useful at home that they found it difficult to manage without her. Seven younger brothers and sisters all looked to Patty to settle their quarrels, hem their boat sails, dress their dolls, kiss their bumps and bruises better, sympathize with their small woes and troubles, tell them stories, invent new games, and generally take the lead in all the important matters of the nursery. She was her mother's right hand, and from the time she was old enough to feel herself a little older than the rest, she had helped to stitch on buttons, wash chubby faces, fasten tiny shoes, comb curly heads, keep small fingers out of mischief and small limbs from danger, and support the cause of law and order by an emphatic "don't" or "mustn't" when necessary. Patty often congratulated herself on the fact that she had taught five babies to walk. She was very proud of the family, beginning with Basil, who was only a year younger than herself, though not nearly so capable and reliable, and ending with the fat baby who had not yet found his feet, while in between came harum-scarum Milly, boisterous Robin and Wilfred, coaxing, bewitching little Kitty, and round-faced, stolid, three-year-old Rowland, whose name was generally corrupted to Roly-Poly, because it seemed so exactly to suit him.

It had never occurred to Patty that life could ever be very much different from what she was accustomed to. She had seldom been away from Kirkstone, only for short visits to relations or a seaside holiday, and all her horizon was bounded by her home. She went to a day school, where she was one of the elder girls, and felt obliged, even in the midst of her lessons, to keep an eye on Milly's behaviour, and to consider herself responsible for the good conduct of Robin, Wilfred, and Kitty, who were also Miss Dawson's pupils. It was quite anxious work for her to get them off in time in the mornings; to ensure that they did not leave their books at home, or forget their macintoshes on showery days, or lose their slates and pencils; to help to lace their boots, and put on their hats neatly; to make Milly and Kitty wear their gloves, and prevent Robin and Wilfred from filling their pockets with nut shells, stones, frogs, or other unsuitable articles which were apt to stray out in class and call down the vials of the mistress's wrath upon their heads. She saw that they learnt their home lessons, did their sums, practised their due portions upon the piano: and it took up so much of her own time, that she had to work hard to get in even the moderate amount of preparation that was deemed necessary at Miss Dawson's. It had meant a very great change, therefore, when her uncle had written offering to send Patty to Morton Priory with her cousin Muriel. It would have been quite impossible for Dr. Hirst, burdened as he was with a large family and a not too ample income, to place any of his children at expensive boarding schools. Basil, indeed, went by train daily to Winborough, ten miles off, where there was an excellent boys' college; but no better teaching than Miss Dawson could give seemed in store for Patty, until this sudden good fortune had been thrust upon her. Mr. Pearson, her uncle, was a wealthy man, who had only one daughter. It had occurred to him that it would be nice for the two girls to spend their schooldays together, and he had generously undertaken the full charges of his niece's education, declaring she should have exactly the same advantages as her cousin. He had been fond of his sister in their childhood, and thought how suitable it seemed for Muriel, who was three months younger than Patty, to have the latter for a companion during the years he wished her to remain at The Priory.

"Patty is such a good, conscientious child," he wrote to Mrs. Hirst, "I know she will look after her cousin, and stand by her in any trouble. I can trust her to be a true and loyal friend, and it will be a comfort to me to think that Muriel has anyone so stanch and steady on whom to depend. If Patty will consider my girl her special charge while she is at The Priory, she will amply repay me for anything I may expend on her behalf. It is a bargain to which I am sure she will agree, and which I feel certain she will be ready to keep."

Such a tremendous occasion as being sent away to school naturally marked an epoch in Patty's life, though she looked upon the event with mixed feelings. Sometimes it seemed terrible to her to have to leave her dear ones at home, and she shrank from the parting with an almost morbid fear lest she should never see them all again; then a more sensible mood would prevail, and she would be so glad to think she was going, and so excited about it, that she could scarcely wait until the summer holidays were over, and the autumn term should begin. The one thing which troubled her most was the charge which had been laid upon her to look after her cousin. The latter was such a totally different girl from herself, that unfortunately she felt they had little in common; and though she was anxious to do her utmost to prove the stanch friend in need that her uncle required, she was sure that Muriel would greatly resent all interference, and she did not anticipate an easy task. She did not like to discuss the question much with her father and mother. They seemed so pained at the thought that the two girls should not agree, and so wishful that their schooldays should bring them nearer together, that she determined not to mention the subject again, and could only hope that her fears might not be fulfilled. What the future held in store for her, and what experiences she was to encounter in her new life at Morton Priory, it is the object of this story to relate.

A neatly printed notice had been forwarded to Dr. Hirst, reminding him that the autumn term reopened on September 20th, and that it was requested that all pupils should return on that day, arriving not later than five o'clock in the afternoon. Patty wondered how anybody could be in danger of forgetting such an important date, and from counting the days had come to counting the hours and even the minutes up to that particular moment when she must set out on her travels. To her great delight, her father and mother had decided to take a little holiday and escort her safely to school. They were anxious to see The Priory for themselves, and to make the acquaintance of Miss Lincoln, the headmistress, with whom they had already held some correspondence; and they both felt they would be much better satisfied if they could picture Patty in her new surroundings, and leave her looking tolerably cheerful and happy there. After a terrible parting from the children, Patty tore herself away at last from their hugs and kisses, and sat blinking back tears until the cab reached the station, in spite of Dr. Hirst's efforts to distract her attention. She brightened up, however, in the train. It seemed so important to be sitting there with a new brown leather bag in the rack over her head, and a new box in the luggage van, both marked with her own initials, and to feel she was bound for such a particularly interesting destination. It was a rather tedious cross-country journey. After they had changed twice, and found themselves on the main line at a busy junction, the long corridor carriage was suddenly filled up with so many girls of various ages, that Patty began to think she must be face to face with some of her school-fellows, who no doubt were arriving by the same train as herself. Two mistresses, who were waiting on the platform, marshalled the excited, chattering young people to their places, and saw to the safe bestowal of their luggage—evidently no light task, for there were many outcries after bags and parcels of wraps and umbrellas, forgotten in the bustle of changing, and porters were sent hurrying hither and thither to recover the lost property. Everybody was at length on board the train, including three girls who made a great sensation at the last moment by racing down the platform to get chocolates from the automatic machine, and were nearly left behind, to the equal indignation of the guard and the two teachers. The Hirsts' compartment was crammed as tightly as it could be: five girls managed to screw themselves into the space of four, and one, who could find no seat at all, sat in turns on the others' knees. Two amongst them at once attracted Patty's notice. One, a fair-haired girl of about the same age as herself, cried persistently and unrestrainedly, burying her face in the window curtain, and refusing all comfort, though her companions pressed chocolates, caramels, mint rock, jujubes, and walnut toffee upon her with well-meant sympathy.

"Oh, do stop, Avis! You make the place quite damp. No one would think it was your fourth term. I hope you've brought a macintosh pillow, if you're going to turn on the waterworks like this. Wipe your eyes, and have a peppermint cream. I always take them when I feel homesick. There's nothing does one so much good."

The speaker was a merry, bonny-looking girl of perhaps fifteen, with bright brown eyes, a clear complexion, a freckled nose, very white teeth, and curly brown hair tied with a red ribbon. Patty thought she must surely have spent all her pocket money at the confectioner's before she came away—such endless packets of sweets came out of the Gladstone bag which she held on her knee, and disappeared with such startling rapidity that Dr. Hirst looked on in horror.

"I got hold of my eldest brother," she explained to a companion. "I told him I shouldn't be allowed a solitary chocolate drop at The Priory, and how I should be simply yearning even for treacle toffee. He laughed, and said I should have a good time before I got there, at any rate, so we went into town, and he bought me absolutely anything I wanted. Have another caramel, Winnie? It's no use keeping them. Miss Rowe'll confiscate them all if she finds them in my bag. You won't have the chance of any more sweets for thirteen weeks, remember!"

"Not unless she can manage to get up a cough," said a girl whom the others addressed as Ida, "and it depends whether you like Miss Lincoln's cough drops or not. I think they're hateful myself, and taste like medicine, but Dorothy Dawson loves them. She made her throat quite sore one day last term with trying to cough all through the history class, and Miss Lincoln didn't give her any after all. She only told her to go and take a glass of water. Dolly was so disgusted! No, thanks, Enid! I really can't manage another. There are limits, you know, even for me."

"But we simply must finish them up."

"Then finish them yourself."

"She'll be ill if she does," said the short, rosy-faced girl called Winnie. "I don't believe you've stopped eating sweets, Enid, since you got into the train. You'll have a horrible headache to-morrow, see if you don't!"

"I'll call it homesickness if I do," laughed Enid, "and then everybody will sympathize with me. Look here, Avis, if you insist on crying over the window curtains you'll take the colour out of them, and the company will bring an action for damages. They're so dusty, too. Your face is all in streaks of black. Let me rub it off for you. Winnie, lend me your bottle of eau de Cologne, that's a dear. I have a clean handkerchief here. That's better. Now do cheer up, and put your hat straight; we shall be there in about five minutes."

Patty sat surveying these new girl comrades with deep interest. Avis and Enid particularly claimed her attention. She had a kindred feeling for the grief of the one, and the lively manner and bright chat of the other were attractive, while a look in the merry brown eyes, when they happened to glance her way, made her think their owner would be willing to make friends. There was no opportunity, however, to speak, and the train having reached Morton, everyone turned out in a hurry. In the bustle of collecting handbags and umbrellas and identifying her own box from the huge pile of similar luggage on the platform, she lost sight of her fellow-travellers, and only thought she noticed Enid's blue dress disappearing inside a station omnibus, and Winnie's black hat whisk past her in a closely packed landau.

"Muriel was to arrive by the earlier train," said Dr. Hirst, as he put Patty's belongings into a cab. "No doubt we shall find her waiting for us at The Priory. What a number of girls! And everyone seems to have brought a hockey stick. We shall have to ask Miss Lincoln to get one for you, Patty. If the pretty, dark girl who was in our compartment isn't ill to-morrow, I shall be much surprised. I'm sure she deserves to be. If I were her medical man, I should order her a dose of rhubarb and sal volatile. She's going to call it homesickness, the young rascal, is she? She looks as if she could be ready to play pranks. If they would consult me, I'd soon find a cure!" And the doctor chuckled with amusement at the idea.

The Priory was about a mile away from the railway station, and it was with a beating heart and a queer lump in her throat that Patty found herself stepping from the cab and alighting at a great doorway ornamented with ecclesiastical carvings, and, giving a hasty glance round a courtyard where girls of various ages seemed already to be collected, realized that she had at length reached school. In the fourteenth century Morton Priory had been a monastery of the Franciscan order, and it now seemed a strange irony of fate that feminine petticoats should reign supreme within the very walls where the grey brothers had lived in such seclusion. The old refectory where they had dined, and the cloister where they had been wont to meditate, were now given up to a lively, laughing crew of girls, whose serge skirts and white blouses among the quaint surroundings made a curious blending of ancient and modern. What remained of the monastic building occupied one side of a large quadrangle, while the other three sides were taken up with modern additions, erected, however, in such excellent taste, and so closely in accordance with the architecture of the older portion, that the whole had a strictly mediæval appearance. In the centre of the courtyard was a pretty Italian garden, with neat box edgings, where stood the sundial which had marked the hours for the monks who once paced there, and still remained an old-world protest against the big clock in the tower over the gymnasium that set the time for the clanging school bell. Situated in the midst of beautiful scenery, the large grounds formed a little self-contained kingdom, shut off from the rest of the world: the numerous tennis courts and the playing fields provided ample space for outdoor sports; the home farm supplied milk, butter, and eggs; the kitchen garden grew the fruit and vegetables; while a small sanatorium in a breezy corner ensured a safe retreat for anyone who happened to be placed upon the sick list.

Parents were received in the library by Miss Lincoln, who spoke a few pleasant words to Dr. and Mrs. Hirst about Patty's education and attainments, and then, as other visitors arrived, passed them on to an under-mistress, who took them to have tea in the drawing-room, and afterwards showed them round the school. To Patty, fresh from Miss Dawson's modest arrangements, it seemed indeed a new world, and she looked with eager eyes at the classrooms with their Girton desks, their maps and their blackboards, the studio with its array of casts, models, and easels, the row of little practising rooms, each with piano, music stool, and a chair for the teacher; and she gazed almost with awe at the laboratory with its mysterious bottles and retorts, and the gymnasium fitted with ropes, bars, and other appliances as yet unknown to her. Her bag was already placed on the chair in her neat cubicle, though her box had not been carried upstairs, and her mother was able to note with approval the excellent arrangements of the bedroom, curtained off as it was into four parts.

"I'm sorry you will not be with your cousin," said Mrs. Hirst, "but no doubt you'll soon get to know your room mates. I should like to see Muriel before we go. I wonder where she is! We must be quick, as we have only ten minutes left before we must start again to the station."

Miss Graveson, the mistress, volunteered to send in search of her, and a girl started on an urgent hunt through the school; but evidently it was a difficult task, for it was only when the Hirsts' cab was at the door that she returned with the object of her quest.

Muriel was a remarkably pretty girl, slight and graceful, with eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and long, silky, golden hair; she was generally very artistically dressed, and always looked like a picture, a fact of which she was extremely well aware. She greeted her uncle and aunt without much enthusiasm, gave Patty her cheek to kiss, and did not seem particularly delighted at having been called to speak to them.

"I expected we should have seen you before, dear," said Mrs. Hirst. "I felt quite unhappy at the idea of leaving Patty alone, but now you are here to show her the ways of The Priory, I'm sure she'll be all right. Muriel will be able to tell you everything, Patty, so I give you into her hands. Now good-bye, my darling child! Don't fret, and write to us as soon as you can. We shall be looking forward to your first letter, and please let it be a cheerful one."

CHAPTER III
First Impressions

"I wouldn't mention they'd brought you, then," she replied. "It's considered the correct thing for one's parents to stay at the Queen's, and the girls will think it so queer if yours haven't. What bedroom are you in?"

"No. 7. I hope it's a nice one?"

"Oh, tolerable! Not so nice as mine. I'm in No. 16, on the other landing, with three of my best friends."

"Do you know who's in my room?"

"Nobody at all particular; only May Firth, Ella Johnson, and Doris Kennedy. Do you see that new girl crossing the quad? I believe she comes from our part of the world. She was starting too when I was setting off; they nearly put her in my carriage, only luckily the guard had locked the door."

"What's her name? I don't remember seeing her at Waverton."

"I daresay not. Her name's Jean Bannerman, and she lives in one of those houses at the end of the park. I met her once at a party, but we don't know them at all."

"Does she seem nice?"

"I'm sure I can't tell. I wasn't much impressed with her. Have you unpacked?"

"No, not yet. My box hasn't been brought upstairs."

"It's there now. I saw John carrying it to your room. I should think you'd better go and take your things out."

"Won't you come with me, Muriel?" asked Patty, rather shyly. "I don't know where I'm expected to put my clothes."

"Haven't time," said Muriel, shaking her head. "I've got all my own to do. It's easy enough; you've only to pop them into your drawers and your wardrobe. Supper's at seven in the refectory. Why, there's Gwendolen Farmer. I simply must go and speak to her. Ta-ta!"

And Muriel ran away to the other side of the quadrangle, leaving Patty standing alone upon the steps.

Thus suddenly deserted, the latter watched for a moment to see if her cousin meant to come back, but Muriel, after greeting the newcomer with much affection, linked her arm in hers, and without even turning her head to look round, walked through a doorway opposite, and was lost to sight. Patty went upstairs to her cubicle with a rather sore feeling in her heart, against which she made a violent effort to struggle. After all, she argued to herself, it was only natural that Muriel, who must have so many friends in the school, should be so anxious to see them all again after the long summer holidays. She would no doubt be waiting in the refectory to show her to her seat, and would then, perhaps, introduce her to a few special companions. She could not mean absolutely to ignore her, and it was absurd to take offence needlessly.

"I'm her own relation, and she surely can't forget that," thought Patty. "She's busy now, but she'll be nicer to me later on."

Each bedroom at The Priory was divided into four cubicles by means of curtains hung on brass rods, and each cubicle contained its own little bed, chest of drawers, washstand, and small wardrobe. Patty was lucky enough to have a window that looked out over the playing fields, otherwise her division was exactly the same as the rest. The three other occupants appeared to have already unpacked: their nightdress cases were laid on their beds, their sponges on their washstands, various photo frames, books, and ornaments adorned their dressing-tables, and their curtains were drawn back, as was the rule when the cubicles were not occupied, to allow a free current of air through the room. Patty unlocked her box, and set to work to arrange her various possessions, placing the photo of the family group, which had been a parting present from home, in a prominent position, and trying to stifle the longing to see all the dear, familiar faces again. The nightdress case, which she had thought so beautiful when she was packing, looked quite plain and ordinary by the side of the three elaborately worked ones on the other beds. She had certainly nothing so dainty as the pale-pink, quilted silk dressing-gown that she could see hanging on a peg behind the door, nor did she possess cut-glass scent bottles, such as stood on the dressing-table in the cubicle opposite; nevertheless Patty put her things away with a certain pride of ownership, and when all was neatly finished, glanced round her new quarters with much satisfaction. It was scarcely six o'clock, and supper was not until seven, so she decided to go downstairs again on the chance of finding Muriel, who by this time must surely have finished her own unpacking. She waited in the hall for a few minutes, not quite knowing what to do, until a mistress, hurrying by, noticed her standing there, and directed her to the recreation room. Here a number of girls appeared to be collected: a pair of bosom friends occupied one window, and five pigtails in close proximity took up another; by the empty fire grate a group of four stood talking photography with a short fat girl in spectacles, seated on the edge of the table; while others were continually passing in and out to announce their own arrival, or to search for absent companions. Several glanced at Patty, but nobody spoke to her, or paid any particular attention, so she walked over to the sofa, and taking a book which she found there, sat idly turning the pages without reading them, and feeling very uncomfortable and extremely homesick. Everybody in the room, she thought, seemed talking, laughing, and joking with everyone else, and she was the only stranger amongst them. No, she was mistaken. There was one girl as solitary as herself, sitting on the music stool, and turning over a pile of old pieces and songs that lay on the top of the piano. She was an interesting-looking girl, with good features, grey eyes with very long dark lashes, a clear pale complexion, as creamy as if it had been bathed in milk, and light-brown hair that curled charmingly round her forehead. She did not appear to find her occupation very absorbing, for she glanced every now and then in Patty's direction, and finally, putting the music back on the piano, came quietly across the room and sat down beside her on the sofa.

"I suppose you're new, aren't you?" she said. "So am I. We seem rather out of it at present, don't we? Do you know any of these girls?"

"No," replied Patty, "not one of them. I've only just come a little while ago."

"Yes, I saw your cab drive up. I arrived by the earlier train, so I've had more time to get used to it. I can't say I like it at all yet, though. To tell you the truth, I don't mind confessing I'd give everything in the world to find myself at home again."

This was so exactly Patty's present state of mind, that she felt it established a bond of sympathy at once with her companion, and encouraged her sufficiently to enquire her name.

"Jean Bannerman," said the girl, "and I'm almost fifteen. What's yours?"

"Patty Hirst, and I shall be fourteen in October."

"Then I'm nearly a year older than you, for my birthday's in November. Which bedroom are you in?"

"No. 7."

"I'm in No. 10. I don't know what my room mates are like yet. I hope they're nice. I wish you had been one of them. It seems so horrid when everything and everybody are strange. Isn't it dreadfully noisy here? Suppose we go into the courtyard for a little while. It's quite light yet, and I see ever so many girls out there. Do you know your way about the school?"

"Yes—no—yes," replied Patty, hesitatingly.

"Which do you mean?" asked Jean, smiling.

"I mean 'yes'," said Patty. "A teacher showed us round, but I'm afraid I didn't take very much notice, because, you see, Father and Mother were just leaving, and I——"

Jean gave a nod of comprehension.

"Then we'll go and explore," she said. "There don't seem to be any particular rules nor any preparation the first evening. Everybody is unpacking, and I think we may do as we like until supper. Come along!"

Nothing loth, Patty rose and joined her companion. She was anxious to see something of the new life into which she had been launched, and she looked with curiosity round the large quadrangle, which appeared at present to be the central heart of the school. Here girls of ages varying from thirteen to eighteen were assembled, comparing holiday experiences, examining each other's tennis rackets or hockey sticks, passing jokes, or eagerly enquiring for news on various class topics. To Patty it seemed almost bewildering to see so many school-fellows, and she wondered whether it would ever become possible to learn to distinguish their various faces, and to call each one by her right name.

"I suppose we shall get to know them in time," she said, "but it will be confusing at first. Do you notice that some of the big girls wear badges? I wonder what that means?"

"Let us ask somebody," said Jean, glancing round to see if there were anyone near to whom she might venture to address her enquiry. "That fair girl sitting on the bench over there looks nice; I'm sure she would tell us. I don't think she's new, because she was talking to some of the others a minute ago."

Patty turned in the direction indicated, and recognized the fellow-traveller who had wept so copiously in the train, and whom her companions had called Avis. Her tears were dried, but she still appeared pensive. She held a blotter on her knee, and with a fountain pen was evidently already beginning a letter home. She put it aside when Jean spoke to her, and answered pleasantly:

"Of course I can tell you. The badges are worn by the prefects. They're the six top girls, and they're supposed to keep order. It's a tremendous honour to be a prefect. Phyllis Chambers is head of the school this year. We're all glad, because she's so jolly, and she was our tennis champion last summer. There she is!—that girl in the grey dress. She won us four matches against other schools. We were so proud of her."

"Isn't she champion now?"

"We don't play tennis this term; it's all hockey. I think Mabel Morgan is better at that. You'll both be in the lower school team, of course. Do you know what classes you're in?"

"Not yet," said Patty. "There's to be an exam. to-morrow morning. I'm afraid I shan't be very high up."

"Oh, you may do better than you expect. Exams. are such a chance. It's just whether you happen to get a nice set of questions or not. I wonder if you'll be in my class. I'm in the upper fourth, Miss Harper's."

"Is she nice?"

"Well, some adore her, and some don't care for her at all. It depends a good deal on yourself. She likes the ones who work, but she can be dreadfully sarcastic if she thinks you're stupid or lazy. She's fearfully clever, and says such witty things sometimes. Half-a-dozen of the girls absolutely worship her, but she's very fair, and won't have favourites. I like her better than Miss Rowe."

"Who is she?"

"The second mistress in our class. You see, the fourth is in two divisions, an upper and a lower; we do a few lessons together and some separately. Miss Harper takes history and literature, and what I call the more interesting things, and Miss Rowe takes arithmetic and analysis, and looks after our preparation. There are twenty girls altogether, counting both divisions. It's the largest class in the school. There are only ten in the fifth."

"Which is the nicest teacher of all?" asked Jean.

"I think most of us like Miss Latimer best, the games mistress. She's very popular with everybody. You see, we always have such fun at gymnastics, and of course we love hockey and cricket. She teaches us swimming too, but that's only during the summer term. There's the bell! We must go in to supper. Do you know your way to the refectory? We all settle places on the first evening, so it's rather exciting. Perhaps you'd like to come with me?"

Patty would have replied in the affirmative, but at that moment she happened to notice Muriel crossing the quadrangle, as she thought, in search of her, and saying she had better wait, she allowed Jean and Avis to go indoors without her. She was perfectly certain that Muriel must have seen her, but, greatly to her surprise, her cousin turned aside and claimed acquaintance with a chestnut-haired girl, with whom she hastened into the house without bestowing a look in Patty's direction. The great clanging bell was still ringing in the tower over the gymnasium, and groups of girls came hurrying towards the refectory from all parts of the building.

"Be quick, my dear," said a teacher, passing Patty, and noticing her hesitation. "Everyone is going to supper. Come with me, and I will find a place for you."

Patty followed, rather nervous, but thankful that somebody would show her where she must sit. The refectory was almost full when they entered. It was a large room, with a groined roof like a church, and stained-glass windows at either side. A long table occupied the entire length, and at one end was a raised dais, with another table for the mistresses. It resembled in this respect the hall of a college, and was a subject of great pride to Miss Lincoln, who liked to think that the school had its meals in the same place where the old monks had dined six hundred years ago. Muriel was seated towards the centre of the table, chatting to several friends in whose company she seemed entirely absorbed. There was evidently no room in her vicinity, and the teacher moved farther along and found a place for Patty nearer the end. She was between two girls rather older than herself, neither of whom spoke to her. One appeared to be in an uncommunicative frame of mind, and answered abruptly when a neighbour asked her a question, and the other was occupied with a conversation with two schoolmates at the opposite side of the table. Patty ate her supper, therefore, in silence, feeling exceedingly shy, and very much hurt that her cousin should have treated her so unkindly. On her first evening common politeness would have suggested that Muriel might have sought her out and introduced her to a few other girls, instead of leaving her thus friendless and forlorn. Even Jean and Avis were too far away to speak to, and she was yet an absolute outsider to everyone else. There is nothing more solitary than to feel oneself alone in a crowd, and the tears rose to poor Patty's eyes at the remembrance of the nursery at home, where the little ones would just have gone to bed, and Milly and Robin would be learning their lessons for the next day.

When the meal was over, the whole school adjourned to the lecture-room to listen to an opening speech from Miss Lincoln, who usually began the term with an address to her pupils. The singing class sang a few glees, and there was a recitation by one of the prefects; after that came prayers, and then it was bedtime. Patty was escorted to No. 7 by the same teacher who had taken her to the refectory, and who, she learnt, was Miss Rowe, the second mistress of the fourth class. The curtains of the other cubicles were closely drawn, so she did not catch a glimpse of her companions, and as all conversation was strictly forbidden, the room was in silence. Patty went to bed in the very lowest of spirits. It had not seemed a favourable beginning to her school life, and unless things improved a little she was sure she could never be happy.

"I suppose I must try and make the best of it," she thought; "and one thing I'm determined about, however wretched I feel, I'm not going to write miserable letters home and upset Mother. She wanted me so much to like The Priory, so I won't let her know, even if nobody ever does talk to me or be nice. There are eighty-nine days before I can go back, and this is one off, at any rate. I expect they'll go by somehow, though I wish I could skip them all, and this were the last day of the term instead of only the first."

CHAPTER IV
A Maiden all Forlorn

"It's perfectly disgusting," replied the other. "Miss Lincoln's absolutely mean. And Beatrice is as disappointed about it as we are. She's in No. 12, with Ada and Carrie Hardman. Think of having to share your room with the Hardmans! Beatrice says she doesn't intend even to speak to them."

"It's just as bad for us. We don't want this new girl. Why couldn't Miss Lincoln put her with the Hardmans, and let Beatrice come to No. 7?"

"Oh, I don't know, except that she knew we were so anxious about it. We shan't have any fun now. I expect she'll be dreadfully priggish and proper."

"Have you seen her?"

"Only for a moment. Ida Haslam pointed her out to me in the recreation room. I thought she seemed rather prim. At any rate, she doesn't look nearly as nice as Beatrice."

"She certainly couldn't be that."

"I wish she hadn't come, and I vote we don't make any fuss over her."

"I'm not going to, I assure you!"

"Well, I shan't either. She can take care of herself, and make friends with anybody she likes. Only it's a horrible nuisance to be obliged to have her in our room. Look here, Ella, suppose we——"

But here it suddenly dawned upon Patty that she was listening to what was not intended for her ears, so she gave such a very wide-awake cough that the speaker stopped, and after a suppressed giggle, apparently drew aside the curtain of her cubicle, leaned out of bed, and continued her remarks in a subdued whisper. It certainly was not particularly encouraging for Patty to find she was so unwelcome in No. 7. It seemed too bad that her room mates should be prejudiced against her before they had really made her acquaintance. It was not her fault that she had been put in the place of the companion they preferred, and it was unfair and unkind to have a grudge against her on that account. She wondered if Jean Bannerman would be accorded as cold a reception in No. 10. Jean, at any rate, had seemed friendly, and their little walk round the quadrangle had been so far the only bright spot since her arrival. She had not much time, however, for further reflections; a loud bell in the passage gave the signal for rising, and, afraid of being late, she got up at once. Judging from the sounds in the other cubicles, Doris and Ella appeared to have some difficulty in waking May, who was evidently a heavy sleeper, and all three indulged in many yawns and groans before they finally tore themselves out of bed, and hurried rapidly through their toilets, chatting meanwhile about various affairs which were quite unintelligible to anyone who had not yet learnt to take part in the life at The Priory.

Patty was able to say good morning to Jean, and to sit next to her at prayers, but they were obliged to separate in the refectory, and breakfast was as silent a meal as supper of the night before. Lessons began at nine o'clock, and Patty found herself escorted by Miss Rowe to a small empty classroom, where she was to undergo an entrance examination. All the other new girls, including Jean, had already taken this examination at home, the papers having been sent to them by post; but owing to a mistake, this preliminary had been omitted in Patty's case, and she must now give some proof of her attainments before she could be placed in any form. It was an anxious morning for her. She wrote on steadily, but it was difficult to do herself justice, as the history paper was on a period she had not studied specially, and the geography also covered new ground. She was allowed an hour for each, and gave a sigh of relief when the clock at last struck eleven, and Miss Rowe took her to the pantry for lunch. This was a very informal affair; the girls ran in as they liked, and helped themselves to glasses of milk and slices of thick bread and butter, which were placed in readiness for them. Patty looked eagerly among the chattering throng for any face that she knew, but though girls were hurrying in and out the whole time she was there, she saw neither Jean, Avis, nor Muriel. All seemed occupied in discussing school topics, and far too busy to notice her, and when the great bell rang, everyone fled hastily to lecture or classroom, and left her still standing with her empty glass in her hand. She put it down leisurely, and was just wondering what to do next, when Miss Rowe came bustling up.

"Come along at once, Patty!" she said, in a rather peremptory tone. "Didn't you hear the bell?"

"Yes," replied Patty, wondering what she had done amiss.

"Then why are you not back at your desk in the classroom?"

"I didn't know——" began Patty, but Miss Rowe broke in as if she had not the patience to listen to explanations.

"You will have to learn punctuality here," she said. "Any girl who is late for a class loses an order mark. Now be quick and get on with this arithmetic paper. I can only allow you till twelve o'clock for it, and then you must begin the grammar."

Patty obeyed in silence, feeling much subdued. It was rather hard, she thought, that when she was still so new and strange she must be scolded for not keeping the rules of the school. She had not really known that she was expected to hasten back to her examination at the sound of the bell, and had, in fact, been waiting for Miss Rowe to come and fetch her. The latter seemed annoyed. She hurried Patty to her place, and handed her a fresh supply of manuscript paper with very scant ceremony, then, taking up a book, appeared to be preparing some lesson. Patty remembered how Avis had hinted that Miss Rowe was not popular, and she thought she began to understand why. In spite of the urgent necessity of getting on quickly with her sums, she could not help stealing occasional glances at the mistress, whose clear-cut profile, firm mouth, calm grey eyes, and abundant braids of fair hair half attracted and half repelled her. Miss Rowe was barely out of her teens; indeed, it was only a year since she had left school herself to come as assistant governess at The Priory, and she tried to make up for her lack of years by exacting the utmost in the way of discipline, and asserting her dignity upon all occasions. Miss Lincoln, who saw that there was sometimes friction between Miss Rowe and her pupils, interfered as little as she could, thinking the young teacher would soon learn by experience, and it was better to leave her to fight her own battles, and hoping that time and prudence would conquer many difficulties. Patty, of course, did not know all this, but she realized that Miss Rowe was inclined to be impatient and dictatorial, and in consequence began to think that she should not like her. Morning school at The Priory was from nine till one, and the hours from two to four were devoted to outdoor exercise. To-day, however, owing to her examination, Patty was obliged to return after dinner to the classroom, and she was not free until three o'clock, when she handed in her last paper, and was told by Miss Rowe that she might go and join the other girls in the grounds. Very much relieved that her ordeal was over at last, she put on her hat and strolled across the quadrangle under an archway into the garden beyond. She felt tired out and languid. It was a warm September day, and the unwonted exertion of answering so many questions had made her head ache. She wandered aimlessly along the paths, pausing for a few moments at the tennis courts, where a little crowd of spectators stood watching an exciting set, then on towards the playing fields, where more girls appeared to be practising hockey. Everybody seemed to be friends and to be occupied with some game or amusement except herself, and the loneliness of her position struck poor Patty again with full force. Muriel had entirely deserted her, and evidently did not intend to take the slightest notice of her. There had not yet been any opportunity of renewing the acquaintance with either Jean Bannerman or Avis, and nobody else had proffered even a remark.