CHAPTER X
Martha Remembers
For Dorothy the Christmas holidays passed quietly and most uneventfully.She and Aunt Barbara saw little of the outside world. It had certainlycost Dorothy several pangs to hear the girls at the College discussingthe many invitations they had received and the dances they expected toattend, and to feel that a visit to the vicarage was all the festivitythat would be likely to come her way. There were no parties orpantomimes included in her holiday programme. Aunt Barbara had had manyexpenses lately, and her narrow income was stretched to its fullestextent to pay school fees and the price of the contract ticket.
"It's hateful to be poor," thought Dorothy. "I want pretty dresses andparties like other girls;" and she went home with the old wrinklebetween her brows, and a little droop at the corners of her mouth.
If Aunt Barbara noticed these and divined the cause, she made nocomment; she did not remind Dorothy of how much she had given up on herbehalf, or of what real sacrifice it entailed to send her to Avondale.She took the opportunity, however, one day to urge her to work herhardest at school.
"You may have to earn your own living some time, child," she said. "Ifanything happens to me, my small pension goes back to the owner of theSherbourne estate. I shall be able to leave you nothing. A goodeducation is the only thing I can give you, so you must try to make themost of it."
"Shall I have to be a teacher?" asked Dorothy blankly.
"I don't know. It will depend on what I can have you trained for,"replied Miss Sherbourne.
She was hurt sometimes by Dorothy's manner; the girl seemeddissatisfied, though she was evidently making an effort to hide thefact.
"It's hard for her to mix at school with girls who have so many moreadvantages," thought Aunt Barbara. "Was I wise to send her to Avondale,I wonder? Is it having the effect of making her discontented? It's onlylately she's grown like this--she was never so before."
Discontented exactly described Dorothy's state of mind. She consideredthat Fate had used her unkindly. The prospect of gaining her own livingwas extremely distasteful to her. She hated the idea of becoming ateacher, and no other work seemed any more congenial.
"I'd always looked forward to enjoying myself when I was grown up," shethought bitterly, "and now it will be nothing but slave."
At present Dorothy was viewing life entirely from her own standpoint,and was suffering from an attack of that peculiar complaint called"self-itis". She was aggrieved that the world had not given her more,and it never struck her to think of what she might give to the world. Itseemed as if she could no longer enjoy all the little simple occupationsin which she had been accustomed to take so much pleasure--she was tiredof her stamps and postcards, bookbinding and clay modelling had losttheir attraction, and she was apathetic on the subject of fancy work.
"I don't know what's come over you," declared Martha. "You just idleabout the house doing nothing at all. Why can't you take your knitting,or a bit of crochet in your fingers?"
"Simply because I don't want to. I wish you'd leave me alone, Martha!"replied Dorothy irritably.
She resented the old servant's interference, for Martha was less patientand forbearing than Aunt Barbara, and hinted pretty plainly sometimeswhat she thought of her nursling.
So the holidays passed by--dreary ones for Dorothy, who spent wholelistless evenings staring at the fire; and drearier still for AuntBarbara, who made many efforts to interest the girl, and, failingutterly, went about with a new sadness in her eyes and a fresh grief inher heart that she would not have confessed to anyone.
Everybody at Holly Cottage was glad when the term began again.
"I don't hold with holidays," grumbled Martha. "Give young folks plentyof work, say I, and they're much better than mooning about with naughtto do. Dorothy's a different girl when she's got her lessons to keep herbusy."
To do Dorothy justice, she certainly worked her hardest at the College,though the prospect of becoming a teacher did not strike her as aninspiring goal for her efforts. She put the idea away from her as muchas possible, but every now and then it returned like a bad nightmare.
"I should hate to be Miss Pitman," she remarked one day at school. "Itmust be odious to be a mistress."
"Do you think so?" replied Grace Russell. "Why, I'd love it! I mean togo in for teaching myself some time."
"But will you have to earn your own living? I thought your father waswell off," objected Dorothy.
"That's no reason why I shouldn't be of some use in the world," returnedGrace. "Teaching is a splendid profession if one does it thoroughly. Ihave a cousin who's a class mistress at a big school near London, andshe's so happy--her girls just adore her. It must be an immensesatisfaction to feel one's doing some real work, and not being a meredrone in the hive."
This was a new notion to Dorothy, and though she could not quite digestit at first, she turned it over in her mind. She was astonished thatGrace, who had a beautiful home, could wish to take up work.
"She'd make a far better teacher, though, than Miss Pitman," shethought. "I wonder why? It's something about Grace that makes onefeel--well, that she's always doing things from a motive right aboveherself."
Dorothy found this an interesting term at the College. As a recruit ofthe Dramatic Union, she attended rehearsals and was given a minor partin a play that the members were acting, just for practice. It was anhonour to be included in the "Dramatic", for its numbers were limited,and it was mostly made up of girls from the Upper School. Her brightrendering of her small part won her notice among the monitresses.
"Dorothy Greenfield is decidedly taking," said Mary Galloway. "She's assharp as a needle. I believe I like her."
"Um--yes--a little too cheeky for my taste," replied Alice Edwards."What's the matter with her at present is that she thinks the world islimited to Dorothy Greenfield."
"You've hit the mark exactly," returned Mary.
About the end of January Miss Tempest introduced a new feature at theCollege. This was a Guild of First Aid and Field Ambulance, and, thoughit was not incorporated with any special organization, it was drawn upsomewhat on the same lines as the Girl Guides. The main object wascharacter training, as developed through work for others. Every memberof the Guild was pledged to Chivalry, Patriotism, Self-reliance, andHelpfulness; and her aim was to acquire knowledge to make her ofservice, not only to herself, but to the community. Membership was notobligatory, but the scheme was so well received that more than half theschool joined, Dorothy and Alison being among the number.
"I had to coax Mother tremendously," said Alison. "At first she said no.You see, she thought it was something like the Boy Scouts, and she saidshe couldn't have me careering about the country on Saturdayafternoons--she didn't approve of it for girls."
"But we aren't to go out scouting."
"No; I explained that, and then she gave way. She says she's not surewhether she'll let me go to the Field Ambulance meetings, though; she'safraid I'll catch cold. But I didn't argue about that; I was glad enoughto persuade her to say yes on any terms."
"You'll have the ambulance work at school."
"Yes, and perhaps I may go to at least one camp, if the weather's fine."
The Avondale Guild of Help, as it was called, though it began primarilywith ambulance, took a wide scope for its work.
"I don't want you to think it is only practising bandaging and havingpicnics in the country," said Miss Tempest, in her first address to themembers. "What is needed is the principle of learning to give willingaid to others, and wishing to be of service. In Japan, when a child isborn, a paper sign of a doll or a fish is put up outside the house, tosignify whether the baby is a girl or a boy--the boy being destined toswim against the stream and make his own way in the world, and the girlbeing a doll to be played with. This idea does not meet our present-daystandards in England. We do not want our girls to grow up dolls, buthelpful comrades and worthy citizens of the Empire. It is terrible to meto think of girls, after their schooldays are over, le
ading aimless,idle, profitless lives, when there is plenty of good work waiting to bedone in the world. 'To whom much is committed, of the same shall much berequired', and the education you receive here should be a trust to handon to others who have not had your advantages. There is nobody whocannot make some little corner of the world better by her presence, andbe of use to her poorer neighbours, and I hope the Guild may lead tomany other schemes. For the present, I want every member to promise tomake one garment a year as her contribution to our charity basket. Theclothes will be sent to the Ragged School Mission in the town, anddistributed to those who badly need them."
Each member of the Guild signed her name on a scroll, pledged herself toobserve the rules, and received the badge, a little shield bearing themotto: "As one that serveth".
"I feel almost like a Crusader!" laughed Dorothy, as she pinned on herbadge.
"It's a part of the greatest of all crusades," said Grace Russellgravely.
Everybody was delighted with the ambulance classes. They were consideredthe utmost fun, and the girls looked forward to them from week to week.They were held in the gymnasium, the members practising upon oneanother. Any stranger suddenly entering the room would have been amazedto see rows of girls lying prostrate on the floor, while amateur nursesknelt by their sides, placing their legs in splints contrived out ofhockey sticks, binding up their jaws, or lifting them tenderly andcarrying them on improvised stretchers with a swinging "step bothtogether" motion. It was amusing when at a certain signal the nurses andpatients changed places; by an apparent miracle the latter kicked awaytheir splints, tore off their bandages, and set to work with enthusiasmto apply treatment to the imaginary injuries of their quondamattendants.
Of course, there were many laughable mistakes. Ruth Harmon got mixed oneday in the diagnosis, and insisted upon turning a rebellious patientupon her face.
"What are you doing? You're rolling me over like a log!" protestedJoyce. "Do stop!"
"No, I shan't. Let me pull out your tongue. It's to get the water fromyour mouth," insisted Ruth. "It's no use working your arms when your airpassages are choked."
"But I wasn't drowning! I have a broken leg!"
"Then why couldn't you tell me so at first? I thought you were one ofthose who were supposed to be fished out of the river!"
"I've grown quite clever at pretending fits," said Alison. "I onlybargain that they stick my own pocket-handkerchief between my teeth."
"My speciality is a sprained ankle," said Dorothy. "I can hold my footquite limp and let it waggle."
"It was you who talked when you had a broken jaw, and that's a sheerimpossibility," said Annie Gray.
"Well! Who sneezed when we were trying treatment for bleeding from thenose?"
"I couldn't help that; it was a 'physical disability'."
"It's our turn to revive fainting. Who'll do an elegant swoon? Alison,will you?"
"No, thanks. I don't mind fits, but I hate faints. The burnt feathermakes me cough, and last time you simply soused me with water. I thoughtI was being drowned."
As the term went on and the girls became more adept at first aid, MissTempest decided to organize a camp drill, and to take them for anafternoon's practice in field work. To Dorothy's delight, a meadow atHurford was chosen as the scene of action.
"You'll be able to come and watch, Auntie," she said to Aunt Barbara."We're going to do all sorts of exciting things. We're to supposethere's been a battle, and then we'll come on and help thewounded--carry some of them to transport wagons, and make wind screensfor others, and of course bind them all up first. We're to have a lot oflittle boys from the Orphanage for soldiers--that's why Miss Tempestchose to come to Hurford, because they've a Boy Scout Corps at theOrphanage, and can lend us some real stretchers and a proper ambulancewagon. I hope I shall get a nice bright boy as patient."
After considerable coaxing, Alison managed to persuade her mother toallow her to take part, if the day proved suitable.
"It's so much warmer now, Mother dearest," she pleaded. "I haven't had acold for ages; and we shan't be standing still--we shall be busy runningabout all the time. It's only from half-past two till four. You mightcome and watch."
"It's my afternoon to help at the Sewing Meeting," said Mrs. Clarke. "Icould hardly miss that while the Deaconess is away."
"Then drive over to Hurford and fetch me home. I haven't been out in thetrap for ages--yes, ages! Do, darling Motherkins! I should so enjoy it,and--oh yes, I'll put a Shetland shawl over my mouth, if you like, andyou could bring my thick coat. Will you promise?"
"It depends on the weather, Birdie," replied her mother discreetly.
The afternoon in question turned out mild enough to allay even Mrs.Clarke's fears. It was one of those balmy, delicious days in earlyspring when the earth seems to throb with renewed life, and there isreal warmth in the sunshine. The Guild members had dinner earlier thanusual, and caught the two o'clock train to Hurford. The field that hadbeen engaged as their temporary camp was close to the Orphanage, andthey found all ready for them on their arrival, from the stretchers tothe row of nice little boys in uniform upon whom they were to operate.Everything was strictly business-like. The officers and patrol leadersat once took command, and began to instruct each group of ambulanceworkers in the particular duties they were expected to perform. Onedetachment started to build a fire (there is a science in the buildingof fires in the open), a second ran up the Red Cross flag and arranged atemporary hospital with supplies from the transport wagon, while a thirdwent out to render first aid to the wounded.
The boys entered thoroughly into the spirit of the affair. A blankcharge was fired, at which signal they all dropped down on the grass as"injured".
Dorothy, who was told off to No. 3 Corps, flew at the sound of the guns,and pounced upon the first prostrate form she came across.
"Are you killed or wounded?" she enquired breathlessly.
"Wounded, m'm," replied the boy, with a grin. "But you can't have me,because another lady's got me already. She looks at me and she says:'Not movable', and she's run to get a spade to dig a 'ole with."
"Oh! To put your hip in, I suppose?"
"Yes, m'm. They don't bury us unless we're killed."
"I should think not!" exclaimed Dorothy, as she hurried away to find apatient who was still unappropriated.
"Anybody attending to you?" she asked a solemn, curly-headed littlefellow, who lay under the shade of the hedge with arms stretched in adramatic attitude on either side of him.
"No, miss--shot through the lungs, and leg shattered," he repliedcomplacently.
"Then it's a case of stop bleeding, bandage, and lift on stretcher. I'llbind you up first, and then call for someone to help to carry you. Canyou raise yourself at all on your arm, or are you helpless? Am I hurtingyou?"
"No, miss--but you do tickle me awful!"
"Never mind; I've almost finished. Now your leg. Which is it--right orleft?"
"Left. But lor', if it was really shattered, I'd rather you touchedt'other!"
"No, you wouldn't. You'd be grateful to me for saving your life. I'mgoing to whistle for help. Here comes a corporal. Where's my stretchersling? Now, Marjorie, let us lift him quickly and gently. That wasneatly done! We'll have him in hospital in record time."
Everybody enjoyed the afternoon, the patrols that performed the campcookery, the first-aid workers, the nursing sisters at the hospital, andthe elect few who were initiated into the elements of signalling.
Alison, who had helped to put up a tent, and given imaginary chloroformunder the directions of a supposed army surgeon, was immensely proud ofherself, and half-inclined to regard the work of the Red CrossSisterhood as her vocation in life.
"It's ripping!" she declared. "I'd six of the jolliest boys forpatients. One of them offered to faint as many times as I liked, andanother (he was a cunning little scamp) assured me his case requiredbeef tea immediately it was ready in the camp kitchen. He asked if I'dbrought any chocolate. Another was so realistic, he ins
isted onshrieking every time I touched him, and he groaned till his throat musthave ached. I think ambulance is the best fun going."
"We must beseech Miss Tempest to let us have another field day," saidGrace Russell, who had been helping with the cookery and carrying roundwater. "We each want to practise every part of the work so as to beready for emergencies. It isn't a really easy thing to give a prostratepatient a drink without nearly choking him. One doesn't know all thedifficulties until one tries."
"One doesn't, indeed," said Ruth Harmon. "Field work isn't plainsailing. I wish we hadn't to catch the 4.15 train; I should have likedto stay longer. There's the signal to form and march. Aren't you coming,Alison?"
"No; I'm not going by train. My mother promised to drive over for me. Iwonder she hasn't arrived."
"Will she come by the high road from Latchworth?" asked Dorothy. "Thenwalk home with Aunt Barbara and me. We shall very likely meet her on theway."
"Oh, I'd love to see where you live!" exclaimed Alison. "Is that youraunt? She's sweet. I imagined somehow she'd be much older than that. Ithink she's ever so pretty. I hope Mother'll be late, and that we shallget as far as your house before we meet the trap."
Alison chattered briskly as they walked along the road; she had a veryfriendly disposition, and was much taken with Miss Sherbourne'sappearance. She had not been in Hurford before, so she was interested tonotice the fine old church and the picturesque village street.
"It's ever so much prettier than Latchworth," she declared. "I wish ourhouse were here instead. Oh, look at that dear little place with theporch all covered with creepers! Is that yours? How lovely! It looks asif it had stepped out of a picture."
"Won't you come in, dear, and wait for your mother?" said MissSherbourne. "We can watch for the trap from the window."
"May I? I'd love to. Oh, Dorothy, while I'm here, do show me yourstamps! You always promised to bring them to school, but you never havedone it. And I want to look at your clay models too."
"Come to my den, then," said Dorothy. "Martha will stand at the gate andstop the trap from passing, won't you, Martha? Now, Alison, we'll goupstairs."
The two girls had only a very short time in which to examine Dorothy'svarious possessions. After a few minutes Martha came running up to saythat the trap was waiting.
"And the lady said you were please to come at once," she added,addressing Alison.
"Oh, bother," exclaimed the latter; "I haven't seen half yet! I supposeI shall have to go, though. Where's your aunt? I want to say good-bye toher. Oh, there she is at the gate, speaking to Mother!"
Mrs. Clarke was not at all pleased to find her daughter awaiting her atHolly Cottage, though she had the good manners to conceal her feelingsand speak politely to Miss Sherbourne; so she hustled Alison into thetrap as speedily as possible.
"We're late, Birdie. I couldn't help it--I was delayed at the SewingMeeting. But we must hurry home now. Here's your shawl, and put thisgolf cape on. No, child; you must have it properly round you."
"I'm so hot!" panted poor Alison, dutifully submitting to the extrawraps.
"You'll be cold enough driving. Have you tucked the rug thoroughly roundyour knees? Then say good-bye."
"Good-bye! Good-bye! I hadn't half enough time," cried Alison, trying towave a hand, in spite of the encumbrance of the golf cape. "I'd like tocome again and----" But here her mother whipped up the pony so smartlythat the rest of the sentence was lost in the grating of wheels.
"So that is Mrs. Clarke," said Aunt Barbara, as she entered the cottageagain. "She looks nice, though I wish she had allowed Alison to stay fora few minutes longer. It's a funny thing, but somehow her face seems sofamiliar to me. I wonder if I can possibly have met her before?"
"Have you seen her in Coleminster?" suggested Dorothy.
"No; the remembrance seems to be much farther back than that. I shouldsay it was a long time ago."
"So it was--nearly fourteen years," volunteered Martha, who was layingthe tea table. "I remembered her fast enough. I knew her the moment Iset my eyes on her."
Martha had the privilege of long service, and was accustomed to speakher mind and offer advice to her mistress on many occasions. If she wasblunt and abrupt in her manners, she was a very faithful soul, and hernorth-country brains were shrewd and keen. She was an authority in thelittle household on many points, and her remarks were never ignored.
"Why, Martha, I always say you've a better memory than I have," returnedMiss Sherbourne. "Where did we know her, then?"
"We didn't know her," said Martha, pausing and looking at Dorothy. "Thebairn's been told about it now, so I suppose I can speak before her?Well, that lady in the trap to-day is the same one that came to the innat Greenfield Junction, and was so upset at sight of the child."
"Are you sure, Martha?" exclaimed Miss Barbara.
"Certain; I never forget a face. I'd take my oath before a judge andjury."
"She did not remember us."
"Didn't she? I wouldn't swear to that. You've not changed so much butthat anyone would recognize you. It's my opinion she knew us both, andthat was the reason she was in such a precious hurry to get away."