Part 30 (1/2)

In the ivy room Loveday also wrote and burnt, and wrote and tore up, and wrote again. Composition was her strong point, and though she knew she could never rival Hilary in mathematics or languages, she might possibly match her in the matter of an essay. In imagination Loveday took home the prize and showed it to her uncle and aunt, who were so overcome with amazement that they at once decided to send her to college on the strength of it.

On Wednesday afternoon the school had planned a mountain walk; but the weather, with its usual northern perversity, turned on the water-tap, and sent down deluges of rain. July can be quite as wet as February, and through the steaming window-panes the disappointed girls watched little rivers racing down the walks, and black clouds driving over the fells.

The pent-up energy that wanted to spend itself in walking must find some other vent. The seniors, with one accord, retired to their form-room to copy out their essays. Miss Chadwick charitably conducted the juniors, clad in mackintoshes and goloshes down to the stable, and let them climb the ladder on to the hay in the loft, where she sat and told them stories. She did not invite the intermediates, so they were left to their own devices.

Diana, suffering from a cold, annoyed with the weather, and cross that she was not allowed to go out into the rain, raged up and down the room, and finally, for lack of any other form of physical exercise, organized a jumping compet.i.tion.

The girls scrambled over the desks and took leaps on to the floor. They squealed as they did so, and every now and then broke into hallos or bursts of song. It was certainly not a quiet occupation. In the midst of the riot the door opened, and Hilary, in a towering temper, made her appearance.

”I never heard such a disgraceful noise in my life!” she stormed. ”It sounds like a menagerie or an infants' tea-party. Great girls of your age to be jumping about like babies. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! Here are we all trying to copy our essays; and how d'you think we're going to write with that racket going on over our heads? If you don't stop I shall fetch Miss Todd. She'll hear it for herself very soon, if you don't take care, and then there'll be squalls. She's working in her study.”

There was truth in Hilary's remarks. Though they would not acknowledge there was anything derogatory to the dignity of intermediates in indulging in the pastime of jumping, they knew full well that should the noise penetrate to the precincts of the study Miss Todd would issue forth like a dragon. But Diana was cross, and not disposed to take reproof lightly. She pulled one of her most impossible faces, and stormed back at Hilary.

”You seniors want to have the school all to yourselves! It's a holiday afternoon; and why shouldn't we do as we like? We've just as good a right to amuse ourselves in our own way as you have. I don't see why you should tyrannize over us. You're always interfering! What business is it of yours what we do?”

”Very much my business, Diana Hewlitt, considering I'm prefect,” said Hilary grimly. ”If I've any more cheek from you you'll march down and report yourself in the study. This noise must stop. I give you warning that if it begins again I shall go straight to Miss Todd.”

”You'll be a sneak then,” retorted Diana. ”I've a great many scores to settle with _you_, Hilary. You'll have a very unpleasant surprise before long, so look out!”

Hilary did not deign to answer, but stalked away in majestic silence, leaving gloom behind her. The girls knew perfectly well that even for a holiday afternoon they had exceeded the noise limit. Visions of a surprise visit from Miss Todd kept them silent. Tattie brought out her sewing, and Peggy her painting. Sadie went down to the library for a book. Wendy and Jess began a game of halma. Even Diana, after staring disconsolately out of the window, settled to read _Ivanhoe_. Downstairs the seniors, in peace and quiet, finished copying out their essays.

”They look so neat now they're done,” rejoiced Geraldine. ”Shall you keep your old copy?”

”What's the use?” said Hilary. ”Mine's all alterations and corrections.

I shall just tear it up.”

”Well, so shall I.”

Most of the others followed suit, and made a bonfire in the empty grate with the originals of their essays. The fair copies they placed inside their desks. Hilary put hers away with the short stories she had written, and, happening to be in a rather communicative mood, she confided the secret of these literary efforts to Stuart. Stuart was much impressed.

”Why don't you try to publish them?” she asked.

”Well, I would if I could,” admitted Hilary.

”I saw a little bit in the end of the _Blue Magazine_ saying that the editor would be glad to consider contributions.”

”Oh, did you? Where is it?”

”I'll find it for you.”

Stuart hunted up the magazine, found the paragraph in question, and tendered good advice.

”I'd certainly send them if I were you. Why shouldn't you try as well as anybody else? They might be accepted. Just think of having a story in a magazine! I'd die of swelled head if it were mine.”

”I suppose there's no harm in trying,” fluttered Hilary. ”It would be a joke to see one's own story in print.”

”Send some of them off to-day.”