CHAPTER XV. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK
June was crowded full of interest that year. We gathered in withits sheaf of fragrant days the choicest harvest of childhood. Thingshappened right along. Cecily declared she hated to go to sleep for fearshe might miss something. There were so many dear delights along thegolden road to give us pleasure--the earth dappled with new blossom,the dance of shadows in the fields, the rustling, rain-wet ways of thewoods, the faint fragrance in meadow lanes, liltings of birds and croonof bees in the old orchard, windy pipings on the hills, sunset behindthe pines, limpid dews filling primrose cups, crescent moons throughdarklings boughs, soft nights alight with blinking stars. We enjoyedall these boons, unthinkingly and light-heartedly, as children do. Andbesides these, there was the absorbing little drama of human lifewhich was being enacted all around us, and in which each of us playeda satisfying part--the gay preparations for Aunt Olivia's mid-Junewedding, the excitement of practising for the concert with which ourschool-teacher, Mr. Perkins, had elected to close the school year, andCecily's troubles with Cyrus Brisk, which furnished unholy mirth for therest of us, though Cecily could not see the funny side of it at all.
Matters went from bad to worse in the case of the irrepressible Cyrus.He continued to shower Cecily with notes, the spelling of which showedno improvement; he worried the life out of her by constantly threateningto fight Willy Fraser--although, as Felicity sarcastically pointed out,he never did it.
"But I'm always afraid he will," said Cecily, "and it would be such aDISGRACE to have two boys fighting over me in school."
"You must have encouraged Cyrus a little in the beginning or he'd neverhave been so persevering," said Felicity unjustly.
"I never did!" cried outraged Cecily. "You know very well, FelicityKing, that I hated Cyrus Brisk ever since the very first time I saw hisbig, fat, red face. So there!"
"Felicity is just jealous because Cyrus didn't take a notion to herinstead of you, Sis," said Dan.
"Talk sense!" snapped Felicity.
"If I did you wouldn't understand me, sweet little sister," rejoinedaggravating Dan.
Finally Cyrus crowned his iniquities by stealing the denied lock ofCecily's hair. One sunny afternoon in school, Cecily and Kitty Marrasked and received permission to sit out on the side bench beforethe open window, where the cool breeze swept in from the green fieldsbeyond. To sit on this bench was always considered a treat, and was onlyallowed as a reward of merit; but Cecily and Kitty had another reasonfor wishing to sit there. Kitty had read in a magazine that sun-bathswere good for the hair; so both she and Cecily tossed their long braidsover the window-sill and let them hang there in the broiling sun-shine.And while Cecily sat thus, diligently working a fraction sum on herslate, that base Cyrus asked permission to go out, having previouslyborrowed a pair of scissors from one of the big girls who did fancy workat the noon recess. Outside, Cyrus sneaked up close to the window andcut off a piece of Cecily's hair.
This rape of the lock did not produce quite such terrible consequencesas the more famous one in Pope's poem, but Cecily's soul was no lessagitated than Belinda's. She cried all the way home from school aboutit, and only checked her tears when Dan declared he'd fight Cyrus andmake him give it up.
"Oh, no, You mustn't." said Cecily, struggling with her sobs. "I won'thave you fighting on my account for anything. And besides, he'd likelylick you--he's so big and rough. And the folks at home might find outall about it, and Uncle Roger would never give me any peace, and motherwould be cross, for she'd never believe it wasn't my fault. It wouldn'tbe so bad if he'd only taken a little, but he cut a great big chunkright off the end of one of the braids. Just look at it. I'll have tocut the other to make them fair--and they'll look so awful stubby."
But Cyrus' acquirement of the chunk of hair was his last triumph.His downfall was near; and, although it involved Cecily in a mosthumiliating experience, over which she cried half the following night,in the end she confessed it was worth undergoing just to get rid ofCyrus.
Mr. Perkins was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. No communicationof any sort was permitted between his pupils during school hours. Anyonecaught violating this rule was promptly punished by the infliction ofone of the weird penances for which Mr. Perkins was famous, and whichwere generally far worse than ordinary whipping.
One day in school Cyrus sent a letter across to Cecily. Usually he lefthis effusions in her desk, or between the leaves of her books; but thistime it was passed over to her under cover of the desk through the handsof two or three scholars. Just as Em Frewen held it over the aisle Mr.Perkins wheeled around from his station before the blackboard and caughther in the act.
"Bring that here, Emmeline," he commanded.
Cyrus turned quite pale. Em carried the note to Mr. Perkins. He took it,held it up, and scrutinized the address.
"Did you write this to Cecily, Emmeline?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Who wrote it then?"
Em said quite shamelessly that she didn't know--it had just been passedover from the next row.
"And I suppose you have no idea where it came from?" said Mr. Perkins,with his frightful, sardonic grin. "Well, perhaps Cecily can tell us.You may take your seat, Emmeline, and you will remain at the foot ofyour spelling class for a week as punishment for passing the note.Cecily, come here."
Indignant Em sat down and poor, innocent Cecily was haled forth topublic ignominy. She went with a crimson face.
"Cecily," said her tormentor, "do you know who wrote this letter toyou?"
Cecily, like a certain renowned personage, could not tell a lie.
"I--I think so, sir," she murmured faintly.
"Who was it?"
"I can't tell you that," stammered Cecily, on the verge of tears.
"Ah!" said Mr. Perkins politely. "Well, I suppose I could easily findout by opening it. But it is very impolite to open other people'sletters. I think I have a better plan. Since you refuse to tell me whowrote it, open it yourself, take this chalk, and copy the contents onthe blackboard that we may all enjoy them. And sign the writer's name atthe bottom."
"Oh," gasped Cecily, choosing the lesser of two evils, "I'll tell youwho wrote it--it was--
"Hush!" Mr. Perkins checked her with a gentle motion of his hand. Hewas always most gentle when most inexorable. "You did not obey me whenI first ordered you to tell me the writer. You cannot have the privilegeof doing so now. Open the note, take the chalk, and do as I commandyou."
Worms will turn, and even meek, mild, obedient little souls like Cecilymay be goaded to the point of wild, sheer rebellion.
"I--I won't!" she cried passionately.
Mr. Perkins, martinet though he was, would hardly, I think, haveinflicted such a punishment on Cecily, who was a favourite of his, hadhe known the real nature of that luckless missive. But, as he afterwardsadmitted, he thought it was merely a note from some other girl, of suchtrifling sort as school-girls are wont to write; and moreover, he hadalready committed himself to the decree, which, like those of Mede andPersian, must not alter. To let Cecily off, after her mad defiance,would be to establish a revolutionary precedent.
"So you really think you won't?" he queried smilingly. "Well, on secondthoughts, you may take your choice. Either you will do as I have biddenyou, or you will sit for three days with"--Mr. Perkins' eye skimmed overthe school-room to find a boy who was sitting alone--"with Cyrus Brisk."
This choice of Mr. Perkins, who knew nothing of the little drama ofemotions that went on under the routine of lessons and exercises in hisdomain, was purely accidental, but we took it at the time as a stroke ofdiabolical genius. It left Cecily no choice. She would have done almostanything before she would have sat with Cyrus Brisk. With flashingeyes she tore open the letter, snatched up the chalk, and dashed at theblackboard.
In a few minutes the contents of that letter graced the expanse usuallysacred to more prosaic compositions. I cannot reproduce it verbatim, forI had no after opportunity of refreshing my memory.
But I remember thatit was exceedingly sentimental and exceedingly ill-spelled--for Cecilymercilessly copied down poor Cyrus' mistakes. He wrote her that he woreher hare over his hart--"and he stole it," Cecily threw passionatelyover her shoulder at Mr. Perkins--that her eyes were so sweet and lovelythat he couldn't find words nice enuf to describ them, that he couldnever forget how butiful she had looked in prar meeting the eveningbefore, and that some meels he couldn't eat for thinking of her, withmore to the same effect and he signed it "yours till deth us do part,Cyrus Brisk."
As the writing proceeded we scholars exploded into smothered laughter,despite our awe of Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins himself could not keep astraight face. He turned abruptly away and looked out of the window,but we could see his shoulders shaking. When Cecily had finished andhad thrown down the chalk with bitter vehemence, he turned around with avery red face.
"That will do. You may sit down. Cyrus, since it seems you are theguilty person, take the eraser and wipe that off the board. Then gostand in the corner, facing the room, and hold your arms straight aboveyour head until I tell you to take them down."
Cyrus obeyed and Cecily fled to her seat and wept, nor did Mr. Perkinsmeddle with her more that day. She bore her burden of humiliationbitterly for several days, until she was suddenly comforted by arealization that Cyrus had ceased to persecute her. He wrote no moreletters, he gazed no longer in rapt adoration, he brought no more votiveofferings of gum and pencils to her shrine. At first we thought he hadbeen cured by the unmerciful chaffing he had to undergo from his mates,but eventually his sister told Cecily the true reason. Cyrus had at lastbeen driven to believe that Cecily's aversion to him was real, and notmerely the defence of maiden coyness. If she hated him so intensely thatshe would rather write that note on the blackboard than sit with him,what use was it to sigh like a furnace longer for her? Mr. Perkins hadblighted love's young dream for Cyrus with a killing frost. Thenceforthsweet Cecily kept the noiseless tenor of her way unvexed by theattentions of enamoured swains.