CHAPTER VIII.
THE SCHOOL ANNUAL.
Ursula had founded the "Moorhouse Annual." The volume appeared everyyear just before the midsummer holidays. It consisted of poems andstories by the young ladies, copied in Miss Clara Maxton's beautifulcopperplate writing, and edited by Ursula.
Ursula was editress, illustrator, and chief contributor. The history ofthe courtship, squabbles, friendships, and adventures of Mr. Gander andMiss Chilblane, chiefly related in pen-and-ink drawings, withcommentaries appended beneath, by Ursula, was a leading feature of theperiodical.
The would-be contributors to the annual usually assembled some Saturdayafternoon in May, to read aloud their MSS. and submit them to theeditorial judgment.
The important Saturday had arrived, and Ursula and her staff wereassembled, with Miss Reeves' permission, in the smaller schoolroom.Ursula sat at the head of the table in an impressive armchair; thespectacles astride her _retrousse_ nose seemed critically brilliant.
Meg slunk in, and sat at the window within earshot.
Gwendoline had asked her on entering, MS. in hand, if she was going toread a story. "I am sure you could write a most bewitching story aboutthat beautiful lady," the Beauty had averred.
"No, no, no!" said Meg, retreating into the veranda.
She had crept back in time to hear Laura Harris read her tale. Itappeared to be the history of a confectioner, who owned a famouswest-end shop, which was in vogue with the fashionable and wealthy.Ladies sat there and feasted. The description of its charms hadapparently such an overwhelming attraction for the authoress that shecould not prevail on her pen to quit it and pass on with her story.There was a gigantic wedding-cake, with a sugar-almond top, fully a yardhigh. The cream puffs, the jam tarts, the ices, the chocolates, thesweets were piled on with profusion.
The conclusion of this story was not arrived at.
Ursula rapped the table with her paper-knife.
"Story declined with thanks," she said briefly.
"Why?" asked Laura indignantly.
"Because, notwithstanding the delicious cakes, we consider it in badtaste," replied Ursula, using the editorial "we" with fine effect.
"Miss Grant, have you a story to submit to us for the forthcomingannual?"
Miss Grant had made a hit the year before by her story of "The GhostlyPostman," who knocked in the ordinary way, and sent summons of death bythe letter box.
An audible shiver ran through the audience as she now unrolled her MS.,and in a deep voice read the title--"The Midnight Yell."
The story told of a beautiful country house, on a moor, in which therewas a haunted chamber. Whoever entered that room at night never came outalive. At midnight a yell would ring through the mansion--unearthly,blood curdling. When the chamber was broken into the guest was alwaysfound dead, with arms outstretched and eyes starting out of theirsockets. Who uttered that midnight yell?--was it the living or the dead?The visitor or the ghost? None could tell. Some said it was an old hagwho haunted the chamber, some said it was a beautiful white lady; but itwas generally reported to be a murdered queen.
A sigh greeted this story.
"Accepted," said Ursula, in a business-like tone.
"Will it be illustrated?" inquired the authoress anxiously.
"Yes; probably with a spectral donkey braying," said Ursula.
"Oh, no, I cannot allow that!" said the authoress.
"We decline to hold communications about the MSS., refused or accepted,"replied Ursula, bringing her paper-knife sharply down upon the table.
"Miss Lister's story," she demanded.
"It is entitled," said Gwendoline in a falsetto voice, "'The Lover'sGrave.'" The Beauty proceeded to read how a gypsy with weird, mystic,somber eyes, and serpent-like, coiling, blue-black hair, had scanned theshell-like palm of a lovely Venetian maiden with golden tresses, andwarned her with strange fatal mutterings that to her love and deathwould come hand in hand. Careless of the muttered prophecy, the Venetiandamsel with hair like bullion, and clad in a rich violet velvet gown,and with a necklace of pearls clasped about her lily-white throat, setoff every morning in her gondola to look for the gallant whom she couldlove. One day the predicted lover came in another gondola; he wasbeautiful as Apollo. His mustache was long and silky, his eyes liquidand violet; he had an air of combined tenderness and strength. Thegondolas drifted toward each other, impelled by fate. The lady roseimpulsively; so did the gentleman. They endeavored to embrace. As theydid so, both fell into the water. For awhile they floated on theblue-green flood, smiling seraphically at each other, then they subsidedgracefully, and were drowned, and ever after that spot was called "TheLovers' Grave."
"It will make a pretty picture," said Ursula. "I can see the twodrowning with that set seraphic smile, as if they liked it."
"Yes," said Gwendoline, who never saw a joke, "it will make a lovelypicture."
"I have written a poem," said Miss Blanche Hathers modestly, taking outa roll of paper tied with bows of pink satin ribbon.
A hum of approbation greeted this announcement.
"Go on," said Ursula, with the freezing brevity of the editor.
"The poem is called 'A Lament,' perhaps it might be more appropriatelycalled 'A Deserted Maiden's Prayer.'"
Ursula nodded. Miss Hathers began effectively:
"Oh! star of even My heart is riven, Come thou down and shine In these eyes of mine; 'Twill draw him back."
Ursula, forgetting editorial dignity, completed the couplet, amidgiggles and laughter:
"And his cheek I'll smack."
The discomfited poetess folded up her effusion. The next line was:
"On dreamy track,"
and it was only the first verse.
"'Twill draw him back, On dreamy track."
she repeated in an injured voice.
"Never mind on what track--we must shunt him," said Ursula withdecision. "Any more MSS.?" she inquired, scanning the assembledcontributors.
There came a rustle of many pages.
Miss Margaret Smith submitted the story of "The First Ball-dress," whichhad a high moral; it was accepted, and was voted lovely. Miss SarahRobbins contributed "The Vampire Schoolmistress," an awful tale of ateacher, whose pupils all died mysteriously--"sucked like oranges,"Ursula suggested. One young lady gave an account of her trip to Paris,which contained vivid descriptions of bonnets and capes, and someobscure allusions to the galleries.
"My story is entitled 'The Noble Heiress,'" said Miss Pinkett. In alisping, fine voice the young lady read the story of a wealthy damsel,who lived in a beautiful house, exquisitely furnished.
As Portia was at Belmont, so was this heiress sought in marriage by manysuitors. It was said that besides her wealth she possessed"love-powders;" for all who saw her loved her. But she was as sensibleas she was rich and beautiful, and she kept her heart in check. It wasonly when the eldest son of a marquis came forward to woo her that sheallowed herself to love. Wealth and nobility, the sensible heiress felt,was the true marriage sung of by poets from all ages. The weddingpresents were numerous--the author was lavish in descriptions of thediamonds, the rubies, the emeralds. The wedding-dress was a charmingcostume, which Miss Pinkett described with much fervor.
Meg, who had sat still all the time with her chin in her hands, like asurly little exile from the circle, looked as if the foolish talesirritated her. Suddenly, in a clear, abrupt voice she said:
"Shall I tell you my story?"
"Your story?" echoed the girls, amazed.
"Yes," said Ursula.
"Do!" exclaimed Gwendoline.
"It is the story of a toad," said Meg.
"Of a toad!" repeated Gwendoline in dismay.
"There was once upon a time a toad," Meg began, breathingheavily--taking no notice of the interruption.
"It was ugly, lonely, and always in danger of being kicked and crushed;but it had splendid eyes, like jewels. At night it liked to crawl outand look up at the beautiful stars
. Every one who saw it," Meg went onwith more concentration, "looked at it with disgust. The toad used tomake its way to the edge of the still water and look at itself, andthink 'how they hate me.' It envied the frogs which croaked and couldjump, while it could only crawl.
"Down in the water below the ground lived the great mother of all thetoads, and this little toad went down to find her, for it wished to askher why it had ever been born? The mother of all the toads was immenselylarge. She had bigger and more beautiful eyes than any other toad. Theywere like soft precious stones, and round each eye was a circle oflight like a ring of gold. The little toad sat before her and said:
"'Why have I been born? Why should I be crushed and beaten, and lookedat with disgust? Why do the children put out their little red lips atme? They hate and fear me. Sometimes when they see me they step back andgo headlong into the water. I have not even power to punish them.'
"And the mother of all the toads did not answer, she only blinked. Sheshowed no sympathy at all, and never looked at the little toad.
"Once the toad thought it would do a kind thing. It lived near a garden,and in it there was a child who had a pet flower, and when the childwent away the toad took care of the flower, brought water to it,scratched the earth, and took all the insects away.
"When the child returned the flower was more beautiful than before. Butwhen it saw the toad, it stamped its little foot, crying 'Kill it! killit!' and the gardener gave the poor toad a kick with his nailed boot onits tender side, and threw it, almost killed, into the water. So thelittle toad said 'I will never like anybody again, and I will never do akind thing.'
"Its heart grew wicked." Meg put emphasis on this last word. "It hadteeth to bite, it croaked its ugliest, and it had just one longing tosee something uglier than itself. One day it saw this thing. It was apug dog--petted, and fed, and caressed, and wearing a gold collar roundits neck. The toad was glad there was something uglier than itself; itfrightened the pug dog, and was comforted.
"One day as the little toad was crawling along it heard steps. 'I shallbe killed it said,' and it tried to hurry away. But the steps camenearer and nearer. Suddenly the toad felt itself taken up gently, and itsaw bending over it the face of a young man, and it was a kind face; andthe young man put the little toad down in a sheltered spot, saying'Remain there, out of harm's way, till I come back.' He went away." HereMeg's voice faltered.
"He did not know that there were dreadful thorns in that spot; but thelittle toad tried for the sake of that friend not to mind. It remainedthere, and it was always listening for the young man's steps comingback. That is all," said Meg in abrupt conclusion.
There was a silence.
Then Miss Pinkett said: "What a shocking story!"
"Shocking!" circled round the table.
"Were you the little toad?" asked Laura Harris.
"Yes!" said Meg curtly.
"I like that story," said Ursula, "and I shall draw such a toad."