Australian Lassie

  CHAPTER XIV

  JOHN'S PLANS

  On Monday morning Betty took the road to school with running feet. Afear was at her heart that John Brown had set out upon his expeditioninto the world this day. Had gone--and left her behind! Had begun "life"and left her at school!

  And it must be confessed that she liked the thought of two waifs facingthe world together, very much better than one.

  She was not at all disturbed (when it was over) about the interview withher grandfather. It had not, like its predecessor, sent her to bedweeping and ashamed and resolved upon the expediency of "turning over anew leaf."

  She had been vexed that her grandfather had had so short a sleep--andthat John had not given her warning of his approach--as he had promisedto do.

  And she was very much distressed to find she had left her pink bonnetbehind her. Her mother had discovered its loss when giving out theweek's clean one, and had insisted upon her searching every corner inthe house for it.

  "It's was Dot's," said Mrs. Bruce. "Dot never lost a bonnet in her life.You will have done with bonnets soon, but yours will do for Nancy. Iexpect you left it at school, you tiresome child."

  It certainly would have electrified Mrs. Bruce if her small daughter hadconfessed to her bonnet's whereabouts. But Betty's scrapes were many andvarious at this period of her life, and it never entered into her headto tell them to her mother, who was absorbed in her garden and herbooks, nor to her father, who was supposed to be always "thinkingstories."

  So Betty ran to school with her clean bonnet tucked under her arm, afterpromising that she would "try to bring the other one home with her."

  Her mind was now at rest upon her future "career." She had quitedetermined to be a second Madam S---- with this sole difference in theirlives--Madam S---- faced the world at _her_ street corner at the age ofeight, and Betty was not beginning till she was "twelve and a bit."

  Still, she had a few worries.

  She was worried over John--lest he should have gone and left her; andshe was worried over the great question, "What song to sing?" as manysingers have been before.

  She had thought of "God save the Queen," but the words did not fulfilall requirements, while "Please give me a penny, sir"--that song she hadfound among a heap of yellow old ones with her mother's name--maidenname, Dorothea Carew--upon them, seemed to have been written just forthe occasion. The only pity was, that whereas Betty knew "God Save theQueen" perfectly, "Please give me a penny, sir" was almost a stranger toher.

  She had learnt a verse of it on Saturday night when she ought to havebeen doing her arithmetic; and on Sunday evening she had coaxed hermother to the piano, and begged her to sing "_just_ this one song,_please_." Her mother sang very prettily--like Dot--and she had thrown agood deal of pathos into the old song, so that Betty's ambition wasfired, and she had _almost_ decided upon the song straightaway.

  This morning she arrived at school flushed and hot, before either Cyrilor Nancy, and she began at once to explore the playground for John Brownthe artist. Two little lines of boys and girls were playing a sober gameof French and English away under the gum trees, and Betty ran her eyesalong the lines--but no John Brown was there.

  Two boys were skirmishing just behind the cloak-room, but neither ofthem was John Brown. Five were playing "leap frog," but John Brown wasnot there. One sat on the doorstep learning a lesson, but that was onlyArtie Jones.

  Then a motley crowd of boys and girls came trailing in at the gate, andthe bell began to ring.

  Betty drew into the shadow of the new wing, the "Babies' Wing," andscanned the new arrivals eagerly.

  Fat Nellie Underwood gave her a bunch of jonquils and fell into line tomarch into the schoolroom. Minute Hetty Ferguson begged to be allowed todo her hair in the dinner-hour. "_Please_, Betty dear," she urged. ButBetty was looking for John and did not heed.

  Cyril was there and grumbling. He was pushing a boy who had pushed him,and pressing his lips together as he pushed, when, all at once, he sawBetty, and left the field to the other boy.

  "You're going to catch it, Betty Bruce!" he whispered. "You'll just see!I'm going to tell of you when I go home. Teach you to sneak off toschool by yourself."

  But Betty's eyes were looking past Cyril, looking for a squarely builtfigure in grey.

  Cyril drew nearer. "You never washed up the porridge plates," he said."I found them in the dresser cupboard. An' the knives an' forks. An'baby's basin. I'll tell of you."

  Then he fell into line and carried his fair pretty face into theschoolroom, where Miss Sharman patted his cheeks when he went to presenta little bunch of Czar violets to her.

  Miss Sharman presided over Class A for grammar upon Mondays andThursdays, and Cyril, who was but very weak on adverbs and prepositions,always gave her a sweet-smelling nosegay to begin the day with.

  And Miss Sharman had a very tender spot in her heart for pretty Cyril,where she had none for scapegrace Betty. She had doctored Cyril forbruises, had washed his face in her own room and brushed his wavy hair;had kissed him, and given him cakes, and acid drops, and bananas. Andalthough these small sweet matters were just between Miss Sharman andCyril--their influence might be felt upon grammar days.

  Nancy came into school crying--crying noisily. She was rubbing her eyeswith one hand, a moist dirty hand, and leaving her face the worse forthe contact.

  The master inquired sternly what was the matter, and called her to hisside. And Nancy told him sobbingly that she "fort she was late, an' nowshe wasn't." And he patted her head so kindly that the little maidlowered her sobs at once and finally let them die away in an occasionalhiccough of sorrow.

  Betty came in at last. She had run as far as the store and back again insearch of John Brown--and had found him not. She felt quite certain nowthat he was away practising his genius upon some wall in the greatworld.

  When she came into the schoolroom her face was red with running andexcitement, her hair was rough, and her bonnet under her arm still, sooblivious was she to the things of this very every-day and commonplaceworld.

  "Elizabeth Bruce, what is that you have under your arm," Miss Sharmaninquired, as Betty walked to her place, which was somewhere in thesecond form.

  Betty looked in surprise--and there was her bonnet. She had to walk outand hang it up, while the class, and even the babies tittered at herblunder.

  But there in the cloak-room she found John Brown. He was in the act ofhanging his hat upon his own particular peg--the highest one in theroom.

  "Oh!" said Betty, "_here_ you are!"

  "You're a nice one," said John Brown.

  "What have I done?" asked the little girl eagerly.

  But John Brown simply looked his scorn, and it made his face very uglyindeed.

  "Oh, what _have_ I done?" begged Betty. "Do tell me."

  "Trust a girl to mull things up," said John.

  "Elizabeth Bruce, return to your class," said a stern voice from theschoolroom, and Betty shot herself back through the door in thetwinkling of an eye.

  A lengthy space of valuable time was given over to moods and tenses,perfects, pluperfects, pasts, futures; and Betty, whose fortitude wasmuch shaken by John Brown's remarks, sat listlessly five places abovehim, caring not the least about such mighty words as "cans" and"coulds" and "shalls" and "shoulds," although the air was full of them.

  She went down a place, through not being able to find a passiveparticiple for the verb "to bid," Miss Sharman shaking an angry head ather eager "bidded." And she went down two for knowing nothing of thepresent tense of "slain."

  That brought her one place removed from John Brown, and all hereagerness now was to go one lower and learn at once wherein lay heroffence.

  So, although she knew perfectly that the verb "to fall" had "fell" forits past participle, she uttered an eager "failed" and sat next to JohnBrown.

  "Disgraceful!" said Miss Sharman. "You could not have opened your book,Elizabeth (which was only too true). Your little sister Nancy, in thebabies' class, could
have told you that."

  But Elizabeth saved herself with the verb, "to sing," and sat uneasilyin case John should blunder over "to fight." But he was quite correctand did not need his small neighbour's eager whisper.

  And then Miss Sharman passed on to other verbs and other pupils, andJohn and Betty were left in peace, side by side, outwardly twoindifferently intelligent pupils, inwardly perplexed, distressed andelated by their new ambition.

  "What have I done?" whispered Betty.

  "Silly!" whispered John.

  "But--what _have_ I done?"

  "Girl!" whispered John in scorn.

  The trouble at Betty's heart stirred and hurt her. Was it not enough _tobe_ a girl, without being _called_ one--and in such a whisper. She satstill, and, to save herself from tears, bit her lips and pressed themtogether, and pinched her left arm with her right hand, as she sat therewith her arms folded behind her.

  And John thought she didn't care!

  He looked at her out of an eye-corner and added, "I'm done with you," asa final stab.

  Betty said, "Oh no, John," imploringly, and Miss Sharman caught herwhisper and saw her lips move, and said--

  "Elizabeth Bruce--don't let me have to look at you again this morning.You are very troublesome. Why can you not take a leaf out of yourbrother's book, I wonder?"

  The morning wore on, and tenses and moods gave place to drill. Then theyall went into the playground, and armed themselves with poles, andformed into lines.

  John, as the tallest and straightest-backed and sturdiest-limbed pupilin the school, was always at the head of one line. While NellieUnderwood and Betty Bruce, being of a height and age, headed a linealternately.

  It fell to Betty's lot to be head of a line to-day, and though she hadto "right wheel and march," with John for a partner, down the middle andup again, and "left wheel and march" from John to meet again, and "rightwheel and march," and all of it over and over and over again, John'seyes only ignored the little distressed face in the cotton bonnet, ortold her contemptuously that she was a "girl."

  At eleven o'clock recess he was skirmishing with four smaller boys(using only one hand to their eight) and Betty walked up and down underthe gum trees arm in arm with two other girls in sun-bonnets.

  At dinner-time John scampered home to roast fowl and bread sauce, andBetty and Cyril and Nancy carried their lunch bag to a shady corner andate bread and jam sandwiches with relish, finishing up with a bananaeach.

  It was not until afternoon school was well over that Betty found John inany way approachable. He was skimming stones along the dusty road withpractised skill, and Betty, alone and hurrying, caught him up.

  She artfully admired a stone that sped for a couple of hundred yards aninch or so above the earth, without, to all seeming, ever touching it.And John condescended to be pleased at her praise.

  When she had at his command tried her hand at throwing and beencondemned by him, she put her question again.

  "Why aren't you speaking to me, John? What have I done?"

  "I'm speaking!" quoth John. "But I'm done with you."

  "But what have I done?"

  "Done! Only got me into a row with my grandfather. Only got me to bed atsix o'clock without any tea for speaking to you. That's all."

  "And shan't you speak to me any more?" asked Betty.

  "Only just speak," said John.

  "And--and----" Betty's voice quavered with anxiety--"shan't you run awaywith me?"

  "Mightn't" said John. He sent another stone speeding down the road, andBetty watched it with misty eyes, as she trudged along behind him. Shedid not speak.

  "You should have cleared when I coughed," said John. "I told you I'dcough, but you sat there reading and wouldn't look up."

  Still Betty was silent.

  "You'd give the whole blessed show away," said John. "What's the goodof running away and being brought back to school. That comes of being agirl."

  And then he looked at her and saw the tears were running down her cheeksand her lips quivering.

  "You're crying!" he said, turning round to her sharply.

  "Oh, I'm not," said Betty, and dragged her bonnet further over her face."That horrid stone of yours made a d-dust, and its--it's got in myeyes."

  John laughed. "If you do run away," he said, "what shall you do?"

  Betty's ambition leapt to life, and her tears dried themselves on hercheeks and in her eyes.

  "I'm going to sing," she said. "I'm going to stand at a street cornerand sing, and I'm going to wear a tattered old dress and no boots andstockings. And then an old gentleman will pass by and he'll hear me andstand still, and he'll take me away to make a singer of me; and evenlords will come to hear me sing, and kings and queens."

  John was stirred.

  "I'm going without boots, too," he said, "and I shall be in tatteredthings. I shall get a place as errand boy first, and----"

  "When are you going?" asked Betty artfully.

  "To-morrow," said John.

  "Why, so am I," said Betty. "How funny."

  "If you like," said John, "I'll see you to some street corner. I'm goingat five o'clock in the morning."

  "Why, so am I," said Betty. "Oh, yes; let's go together."

  "You can be down at the store by half-past five," said John. "That'llgive us time to get a bit of breakfast. And we'll be in Sydney early,before they find out we've gone."

  "She went back to her bedroom, to place by Nancy's sideher only remaining doll."]