Judith managed to get charcoal before any one else, and then said desperately,

"It's my fault as much as Josephine's, Miss Marlowe--more mine, for Patricia told me to be sure to remind Josephine."

"You, Judith?" said Miss Marlowe coldly. "I AM surprised,"--and she wasted no more time on Judith, who went away feeling that she could never be happy again.

Judith didn't go back to Nancy, she wanted to be alone. Her humiliation was very real--not because she had forgotten, though it HAD hurt her pride to think that she had been careless. But there was a deeper hurt than that--she had actually hesitated to take her share of the blame, in spite of precept and example in her home, and here this year at York Hill. She had almost done something quite dishonourable.

"They'd despise me if they knew," thought Judith, crouching down behind some scenery and wishing that she could run away instead of waiting to help. "Why, oh, why do I make so many mistakes and fail so often? But I won't--I won't let that horrid little Top Self conquer"--and, interested in the working of her own mind, she paused a moment to consider how curious it was that all those faces should rise to aid her just when she needed them--"Seemed almost as if they WERE Deep-Down Self--but of course they couldn't be, because that's me--but it's queer--they seemed like a part of me too--"

Just then Catherine on her way to the stage caught sight of Judith, a crumpled little heap behind the screen. She hadn't a moment, but she took one, nevertheless, to stop and pat the back of Judith's neck--her face she couldn't see--and say affectionately, "Never mind, Judy, dear--we all forget sometimes--you're O.K. really."

Just a moment--but it brought Judith up out of her gloom.

"Dear old Cathy," she said to herself as she scrambled up to watch the heroine make her entrance, "she's a brick, a real brick--I'll NEVER do anything I'd be ashamed to tell her about."

"Hullo!" whispered Nancy; "come on over here and you can see better--what's the matter?"

"Why?"

"Well, you look--as if you'd had a small fortune left you."

"I--think--I have," said Judith soberly but happily.

"Sh--sh--sh," commanded Nancy, "they're beginning. Here, you watch from this crack, and I'll take this one." And they were soon lost to all sense of surroundings as they followed Jane Austen's delightful story.

Sally May was a delicious Mrs. Bennet--her archness, her querulousness, and above all her talkativeness. Was it Sally May or Mrs. Bennet? Molly Seaton, as Mr. Bennet, proved an excellent foil--reserved, quiet, full of a delightful sarcastic humour.

Miss Marlowe sat in the shadow of the green curtain holding the typewritten ma.n.u.script, ready to prompt any one who stumbled--the first scene was always the difficult one; but it went without a hitch and Judith was soon busily helping to transform the parlour into a ball-room, and listening with great excitement to the applause on the other side of the green curtains.

Then the stage was filled with dainty, slim, ringletted ladies in high-waisted flowered frocks and gentlemen in tight breeches, long-tailed coats, and high stocks, and the curtains rolled back to disclose a prettier and statelier dance than a modern audience often sees.

As the story progressed, Catherine as Elizabeth, and Eleanor as Mr.

Collins, divided the honours pretty equally. No one who had not seen Catherine as Viola could have guessed what a charming Elizabeth she would make, and Eleanor--well, Eleanor _was_ Mr. Collins, a very triumph of imagination! Eleanor had not Catherine's gift, and to picture Elizabeth's delicate subtleties and humours would have been quite beyond her, but she had walked, and talked, and eaten with Mr. Collins until she was that worthy gentleman's double.

Who could ever forget the courtship scene, with Mr. Collins's ponderous declaration and dexterous withdrawal from Mrs. Bennet's clutches?

Contrary to Judith's fears, Mr. Collins's coat withstood the pressure of his windy eloquence and all the seams held fast.

Scene followed scene. Jane's love-story and Lydia's and Elizabeth's until the tangles, always tied in true lovers' garlands, were disentangled one by one and Mrs. Bennet was able to sing her hymn of joy. "Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! What will become of me? I shall go distracted."

It was a great success, of course, the Reunion Play always was, and each one better than the last as every one said, but Judith and Nancy privately decided that nothing could ever be better--it was perfect.

The play over, benches and chairs were piled up at the sides, the orchestra played an entrancing tune, and every one danced; Mr. Collins with Lady Catherine de Burgh, and Elizabeth with Judith, Mrs. Bennet with Nancy, and Jane with Bingley.

Then by and by Miss Meredith gave a signal to the orchestra, and big girls and little, Old and New, formed a great triple hand-clasped circle and sang together as was the custom, "Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot?" And if some of the Old Girls found they couldn't sing at all because their voices grew hoa.r.s.e and husky, as they thought of what old acquaintance in York Hill had meant to them and was going to mean to their young sisters and daughters, what wonder!

It was over. The guests were moving slowly down to the drawing-rooms for refreshments, and the School and the Old Girls crossed the quadrangle and had their lemonade and cake in Big Hall. In twos and threes the girls stood making plans for next year, or talking over the events of the day.

Some one at the piano began to play "Forty Years On," the last song always at York Hill on Prize Day.

Judith didn't want to sing--she slipped out through the open door. It was a glorious sight, the moon was nearly full, and the quadrangle was flooded with silvery light.

In front of her was the great main School building, its windows blazing with light, the silhouette of the bell-tower etched against the sky. She could hear the Old Girls behind her singing in the Gymnasium--

"Forty years on, when afar and asunder Parted are those who are singing to-day, When you look back and forgetfully wonder What you were like in your work and your play."

Memories of the past year crowded into Judith's mind. The first days, and this splendid last week; she could not put into words even to herself what it had all meant to her, but deep within herself she realized that Aunt Nell's wish had come true--York Hill was helping her to be true to the best she knew.

The insistent rhythm of the chorus caught her and held her:

"Follow up! Follow up!

Till the field ring again and again With the tramp of twenty-two men-- Follow up! Follow up!"

Judith had sung "Forty Years On" many times. It was a favourite for the Sat.u.r.day-night sing-songs, but never before had it gripped her like this. Out into the night floated the golden notes of Kathryn Fleming's glorious voice--

"Oh, the great days in the distance enchanted, Days of fresh air in the rain and the sun How we rejoiced as we struggled and panted, Hardly believable forty years on.

"G.o.d give us bases to guard and beleaguer; Games to play out whether earnest or fun; Fights for the fearless and goals for the eager: Twenty, and thirty, and forty years on."

"Follow up" sang the beautiful voice--and then came the answering refrain from hundreds of York Hill daughters--"Follow up! Follow up!"

A great wave of emotion shook Judith--the pent-up feeling of the last few days must find expression; with an unconscious dramatic gesture she turned to the School and held out her hands. "Oh, I WILL have big ideals and not little ones--I wanted to say a big 'Thank you' the other night, dear York Hill--and I couldn't--I hadn't the words--and I can't now--but I will, I WILL follow up."

THE END