"One can't be too careful!" she fluttered. "I know in a doctor's house they are apt sometimes to take these things too lightly. It's far better not to run any risks."

As Merle had a medical certificate of complete recovery, and neither Mavis nor Clive had developed the complaint, there was now no reason for keeping the girls away from school, and one Monday morning they were received back into the fold. They had lost a considerable amount of ground in regard to their lessons, and had to work hard to try to make up for the weeks that were missed. At hockey, too, Merle found her teams were slack. It needed much urging to persuade them to play a really sporting game.

"I daren't fix a match yet with any other school," she a.s.sured them. "We should only be beaten hollow, and it's no use playing if we have no chance to win. You must all buck up and get more into the swing of things. Perhaps next season we shall be a stronger team."

"If we never play matches we shall never improve," objected Sybil, who was anxious to accept the challenge of the Beverton County School.

"We've got the credit of 'The Moorings' to think about!" snapped Merle.

"You wouldn't like them to go home crowing they'd absolutely wiped us off the face of the earth? I've had a little experience in matches and I know what I'm talking about. It would be downright silly to give ourselves away."

Sybil was rather a thorn in Merle's side. She had come from another boarding-school, and on the strength of this experience thought she had the right to become at once a leader at 'The Moorings.' She was very disgusted not to be in any position of authority, and consoled herself by continual criticism of the monitresses, particularly Merle, with whom she was always sparring. She was a curious character, all precept but not much practice. She loved to give good advice and to lay down the law, and was rather priggish in bringing out moral maxims for the benefit of others. She had a tremendous sense of her own importance and what was due to her, and was very ready to consider herself overlooked, or neglected, or misunderstood.

"Look here!" said Merle bluntly one day. "_Why_, I ask, _why_ should people be expected to make such a fuss over you? I don't wonder you're neglected! I'd neglect you myself! And serve you jolly well right too!"

Whereupon Sybil dissolved into tears, and confided to her nearest friend that so long as Merle Ramsay was monitress she was afraid she would never be happy at 'The Moorings.' Poor Sybil had her good points. She was generous in her own way, and rather affectionate, but nature had not endowed her with tact, and she would go blundering on, never seeing that she was making mistakes. Her very chums soon tired of her and discreetly left her to some one else.

"I sometimes think she's a little bit dotty!" opined Nesta.

"Nonsense! She's as sane as you or I. It's all sw.a.n.k! I've no particular patience with her!" said Merle.

One particularly aggravating feature of Sybil was the way she traded upon rather delicate health. There was really nothing much the matter with her, but she sometimes had slight attacks of faintness, which, the girls declared, always came on when she thought she could be a subject of interest. She liked to extract sympathy from Miss Mitch.e.l.l, or to arouse Miss Pollard's anxiety. Moreover, it was often a very good excuse for slacking off in her preparation or her practising.

One afternoon Merle, coming back to school, met Miss Mitch.e.l.l by the gate.

"I was just looking for you!" said the teacher. "I've arranged an extra hockey practice at three, instead of English language. Will you tell the others?"

This was excellent news. The Fifth hated the English Language cla.s.s, which consisted mostly of learning strings of horrible derivations, and to have it cut out for once in favour of hockey was quite an event. Merle walked up the drive smirking with satisfaction. By the porch she found Sybil, with an English language book in one hand, half-heartedly helping Miss f.a.n.n.y, who was nailing up creepers. She looked very sorry for herself.

"I wish you'd hold the ladder, Merle!" she sighed, eager to thrust her duties on to a subst.i.tute. "I don't feel quite well this afternoon. I get such a faintness. Aren't these derivations too awful for anything?" she added _sotto voce_. "I don't believe I know one of them."

"Buck up!" whispered Merle with scant sympathy.

"It's all very well to say 'buck up'! You don't know what it is to feel faint. You're as strong as a horse. I'm really not fit to stand about!"

"Shall I ask Miss f.a.n.n.y to let you go in and lie down?"

"I wish you would! I don't like to ask her myself; it seems making such a fuss."

Merle proffered the request, with which Miss f.a.n.n.y, rather astonished, complied.

"Certainly, Sybil, if you really are ill! Shall I give you a dose of sal volatile?"

"No, thanks! I shall be all right if I can just rest on my bed," answered the plaintive voice.

"I daresay you'll soon feel better. It's a pity you'll miss the hockey practice," said Merle.

"What hockey practice?"

"Miss Mitch.e.l.l has just told me to tell everybody. We're to play instead of having English language this afternoon."

Sybil's face was a study. But Miss f.a.n.n.y's eyes were fixed upon her with such a questioning look that she was obliged to preserve her air of faintness and continue to pose as an invalid. There was nothing for it but to go and lie down. As she turned, however, she managed to whisper to Merle:

"You're the meanest thing on the face of this earth! Why couldn't you tell me sooner about the hockey?"

"Your own fault entirely!" chuckled Merle. "You nailed me straight away to do your job for you. Hope you'll enjoy yourself! Yes, Miss f.a.n.n.y! I'm coming to hold the ladder! I was only opening the door for Sybil, she still-feels rather faint!"

It was about a week after this episode that Miss Mitch.e.l.l, who was keen on nature study, took the Fifth form for a botanical ramble. They started punctually at two o'clock, so as to be back as soon as possible after four, on account of Beata Castleton and Fay Macleod, who must not keep Vicary's car waiting. They went off ready for business, all taking note- books and pencils, some carrying tin cases, and some armed with boards with which to press their specimens on the spot. Their exodus was rather characteristic, for Aubrey was chatting sixteen to the dozen, Iva was trying to scoot ahead so as to walk alone with Kitty Trefyre, Muriel was squabbling with Merle as to which should appropriate Miss Mitch.e.l.l, and Sybil was, as usual, seeking for sympathy.

"I couldn't find my boots! I had to put on my shoes instead, and the heels are worn down and they're not comfortable, and I shall very likely twist my ankle!" she complained. "What would you have done? Ought I to have gone to Miss Pollard and asked her about my boots?"

"And kept everybody waiting? You are the limit!" exclaimed Merle impatiently. "No, I'm not going to hold your case for you while you tie your hair ribbon. You always want to dump your things on to other people."

"You might carry the camera, at any rate!" wailed Sybil.

"Why should I? You insisted on bringing it, though I told you it would be a nuisance."

"It's for your benefit! I'm going to take a group of the whole party."

"Right-o! But don't expect to get the credit and make us carry the camera! You like to do your good deeds so cheaply!"

"Really, Merle!"

"I'm only telling you a few home truths. No, Mavis! I shan't let you load yourself with Sybil's property! You've got quite enough of your own to lug along!"

There was keen compet.i.tion among the girls as to who could find most specimens. They rooted about in hedgerows, climbed banks, and made excursions into fields. Durracombe was not quite so good a neighbourhood for flowers as Chagmouth; still, they found a fair variety, and were able to chronicle early blooms of such specimens as the greater st.i.tchwort, the ground ivy, and the golden saxifrage. It was a fresh March day, with a wind blowing scudding white clouds across a pale blue sky. Rooks were beginning to build, green foliage showed on the elder trees, and the elms were flowering.

"We shall all be pixie-led if we gather the white st.i.tchwort!" said Mavis. "They're the pixies' flowers, so Mrs. Penruddock told me! It's a very old Devonshire superst.i.tion."

"Is that so? I never heard it before," said Miss Mitch.e.l.l. "I know ever so many of the flowers are supposed to belong to the fairies in various parts of the country. Foxgloves are really 'the good folks' gloves,' and they're called fairies' petticoats in Cheshire, and fairies' hats in Ireland. Wild flax is always fairy flax, and harebells are fairy bells."

"Our old nurse used to call funguses pixie stools," said Edith Carey, "and the hollow ones were pixies' baths. She wouldn't let us pick elder, I can't remember why."

"That's a very old superst.i.tion. The 'elder mother' is supposed to live inside the tree, and to be very angry indeed if any harm is done to it.

In the good old days, people used to ask her permission before they dared to cut down an elder. They knelt on bended knees and prayed:

"Lady Elder! Lady Elder!

Give me some of thy wood.

"There's a story about a man who hadn't the politeness to perform this little ceremony. He made a cradle for his baby out of the elder tree. But the sprite was offended, and she used to come and pull the baby out of the cradle by its legs, and pinch it and make it cry, so that it was quite impossible to leave the poor little thing in the elder cradle, and they had to weave one of basket-work for it instead."

"Tell us some more fairy lore about the plants!" begged the girls.

"Well, the St. John's wort is called 'the fairies' horse.' If you pick it after sunset a fairy horse will rise from the ground and carry you about all night, leaving you in the morning wherever you may chance to be at sunrise. You know if you keep fern-seed in your pockets you'll have the chance of seeing the pixies. The moonwort is supposed to be a very supernatural plant, and to have the power of opening locks if you place a leaf of it in the keyhole. No, I've never tried to burgle with it! I've never found any moonwort. It's an exceedingly rare plant now, and it's not been my luck to come across any. If you're troubled with warts, you ought to go at sunrise to an ash tree, stick a pin into the bark, and say:

"Ashen tree! Ashen tree!

I pray thee buy these warts of me!

"Then the ash tree would cure you, that's to say, if you'd repeated the charm properly!"