"It will be splendid to have Martha!" said both the Bertrams; while Olive, always gay, spirited, and full of fun, laughed from sheer delight.

The usual formula was then gone through, and f.a.n.n.y Crawford was deputed to take a note to Martha inviting her to be present at the next meeting.

"Now, we shall have about half an hour for different sorts of fun," said Margaret. "By the way, Betty," she continued, "sometimes our meetings are rather solemn affairs; we want to discuss the book we are reading, or something has happened that we wish to talk over. On the other hand, there are times when we have nothing but fun and frolic. We're not a bit solemn on these occasions; we loosen all the tension, so to speak, and enjoy ourselves to the utmost."

"And there are times, also," said Olive, "when we are just as busy as bees planning out our next entertainment. Oh Margaret, we can't have one this day week because of Betty and Martha. But don't you think we might have one this day three weeks? And don't you think it might be a very grand affair? And supposing Betty becomes a member--which, of course, you will, Betty, for you couldn't disappoint us now--supposing we have it in Betty's palatial mansion of a bedroom! We can ask no end of girls to that. Oh, won't it be fun?"

"If you ask my sisters, I don't mind at all--that is, _if_ I am a member," said Betty.

"Of course we'll ask the dear twins," said Margaret. She took Betty's hand as she spoke and squeezed it with sudden affection.

Betty pressed a little nearer to her. It was worth even giving up the Scotch moors, and the society of Donald and Jean, and the dogs and the horse, to have such a friend as Margaret Grant.

But now the fun began in earnest, and very good fun it was; for every girl had a considerable sense of humor, so much so that their games were carried on with great spirit. Their laughter was so merry as to be quite infectious; and no one was more amazed than Betty herself when the ordeal of this first visit to the Specialities was over and she was walking quickly downstairs, with Olive by her side, on her way to the chapel.

How beautifully Mr. Fairfax read the evening prayers that night! How lovely it was to listen to his melodious voice and to look at his earnest, intelligent face! How sweet, how wonderful, was the soft, soft music which Mrs. Haddo herself played on the organ!

"Oh yes," thought Betty, "one could be good here, and with the sort of help that Margaret talks about; and high thoughts are nice thoughts, they seem to be what I might call close to the angels. Nevertheless----"

A cloud seemed to fall on the little girl's spirit. She thought of f.a.n.n.y, and, raising her eyes at the moment, observed that f.a.n.n.y's eyes were fixed on her. f.a.n.n.y's eyes were full of queer warning, even of menace; and Betty suddenly experienced a revulsion of all those n.o.ble feelings which had animated her a short time ago. Were there two f.a.n.n.y Crawfords? Or could she possibly look as she looked now, and also as she had done when Margaret Grant read the rules of the Speciality Club aloud?

CHAPTER IX

STRIVING FOR A DECISION

The week pa.s.sed without anything very special occurring. The weather was still warm and perfect. September had no idea of giving up her mantle of late summer. But September was drawing to a close, and October, with gusty winds and whirling, withered leaves, and much rain, would soon take her place. October was certainly not nearly such a pleasant month as September. Nevertheless, the young and healthy girls who lived their regular life at Haddo Court were indifferent to the weather. They were always busy. Each minute was planned out and fully occupied. There was time for work, and time for play, and time for happy, confidential talks in that bright and pleasant school. There were all kinds of surprises, too; now an unexpected tea-party with Mrs. Haddo, given to a few select girls; then, again, to another few who unexpectedly found themselves select. There were also delightful cocoa-parties in the big private sitting-room of the upper school, as well as games of every description, outdoor and indoor. Night came all too soon in this happy family, and each girl retired to bed wondering what could have made the day so very short.

But during this week Betty was not quite happy. She had received a copy of the rules, and had studied them very carefully. She was, in her heart of hearts, most anxious to become a Speciality. The higher life appealed to her. It appealed to her strong sense of imagination; to her pa.s.sionate and really unworldly nature; to that deep love which dwelt in her heart, and which, just at present, she felt inclined to bestow on Margaret Grant. But there was Rule I. The rules had been sent, as Margaret had promised, neatly copied and in a sealed envelope, to Betty's room. She had read them upstairs all alone in the Vivians'

attic. She had read them while the queer, uncanny eyes of d.i.c.kie looked at her. She certainly was not afraid of d.i.c.kie; on the contrary, she admired him. She and her sisters were very proud of his increasing size, and each day it was the turn of one girl or the other to take d.i.c.kie out of his cage and give him exercise. He was rather alarming in his movements, going at a tremendous rate, and giving more than one uncanny glance at the Vivian girl who was his jailer for the time.

On this special occasion, when Betty brought the rules to the Vivian attic, she forgot all about d.i.c.kie. He was out, running round and round the attic, rushing up the walls, peering at Betty from over the top of the door, creeping as far as the ceiling and then coming down again. He was, as a rule, easily caught, for Sylvia and Hetty always kept his meal of raw meat till after he had had his exercise. But Betty had now forgotten that it was necessary to have a bait to bring d.i.c.kie once more into the shelter of his cage. She had consequently fed him first, then let him free, and then stood by the small window of the attic reading the rules of the Specialities. It was Rule I. which troubled her. Rule I. ran as follows: "Each girl gives perfect confidence to her fellow members, keeps no secret to herself which those members ought to know, is ready to consider each member as though she were her own sister, to help her in time of trouble and to rejoice with her in periods of joy."

To be quite frank, Betty did not like this rule. She was willing to give a certain amount of affection to most of the girls who belonged to the Specialities; but as to considering even nice girls like the Bertrams as her own sisters, and Susie Rushworth (who was quite agreeable and gay and kind) in that relationship, and Olive Repton also, as she would Sylvia and Hetty, she did not think she could do it. She could be kind to them--she would love to be kind to them; she would love to help each and all in times of trouble, and to rejoice with them in periods of joy; but to feel that they were her sisters--that certainly _was_ difficult.

She believed it possible that she could admit Margaret Grant into a special and close relationship; into a deep friendship which partook neither of sisterhood nor of anything else, but stood apart and alone--the sort of friendship that a young, enthusiastic girl will give to a friend of strong character a little older than herself. But as to f.a.n.n.y--she could never love f.a.n.n.y. From the very first moment she had set eyes on her--away, far away, in Scotland--she had disliked her, she had p.r.o.nounced her at once in her own mind as "niminy-priminy." She had told her sisters frankly what she felt about f.a.n.n.y. She had said in her bold, independent way, "f.a.n.n.y is too good for the likes of me. She is the sort of girl who would turn me into a bad un. I don't want to have anything to do with her."

f.a.n.n.y, however, had taken no notice of Betty's all too evident antagonism. f.a.n.n.y was, in her heart of hearts, essentially good-natured; but Betty was as impossible for her to understand as it was impossible for the moon to comprehend the brightness of the sun. f.a.n.n.y had been shocked at what she had witnessed when she saw Betty take the sealed packet from the drawer. She remembered the whole thing with great distress of mind, and had felt a sense of shock when she heard that the Vivian girls were coming to the school. But her feelings were very much worse when her father had informed her that the packet could nowhere be found--that he had specially mentioned it to Betty, who declared that she knew nothing about it. Oh yes, f.a.n.n.y and Betty were as the poles apart; and Betty knew now that were she to take the vows of the Specialities fifty times over she could never keep them, as far as f.a.n.n.y Crawford was concerned. Then there was another unpleasant part of the same rule: "Each girl gives perfect confidence to her fellow-members, keeps no secret to herself which those members ought to know." Betty undoubtedly had a secret--a very precious one. She had even told a lie in order to hug that secret to her breast. She had brought it away with her to the school, and now it was safe--only Betty knew where.

What puzzled her was this: was it necessary for the members to know her secret? It had nothing to do with any of them. Nevertheless, she was an honest sort of girl and could not dismiss the feeling from her own mind that Rule I. was practically impossible to her. The Specialities had met on Thursday in Margaret Grant's room. The next meeting was to be held in Susie Rushworth's. Susie's room was in another wing of the building, and was not so large or luxurious as that of Margaret. The next meeting would, however, be quite formal--except for the admission of Betty to the full privileges of the club, and the reading aloud of the rules to Martha West. During the course of the week the Specialities seldom or never spoke of their meeting-day. Nevertheless, Betty from time to time caught f.a.n.n.y's watchful eyes fixed on her.

On the next Thursday morning she awoke with a slight headache. Miss Symes noticed when she came downstairs that Betty was not quite herself, and at once insisted on her going back to her room to lie down and be coddled. Betty hated being coddled. She was never coddled in the gray stone house; she was never coddled on the Scotch moors. She had occasional headaches, like every one else, and occasional colds; but they had to take care of themselves, and get well as best they could.

Betty used to shake herself with anger when she thought of any one making a fuss about her when she was ill, and was consequently rather cross when Miss Symes took her upstairs, made her lie down, and put a wrap over her.

"You must lie down and try to sleep, Betty. I hope you will be quite well by dinner-time. Don't stir till I come for you, dear."

"Oh, but I will!" said Betty, raising her head and fixing her bright, almost feverish eyes on Miss Symes's face.

"What do you mean, dear? I have desired you to stay quiet."

"And I cannot obey," replied Betty. "Please, Miss Symes, don't be angry.

If I were a low-down sort of girl, I'd sneak out without telling you; but as I happen to be Betty Vivian, I can't do that. I want to get into the fresh air. Nothing will take away my headache like a walk. I want to get as far as that dreadful piece of common land you have here, and which you imagine is like a moor. I want to walk about there for a time."

"Very well, Betty; you are a good girl to have confided in me. You have exactly two hours. Stay quiet for one hour. If at the end of that time your head is no better, out for an hour; then return to your usual duties."

Betty lay very still for the whole of that hour. Her thoughts were busy.

She was haunted by Rule I., and by the pa.s.sionate temptation to ignore it and yet pretend that she would keep it--in short, to be a member of the Specialities under false colors. One minute she was struggling hard with the trouble which raged within her, the next minute she was making up her mind to decline to be a.s.sociated with the Specialities.

When the hour had quite expired she sprang to her feet. Oh yes, her head still ached! But what did that matter? She could not be bothered with a trifling thing like a mere headache. She ran upstairs to the Vivian attic. d.i.c.kie was in his cage. Betty remembered what terrible trouble she had had to catch him on the day when she received a copy of the rules. She shook her head at him now, and said, "Ah d.i.c.kie, you're a bad boy! I am not going to let you out of your cage again in a hurry." Then she went out.

The wind had changed during the night, and heavy clouds were coming up from the north. Betty felt herself much colder than she had ever done in Scotland. She shivered, and walked very fast. She pa.s.sed the celebrated oak-tree where she and her sisters had hidden during their first day at school. She went on to the place where the three little gardens were marked for their benefit. But up to the present no Vivian had touched the gardens, and there were the black remains of the bonfire where the poor Scotch heather had been burnt almost in the center of Betty's patch of ground.

Oh, the school was horrible--the life was horrible! Oh why had she ever come here? She wanted to be a Speciality; but she could not, it was not in her. She hated--yes, she hated--f.a.n.n.y Crawford more each minute, and she could never love those other uninteresting girls as though they were her sisters. In a.n.a.lyzing her feelings very carefully, she came to the conclusion that she only wanted to join the Specialities in order to be Margaret's friend. She knew quite well what privileges would be accorded to her were she a member; and she also knew--for she had been told--that it was a rare thing to allow a girl so lately come to the school to take such an important position.

Betty had a natural love of power. With a slight shudder she walked past the little patches of ground and across what she contemptuously called the miserable common. This common marked the boundaries of Mrs. Haddo's school. There were iron railings at least six feet high guarding it from the adjacent land. The sight of these railings was absolute torture to Betty. She said aloud, "Didn't I know the whole place was a prison? But prison-bars sha'n't keep me long in restraint!"

She took out her handkerchief, and, pulling up some weedy gra.s.s, put the handkerchief on one spiked bar and the gra.s.s on the other, and thus protecting herself, made a light bound over the fence. The exercise and the sense of freedom did her good. She laughed aloud, and continued her walk through unexplored regions. She could not go very fast, however; for she was hindered here by and there by a gateway, and here again by a farmstead, and yet again by a cottage, with little children running about amongst the autumn flowers.

"How can people live in a place like this?" thought Betty.

Then, all of a sudden, two ferocious dogs rushed out upon the girl, clamored round her, and tried to stop her way. Betty laughed softly.

There was a delightful sound in her laugh. Probably those dogs had never heard its like before. It was also possible, notwithstanding the fact that Betty was wearing a new dress, that something of that peculiar instinct which is imparted to dogs told these desperate champions that Betty had loved a dog before.

"Down, silly creature!" said Betty, and she patted one on the head and put her arm on the neck of the other. Soon they were fawning about her and jumping on her and licking her hands. She felt thoroughly happy now.

Her headache had quite vanished. The dogs, the darlings, were her true friends! There was a little piece of gra.s.s quite close to where they had attacked her, and she squatted deliberately down on it and invited the dogs to stretch themselves by her side. They did so without a minute's delay. They were in raptures with her, and one dog only growled when she paid too much attention to the other.

She began to whisper alternately in the s.h.a.ggy ears of each. "Ah, you must have come from Scotland! You must, anyhow, have met Andrew! Do you think you are as brave as Andrew, for I doubt it?"

Then she continued to the other dog, "And you must have been born in the same litter with Fritz. Did you ever look into the eyes of Fritz and see straight down into his gallant heart? I should be ashamed of you, ashamed of you, if you were not as brave and n.o.ble as Fritz."

There was such pathos in Betty's voice that the dogs became quite penitent and abject. They had certainly never been in Scotland, and Andrew and Fritz were animals unknown to them; but for some reason the mysterious being who understood dogs was displeased with them, and they fawned and crouched at her feet.

It was just at that moment that a st.u.r.dy-looking farmer came up. He gazed at Betty, then at the two dogs, uttered a light guffaw, and vanished round the corner. In a very few minutes he returned, accompanied by his st.u.r.dy wife and his two rough, growing sons.

"Wife," he said, "did you ever see the like in all your life--Dan and Beersheba crouching down at that young girl's feet? Why, they're the fiercest dogs in the whole place!"

"I heard them barking a while back," said Mrs. Miles, the farmer's wife, "and then they stopped sudden-like. If I'd known they were here I'd have come out to keep 'em from doing mischief to anybody; but hearing no more sound I went on with my churning. Little miss," she added, raising her voice, "you seem wonderful took with dogs."

Betty instantly rose to a standing position. "Yes, I am," she said.

"Please, are these Scotch, and have they come from Aberdeenshire?"

The farmer laughed. "No, miss," he said; "we bred 'em at home."

Betty was puzzled at this.

The dogs did not take the slightest notice of the farmer, his wife, or his sons, but kept clinging to the girl and pressing their noses against her dress.