A World of Girls: The Story of a School

into an uglyscrape. It's no affair of mine, I'm sure; only I thought you'd like thelollipops."

  "No, I don't like them at all," said Annie, "nor you either. Go back toyour own companions, please."

  Susan sulkily walked away, and Annie stooped down on the floor.

  "Now, little darlings," she said, "you mustn't eat those. No, no, theyare not good at all; and they have come from one of Annie's enemies.Most likely they are full of poison. Let us collect them all, everyone, and we will throw them into the fire before we go to tea."

  "But I don't think there's any poison in them," said little Janie Westin a regretful tone, as she gobbled down a particularly lusciouschocolate cream; "they are all big, and fat, and bursty, and _so_ sweet,Annie, dear."

  "Never mind, Janie, they are dangerous sweeties all the same. Come,come, throw them into my apron, and I will run over and toss them intothe fire, and we'll have time for a game of leap-frog before tea; oh,fie, Judy," as a very small fat baby began to whimper, "you would noteat the sweeties of one of Annie's enemies."

  This last appeal was successful. The children made a valiant effort,and dashed the tempting goodies into Annie's alpaca apron. When theywere all collected, she marched up the play-room and in the presence ofSusan Drummond, Hester Thornton, Cecil Temple, and several more of herschool-companions, threw them into the fire.

  "So much for _that_ overture, Miss Drummond," she said, making a mockcurtsey, and returning once more to the children.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  IN THE HAMMOCK.

  Just at this time the weather suddenly changed. After the cold anddreariness of winter came soft spring days--came longer evenings andbrighter mornings.

  Hester Thornton found that, she could dress by daylight, then that shewas no longer cold and shivering when she reached the chapel, then thatshe began intensely to enjoy her mid-day walk, then that she found herwinter things a little too hot, until at last, almost suddenly it seemedto the expectant and anxious girls, glorious spring weather broke uponthe world, the winds were soft and westerly, the buds swelled andswelled into leaf on the trees, and the flowers bloomed in thedelightful old-fashioned gardens of Lavender House. Instantly, itseemed to the girls, their whole lives had altered. The play-room wasdeserted or only put up with on wet days. At twelve o'clock, instead oftaking a monotonous walk on the roads, they ran races, played tennis,croquet, or any other game they liked best in the gardens. Later on inthe day, when the sun was not so powerful, they took their walk; buteven then they had time to rush back to their beloved shady garden for alittle time before tea and preparation for their next day's work.Easter came this year about the middle of April, and Easter found thesegirls almost enjoying summer weather. How they looked forward to theirfew Easter holidays! what plans they made, what tennis matches werearranged, what games and amusements of all sorts were in anticipation!Mrs Willis herself generally went away for a few days at Easter; so didthe French governess, and the school was nominally placed under thecharge of Miss Good and Miss Danesbury. Mrs Willis did not approve oflong Easter holidays; she never gave more than a week, and inconsequence only the girls who lived quite near went home. Out of thefifty girls who resided at Lavender House about ten went away at Easter;the remaining forty stayed behind, and were often heard to declare thatholidays at Lavender House were the most delightful things in the world.

  At this particular Easter time the girls were rather surprised to nearthat Mrs Willis had made up her mind not to go away as usual; Miss Goodwas to have a holiday, and Mrs Willis and Miss Danesbury were to lookafter the school. This was felt to be an unusual, indeed unheard-of,proceeding, and the girls commented about it a good deal, and somehow,without absolutely intending to do so, they began to settle in their ownminds that Mrs Willis was staying in the school on account of AnnieForest, and that in her heart of hearts she did not absolutely believein her innocence. Mrs Willis certainly gave the girls no reason tocome to this conclusion; she was consistently kind to Annie, and hadapparently quite restored her to her old place in her favour. Annie wasmore gentle than of old, and less inclined to get into scrapes; but thegirls loved her far less in her present unnatural condition of reserveand good behaviour than they did in her old daring and hoydenish days.Cecil Temple always spent Easter with an old aunt who lived in aneighbouring town; she openly said this year that she did not wish to goaway, but her governess would not allow her to change her usual plans,and she left Lavender House with a curious feeling of depression andcoming trouble. As she was getting into the cab which was to take herto the station Annie flew to her side, threw a great bouquet of flowerswhich she had gathered into her lap, and, flinging her arms tightlyround her neck, whispered suddenly and passionately:

  "Oh, Cecil, believe in me."

  "I--I--I don't know that I don't," said Cecil, rather lamely.

  "No, Cecil, you don't--not in your heart of hearts. Neither you norMrs Willis--you neither of you believe in me from the very bottom ofyour hearts; oh, it is hard!"

  Annie gave vent to a little sob, sprang away from Cecil's arms, anddisappeared into a shrubbery close by.

  She stayed there until the sound of the retreating cab died away in theavenue, then, tossing back her hair, rearranging her rather tatteredgarden hat, and hastily wiping some tears from her eyes, she came outfrom her retreat, and began to look around her for some amusement. Whatshould she do? Where should she go? How should she occupy herself?Sounds of laughter and merriment filled the air; the garden was allalive with gay young figures running here and there. Girls stood ingroups under the horse chestnut tree--girls walked two and two up theshady walk at the end of the garden--little ones gambolled and rolled onthe grass--a tennis match was going on vigorously, and the croquetground was occupied by eight girls of the middle school. Annie was oneof the most successful tennis players in the school; she had indeed agift for all games of skill, and seldom missed her mark. Now she lookedwith a certain wistful longing toward the tennis-court; but, after abrief hesitation, she turned away from it and entered the shady walk atthe farther end of the garden. As she walked along, slowly,meditatively, and sadly, her eyes suddenly lighted up. Glancing to oneof the tall trees she saw a hammock suspended there which had evidentlybeen forgotten during the winter. The tree was not yet quite in leaf,and it was very easy for Annie to climb up its branches, to readjust thehammock, and to get into it. After its winter residence in the treethis soft couch was found full of withered leaves, and otherwise ratherdamp and uncomfortable. Annie tossed the leaves on to the ground, andlaughed as she swung herself gently backwards and forwards. Early asthe season still was the sun was so bright and the air so soft that shecould not but enjoy herself, and she laughed with pleasure, and onlywished that she had a fairy tale by her side to help to soothe her offto sleep.

  In the distance she heard some children calling "Annie," "Annie Forest;"but she was far too comfortable and too lazy to answer them, andpresently she closed her eyes and really did fall asleep.

  She was awakened by a very slight sound--by nothing more nor less thanthe gentle and very refined conversation of two girls, who sat under theoak-tree in which Annie's hammock swung. Hearing the voices, she bent alittle forward, and saw that the speakers were Dora Russell and HesterThornton. Her first inclination was to laugh, toss down some leaves,and instantly reveal herself: the next she drew back hastily, and beganto listen with all her ears.

  "I never liked her," said Hester--"I never even from the very firstpretended to like her. I think she is underbred, and not fit toassociate with the other girls in the school-room."

  "She is treated with most unfair partiality," retorted Miss Russell inher thin and rather bitter voice. "I have not the smallest doubt, notthe smallest, that she was guilty of putting those messes into my desk,of destroying my composition, and of caricaturing Mrs Willis in CecilTemple's book. I wonder after that Mrs Willis did not see through her,but it is astonishing to what lengths favouritism will carry one. MrsWillis and Mr Everard a
re behaving in a very unfair way to the rest ofus in upholding this commonplace, disagreeable girl; but it will be toMrs Willis's own disadvantage. Hester, I am, as you know, leavingschool at Midsummer, and I shall certainly use all my influence toinduce my father and mother not to send the younger girls here; theycould not associate with a person like Miss Forest."

  "I never take much notice of her," said Hester; "but of course what yousay is quite right, Dora. You have great discrimination, and yoursisters might possibly be taken in by her."

  "Oh, not at all, I assure you; they know a true lady when they see her.However, they must not be imperilled. I will ask my parents to sendthem to Mdlle. Lablanche. I hear that her establishment is most_recherche_."

  "Mrs Willis is very nice herself, and so are most of the girls," saidHester, after a pause. Then they were both silent, for Hester hadstooped down to examine some little fronds and moss which grew at thefoot of the tree. After a pause, Hester said--

  "I don't think Annie is the favourite she was with the girls."

  "Oh, of course not; they all, in their heart of hearts, know she isguilty. Will you come indoors, and have tea with me in my drawing-room,Hester?"

  The two girls walked slowly away, and presently Annie let herself gentlyout of her hammock and dropped to the ground.

  She had heard every word; she had not revealed herself, and a new andterrible--and, truth to say, absolutely foreign--sensation from her truenature now filled her mind. She felt that she almost hated those twowho had spoken so cruelly, so unjustly of her. She began to trace hermisfortunes and her unhappiness to the date of Hester's entrance intothe school. Even more than Dora Russell did she dislike Hester; shemade up her mind to revenge herself on both these girls. Her heart wasvery, very sore; she missed the old words, the old love, the oldbrightness, the old popularity; she missed the mother-tones in MrsWillis's voice--her heart cried out for them, at night she often weptfor them. She became more and more sure that she owed all hermisfortunes to Hester, and in a smaller degree to Dora. Dora believedthat she had deliberately insulted her, and injured her composition,when she knew herself that she was quite innocent of even harbouringsuch a thought, far less carrying it into effect. Well, now, she wouldreally do something to injure both these girls, and perhaps the carryingout of her revenge would satisfy her sore heart.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  CUP AND BALL.

  Just toward the end of the Easter holidays, Hester Thornton was throwninto a great tumult of excitement, of wonder, of half regret and halfjoy, by a letter which she received from her father. In this letter heinformed her that he had made up his mind to break up his establishmentfor several years, to go abroad, and to leave Hester altogether underMrs Willis's care.

  When Hester had read so far, she flung her letter on the table, put herhead into her hands, and burst into tears.

  "Oh, how cruel of father!" she exclaimed; "how am I to live without evergoing home--how am I to endure life without seeing my little Nan?"

  Hester cried bitterly; the strongest love of her nature was now given tothis pretty and sweet little sister, and dismal pictures rose rapidlybefore her of Nan growing up without in the least remembering her--perhaps, still worse, of Nan being unkindly treated and neglected bystrangers. After a long pause, she raised her head, wiped her eyes, andresumed her letter. Now, indeed, she started with astonishment, andgave an exclamation of delight--Sir John Thornton had arranged that MrsWillis was also to receive little Nan, although she was younger than anyother child present in the school. Hester scarcely waited to finish herletter. She crammed it into her pocket, rushed up to Susan Drummond,and astonished that placid young lady by suddenly kissing her.

  "Nan is coming, Susy!" she exclaimed; "dear, darling, lovely little Nanis coming--oh, I am so happy!"

  She was far too impatient to explain matters to stolid Susan, and danceddownstairs, her eyes sparkling and smiles on her lips. It was nothingto her now how long she stayed at school--her heart's treasure would bewith her there, and she could not but feel happy.

  After breakfast Mrs Willis sent for her, and told her what arrangementswere being made; she said that she was going to remove Susan Drummondout of Hester's bedroom, in order that Hester might enjoy her littlesister's company at night. She spoke very gently, and entered with fullsympathy into the girl's delight over the little motherless sister, andHester felt more drawn to her governess than she had ever been.

  Nan was to arrive at Lavender House on the following evening, and forthe first week her nurse was to remain with her until she got accustomedto her new life.

  The morning of the day of Nan's arrival was also the last of the Easterholidays, and Hester, awakening earlier than her wont, lay in bed, andplanned what she would do to welcome the little one.

  The idea of having Nan with her continually had softened and touchedHester. She was not unhappy in her school-life--indeed, there was muchin its monotonous, busy, and healthy occupation to stimulate and rousethe good in her. Her intellect was being vigorously exercised, and, bycontact with her school-fellows, her character was being moulded; butthe perfect harmony and brightness of the school had been muchinterrupted since Hester's arrival; her dislike to Annie Forest had beenunfortunate in more ways than one, and that dislike, which wasincreasing each day, was hardening Hester's heart.

  But it was not hard this morning--all that was sweetest, and softest,and best in her had come to the surface--the little sister, whom hermother had left in her charge, was now to be her daily and hourlycompanion. For Nan's sake, then, she must be very good; her deeds mustbe gentle and kind, and her thoughts charitable. Hester had aninstinctive feeling that baby eyes saw deep below the surface; Hesterfelt if Nan were to lose even a shadow of her faith in her she couldalmost die of shame.

  Hester had been very proud of Dora Russell's friendship. Never beforehad it been known in the school that a first-class girl took a thirdinto such close companionship, and Hester's little head had beenslightly turned by the fact. Her better judgment and her better naturehad been rather blinded by the fascinations of this tall, graceful,satirical Dora. She had been weak enough to agree with Dora with herlips when in her heart of hearts she knew she was all wrong. By natureHester was an honourable girl, with many fine traits in her character--by nature Dora was small and mean and poor of soul.

  This morning Hester ran up to her favourite.

  "Little Nan is coming to-night," she said.

  Dora was talking at the moment to Miss Maitland, another first-classgirl, and the two stared rather superciliously at Hester, and, after apause, Dora said in her finest drawl--

  "Who _is_ little Nan?"

  It was Hester's turn to stare, for she had often spoken of Nan to thisbeloved friend, who had listened to her narrative and had appeared tosympathise.

  "My little sister, of course," she exclaimed. "I have often talked toyou about her, Dora. Are you not glad she is coming?"

  "No, my dear child, I can't say that I am. If you wish to retain myfriendship, Hester, you must be careful to keep the little mite awayfrom me; I can't bear small children."

  Hester walked away with her heart swelling, and she fancied she heardthe two elder girls laughing as she left the play-room.

  Many other girls, however, in the school thoroughly sympathised withHester, and amongst them no one was more delighted than Susan Drummond.

  "I am awfully good-natured not to be as cross as two sticks, Hetty," sheexclaimed, "for I am being turned out of my comfortable room; and whoseroom do you suppose I am now to share? why, that little imp AnnieForest's." But Hester felt charitable, even toward Annie, on this happyday.

  In the evening little Nan arrived. She was a very pretty, dimpled,brown-eyed creature, of just three years of age. She had all theimperious ways of a spoilt baby, and, evidently, fear was a word not tobe found in her vocabulary. She clung to Hester, but smiled and noddedto the other girls, who made advances to her, and petted her, andthought her a very charmi
ng baby. Beside Nan, all the other littlegirls in the school looked old. She was quite, two years the youngest,and it was soon very evident that she would establish that mostimperious of all reigns--a baby reign--in the school.

  Hester fondled her and talked to her, and the little thing sat on herknee and stroked her face.

  "Me like 'oo, Hetty," she said several times, and she added many otherendearing and pretty words which caused Hester's heart to swell withdelight. She alone, of all the girls, had taken no notice of the newplaything. She walked to her usual corner, sat down on the floor, andbegan to play cup and ball for the benefit of two or three of thesmallest children. Hester did not regard her in the least; she sat withNan on her knee, stroking back her sunny curls, and remarking on hervarious charms to several of the girls who sat round her.

  "See, how pretty that dimple in her chin is," she said, "and oh, my pet,your eyes look wiser, and bigger, and saucier than ever. Look at me,Nan; look at your own Hetty."

  Nan's attention, however, was diverted by the gayly-painted cup and ballwhich Annie was using with her wonted dexterity.

  "Dat a pitty toy," she said, giving one quick and rather solemn glanceat her sister, and again fixing her admiring gaze on the cup and ball.

  Annie Forest had heard the words, and she darted a sudden, laughing lookat the little one. Annie's power over children was well-known. Nanbegan to wriggle on Hester's knee.

  "Dat a pitty lady," she said again, "and dat a pitty, tibby [little]toy; Nan go see."

  In an instant,