Part 12 (1/2)

'He's a clever beast, anyway,' protested Wilfred, feeling bound to support the profession. 'He's done you an awful lot of good already, Kit, and he lets you go out as much as you like. It's the modern treatment, or something.'

'Why is he a beast, Kit?' asked Barbara, sympathetically. The world had convinced her so strongly, since yesterday afternoon, of its possibilities in the way of beasts, that she felt sure Kit was right about it.

'He grunts at you as though you weren't fit to speak to; and he isn't a bit sorry for you, as old Browne used to be, but he seems to think you are making it all up,' said Christopher, in an injured tone.

'He doesn't like boys; that's at the bottom of it,' added Peter. 'He looked black as thunder because we were rotting in the library with Kit, and he cleared us all out before he'd even look at his tongue.'

'And he never sent for a silver spoon, nor nothing,' cried Robin, in much excitement. 'How did he 'xamine your throat, Kit, if he hadn't got a silver spoon?'

'Shoved a thing like a skewer down, that he took out of his pocket,' said Kit, contemptuously. 'His pocket was full of rotten skewers and things.'

'That's the modern treatment,' said Wilfred again.

'Modern treatment be hanged!' remarked Peter, with a laugh. 'Jill hates him too; he treated her as if she was about ten years old.'

'Jill's furious because Auntie Anna has asked him to dinner next week; and we shall have gone back by then, so she'll have him to herself all the evening,' chuckled Wilfred.

'How is Jill?' asked Barbara, as soon as she could get in a word.

There was a little pause. 'She's all right,' said Christopher, indifferently, after a moment or two.

'Kit likes her _awfully_,' proclaimed Robin, with his head on one side.

'So does Peter,' added Christopher, hastily. 'He was awfully gone on her this morning, because she mended his cap when no one was looking.'

'I don't think she means to be young-ladyish, really,' remarked Wilfred, patronisingly. 'Last night, when you kids had gone to bed, she sang to Egbert and me. She can sing!'

'Now, why didn't she sing to us before?' demanded Peter. 'That's where she's so awfully rum.'

'She hasn't been properly trained, that's all,' said Christopher.

'Why, she's studied under the best master in Paris!' interrupted Wilfred.

'You goat! I meant _her_, not her singing,' snapped Christopher.

'Oh, well, we all know why _you_ like her,' retorted Wilfred. 'It's because she came and sucked up to you by offering to read aloud to you, before Dr. Hurst said you might go----'

'I never said I did like her,' disputed Kit.

The door opened before they settled the matter; and the foraging party returned, laden with spoil.

'I brought everything I could find that looked interesting,' announced the head-mistress. 'You must be ravenous after riding all that way; and I'm sure I am, though I've done nothing but sit by the fire all the evening and make time-tables. You might clear them out of the way for me, will you, Robin? And you, Wilfred, can move the other things on to the floor, or anywhere else you like. Will you hold this tray, Peter, while I lay the cloth? No, I don't want you, Christopher, thank you. Can't you see that Babs is bubbling over with news for you? Go and keep her company by the fire till supper is ready.'

It was very queer that she should know all their names like that, and Egbert declared afterwards that he did not think he had told her anything about them, though somehow she had kept him talking all the time they were foraging in the larder. She had found out as much as she wanted to know, however, and she found out a good deal more before supper was over. There was something about her that made them all talk to her as if she were an old friend of theirs instead of the stern jailer whom they had come to defy. Not that she allowed them for all that to have the conversation to themselves, for she chatted away herself as busily as possible; and she made jokes about her impromptu supper until even Egbert felt at his ease.

'Can any one cut up his chicken without a knife?' she asked. 'There's a knife short, but it doesn't do to be too particular on an occasion of this sort, does it? Ah, of course, you have one in your pocket, Peter; I am used to girls, you see, and a girl never has anything in her pocket except a handkerchief, and that is generally half out of it.

Now, who is going to carve the beef? Not I, indeed! I have carved the beef in this household for twelve years, and you needn't suppose I'm going to miss such an opportunity as this of being idle. Do you know, there have never been five gentlemen together at my table since I became a schoolmistress? Think of that, Barbara, and do not wonder that I know more about girls than tomboys. I'm sorry there isn't a salad, but there's real chutnee from Bombay and not the other place--wherever that may be. An old pupil sends me my chutnee; and I always keep it for grand occasions, like this and the break-up party. Will you come to our next break-up party? That depends, I suppose, on whether Babs stops here or not. Ah, well, she will have made up her mind by that time, won't she? I'm afraid I must forbid you cold pie, Kit, it's poison to asthma; besides, here are real, stiff, stewed pears. Don't you like stewed pears that are stewed _stiff_?'

Barbara sat on the hearthrug with Kit, and she tried hard to determine whether she should run away or not. With Finny revealing herself in this wonderful new light, and Kit sitting beside her in the comfortable firelight and sharing her plateful of stewed pears, the problem was more than she could solve for herself. If this was school, she should like to stay here always; and if it wasn't, well, she felt too lazy in the present delicious state of things to worry herself any more about it.

Supper came to an end at last, and Miss Finlayson glanced at the clock.