04 The Head Girl of the Chalet School (12 page)

“Well, if it keeps fine, I expect you will get out tomorrow. If it snows, you will have to content yourself indoors. When the thaws are over you will be out most of the time, so you must look forward to that. I can’t help you any further.”

Simone nodded. “I will try, but it is not easy.” Then she vanished in search of Jo, whom she adored, though she had learned to keep her adoration to herself. In the beginning there had been many scenes between them, for Simone was emotional and demonstrative, and Jo was certainly not that last. The four years they had been together had taught the French child self-restraint however, and there existed a firm friendship between the pair now.

The bell for
Abendessen
rang before anyone else had time to come, and Mrs. Russell went in to take her old place, and beam on her girls with deep enjoyment. Deira put in an appearance, looking subdued and red-eyed, but she ate what was put before her without demur, which was a tribute to Mademoiselle’s methods of managing her.

After the meal they all went to the big class-rooms, where the folding doors between had been thrown back, and there they danced the old English country-dances which Miss Durrant, the junior mistress, had taught them. She was an enthusiastic member of the English Folk Dance Society, and had succeeded in making the girls as keen as she was. The seniors at any rate, knew a good many dances, and even those girls who had joined the school during the past term could manage several. So Mrs. Russell went to the piano, and they danced
Butterfly, Gathering Peascods, Black Nag, Mary and Dorothy, Haste to the Wedding, If All
the World Were Paper, Three Meet, Tink-a-Tink
, and many others. Naturally, the Head was not allowed to be sole musician. The older girls took their turns in playing the lovely old tunes, and she danced with sundry people till they were all hot and breathless, and glad of a rest. Then they gathered round the big stove, the doors of which were flung open, and, while the middles reluctantly marched off to bed, the seniors told their Head of their plans for the term, and discussed school matters with her with a frankness that spoke well for the confidence between them. Only Deira sat at a table, turning over the pages of a magazine, and refusing to join the merry circle.

“Come over here, Deira,” said Grizel, moving to make room for her. “You’ll be chilly sitting over there.”

She might as well have saved her trouble. Deira neither answered nor moved, and the head-girl had, perforce, to give up her efforts at conciliation, and turn back to the gay chatter of the rest.

“If only it would cease snowing, and freeze instead,” Vanna was sighing, “we might skate. Just think, Madame! Three weeks we have been returned, and we have not been on the ice once!”

“Even if it froze all tonight we couldn’t skate tomorrow,” said Gertrud. “The ice will be rough with the snow and the wind, and it would not be safe.”

“We could sledge though,” remarked Grizel. “I’m sick of the house – really, I am!”

“Poor, ill-used things!” laughed Miss Maynard, who had come back from doing “lights out” in the middles’ dormitories. “I wonder how you survive it!”

They joined in her laughter, but Grizel repeated her assertion when they had quieted down once more.

“Well, I
am
sick of the house! We’ve had three walks in three weeks, and that’s all! I hate being stuck all the time!”

“So do I,” said Mary. “It makes me feel all criss-cross! Do you know what I’d like to do now? I’d like a good snow-fight!”

“So should I,” said Rosalie unexpectedly. “Being indoors all day makes one feel ready to fight with one’s own shadow!”

“Well, perhaps it may cease snowing during the night- though I don’t think it will,” said Madge. “Listen to that wind! Dr. Jem and I will be lucky if we get back the day after tomorrow!”

“What will happen if it still snows, then?” asked Gertrud.

“Well, I expect he will have to get up to the Sonnalpe somehow. If it’s like this, though, I suppose I must stay till it clears. It would he difficult enough for him by himself. If I went, it would make it three times as bad! The path was pretty dreadful coming down. Now that all this fresh snow has fallen, it will be infinitely worse. It took us five hours to come. What it will be like returning, I don’t know.”

“Oh, good! Then I hope it
does
go on snowing!” cried Grizel.

“Thank you, Grizel! You mean well, I know; but you don’t bother to think about him!” laughed the Head.

“He’s a man, and can look after himself,” said Grizel wisely. “But we do need you, Madame.” She cast a glance at the solitary figure at the other side of the room, and Madge knew that she was thinking that if only the trouble could be put right, all would be well. She also knew that the head-girl had great faith in the powers of her old Head, and thought that this silly feud could only be straightened out by her.

The clock chimed just then, warning them all that the seniors’ bedtime was come, so they had to get up and put things right for the night, and there was no more conversation on the subject. Only, as Grizel came to the study whither the Head had betaken herself, the girl ventured to say, “You will help us, Madame; won’t you?”

“If it’s possible, Grizel. But I can’t do impossibilities, you know. Try not to worry over it. You have done your part, and more than your part, now. I am pleased with you, child. Gisela herself could have done no more.”

Mrs. Russell kissed the head-girl as she spoke, a rare caress, and Grizel flushed. “You are most awfully kind, Madame. I
do
want to make good, if I can.”

“You
are
making good,” was the reply. “Now run away to bed. If it’s fine tomorrow we will have a good time out of doors, and that may make all the difference to Deira.”

“Oh, do you think so, Madame? I had thought it might have been being stuck in the house all day that was upsetting her.”

“That may have something to do with it. We’ll hope so, anyhow. Good-night, Grizel.”

“Good-night, Madame. Thanks ever so.”

Grizel went off tolerably reassured, and the Head, after going the rounds to make sure that all was safe, followed her example.

The Snow-Fight

CONTRARY to all expectations, the wind died down during the night, and the frost set in. Joey Bettany, waking at the unearthly hour of five, tumbled out of bed to look out at the starry sky, and saw the white and silver tracery on the windows, which told that the earth was in an iron grip which was likely to continue for the next few weeks. By dint of breathing hard on the panes and rubbing the place with the corner of her dressing-gown, she managed to make a peep-hole for herself, and to view the landscape. The snow lay white and sparkling under the light of the dying moon, and the brilliance of the stars was a good augury. “Thanks be!” she breathed, as she got back into bed after a look at her watch to reassure herself that it was much too early to go to Madge. “Now we’ll get out for a bit!”

She lay awake, for she dared not switch on the light, or she would have awakened the others. However, she had plenty to think about. She was in the middle of writing an exciting story about the Napoleonic wars, and she wanted to think out her next chapter. For the first time in her life she was finding her work difficult. The characters would not do as she wanted. They insisted on going their own sweet way, and the story was developing on quite other lines than she had intended. “I can’t think what’s wrong with the silly things!” she grumbled under her breath. “Why can’t they do as I want? They seem to go in all directions!”

It was, had she but known it, a very promising sign. Her paper children were becoming real. It is only when a story tells itself that it is worth much. Jo was too young and inexperienced to know this, of course.

Fifteen is not the age at which even a brilliant talent such as she gave evidence of possessing can do much.

She had written stories ever since she had first learned how to print her letters, but this was the first thing that had struggled out of the ruck, and Jo didn’t like it. At times she was beginning to have fears that her dream of being a novelist must come to an end. It was very good for her, but hard discipline. Still, most of us have to go through it some time or other, and the sooner one does, the better.

Jo lay quite happily planning the deeds of her hero, little realising that when it came to writing them down they would work out differently, and cause her endless trouble and annoyance. The minute she heard the clock chime six she scrambled out of bed again, and struggled into her dressing-gown. Then, with her electric torch to light the way, she tiptoed out of the room and up the stairs to the little room where her sister lay, pretty hair tumbled about her, dreaming happily of her absent husband.

Madge was rudely awakened by cold feet wriggling down beside her, and she sat upright in the shock of the moment.

“All right; it’s only me,” said Joey in carefully guarded tones. “Lie down again, old thing. I’ve come for a chat.”

“Did you put on your bedroom slippers?” demanded Madge, as she lay down with a caution justified by the narrowness of the bed, and put an arm round her sister.

“I did; but it’s freezing like everything. Shouldn’t wonder if the wolves don’t come out on the plains again.

They did that first winter we were here. ‘Member?”

“Yes, I do! For goodness’ sake keep your feet to yourself, and get them warm! They’re like lumps of ice!

And so are your hands!” as she encountered one of them.

“All right! I’ll warm up soon. Have you got enough bed?”

“Yes; heaps! Have you? For any sake, don’t fall out, and waken the rest of the house!”

Jo chuckled as she snuggled closer to her sister. “What a shock they’d get! Maynie’s just beneath. She’d think it was a young earthquake!”

Madge gurgled in company as she wriggled herself comfortable. “That’s better! You’re still on the bony side, Jo! I wish you’d fatten up a little!”

“Oh, I’m as fat as I want to be,” returned Joey easily. “I should hate to he square – like Mary, f’rinstance!”

“Mary’s not
fat
. She’s built that way.”

“Well,
I’m
not fat ‘cos I’m built
that
way – sort of sylph-like, you know!”

Madge buried her face in the pillow to stifle her laughter. Joey was straight and thin. “Sylph-like” was the last expression one would have used to describe her. She was much too bony.

“Well, I’d rather be scraggy than tubby!” declared the insulted lady. “And
you
can’t talk, anyway! There’s nothing chubby about
you
, my lamb.”

“Chubby? Well, I should think not!” Madge, whose round slenderness certainly gave no evidence of fat, sounded indignant.

“Keep your hair on! I’ve just said you aren’t!”

Madge felt the slim hands again, but they were already warmer, so she lay silent for a few minutes. Jo did the same. The warmth was making her pleasantly drowsy, and she felt like dropping off to sleep. She was roused by her sister’s voice.

“Jo, do you think we could manage a snow-fight this morning?”

“Rather!” Jo was wide-awake in a minute. “What a topping idea! D’you really think we could?”

“Well, I don’t see why not. You people have been shut up closely since term began. It will be as well to make the most of the fine weather, for one never knows how soon it may begin to snow again. I think we’ll cut lessons, and stay out most of the morning. You can make it up another day. Skating will be out of the question, I’m afraid, as the ice will he too rough for it yet. A snow-fight seems to me to be the best thing.

You’ll have to keep moving, you know.”

“Righto! The others’ll love it, of course!”

They discussed the idea for a short while, then Joey drifted off into other things, and they talked till the rising-bell went. Then Madge sent her sister off to dress, and rose herself.

At
Fruhstuck
it required no penetration for her to know that Joey had already passed on her idea of the snow-fight to as many of her friends as possible. There was an air of excitement about the middles, and they giggled and murmured together as much as they dared or were able. When all conversation has to be in a language foreign to some, at least, of the members of a school, views are apt to remain rather limited in expression. Still, they made quite noise enough, and Mrs. Russell rather wished that she had warned Jo to say nothing till the whole school was told. It was too late now, however, and the table was lively, to say the least of it.

None of the seniors knew, for Jo had not mentioned it to them. They looked mildly surprised at the animation of their juniors, and Grizel began to wear a worried air. She knew that this sort of thing generally preceded a piece of outrageous naughtiness. The Head decided to keep them all in suspense no longer, so when grace had been said she checked them as they were about to leave the room, and told them what she proposed. Everyone was delighted, of course, and they raced away to make their beds, chattering gaily, while the staff congregated round the empty tables and discussed the affair a little further. It was decided that the babies were to have their own snow-fight in front of Le Petit Chalet, as the older ones might he unintentionally rough. The others were to divide into two camps, one captained by Grizel, the other by Gertrud, and have a good battle.

“Let them stay out as long as they want – or can,” said Mrs. Russell, with a glance at the barometer, which was very low. “We must be about to send in anyone who gets tired, of course. Some of them can’t stand as much as the others. Mademoiselle and Miss Durrant will look after the juniors, and they can all have a good time. I haven’t seen the sky yet, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it started to snow again this afternoon. The clouds were very heavy yesterday, and though the wind has fallen, it is certain to get up again. I believe our trouble with Deira will be straightened after she has had a good two hours or so of exercise in the open air.

The confinement of the last few weeks has probably helped to upset her. Some girls take more badly with it than others.”

“Quite likely,” said Miss Maynard. “I only hope it is so. Well, shall we go and do what we have to do?