"Bless her heart!" cried Miss Everett devoutly. "Well, Rhoda, she succeeded this time. My mother has written me all about it. It was a dull, wet day, and Lionel seemed depressed, and there was nothing nice in the house, and nothing nice to be bought in the little village shops, and she was just wondering, wondering how in the world she could cheer him, and manufacture a tempting lunch out of hopeless materials, when tap-tap-tap came the carrier's man at the door. Then in came the hamper, and Lionel insisted upon opening it himself, and was so interested and excited! There were all sorts of good things in it-- game, and grapes, and lovely, lovely hot-house flowers filling up the c.h.i.n.ks. They were all so happy! It was such a piece of cheer arriving in that unexpected fashion, and mother says the house is fragrant with the scent of the flowers. Lionel arranged them himself. It kept him quite happy and occupied. How can I thank you, dear?"

"Don't thank me. It was not my doing. It's mother."

"But how did your mother know where we lived? How did she know who we were?"

"Well!" Rhoda smiled and flushed. "Naturally I tell her the news. I suppose I must have mentioned that your father was Vicar of Stourley. I don't remember; but then I've so often written about you, and she would naturally be glad to do anything she could, for she knows you have been kind to me, and that I'm very--fond of you!"

Miss Everett bent down quickly, and kissed her on the cheek.

"And my people knew who Mr Chester was because I've written of you, and they know that you have been kind to _me_, and that I'm fond of you, too. Oh Rhoda, you don't know how lonely it feels to be a teacher sometimes, or how grateful we are to anyone who treats us as human beings, and not as machines. You don't know how you have cheered me many a time."

"But--but--I've been tiresome, and stupid, and rebellious. I've given you lots of trouble--"

"Perhaps, but you have been affectionate too, and seemed to like me a little bit, in spite of my lectures; and if it had not been for your kind words the hamper would never have come, so I insist upon thanking you as well as your mother. Many, many thanks, dear! I shall always re--" She stopped short suddenly, her attention arrested by the sc.r.a.ping of chairs within the parlour, and concluded in a very different tone, "The girls are coming! For pity's sake don't let Tom find us sentimentalising here! Fly, Rhoda, fly!" and off she ran along the corridor, flop, flop, flop, on her flat-soled shoes, as much in fear of the scrutiny of the head girl as the youngest Blue in the house!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOME AGAIN.

The week of examination pa.s.sed slowly by, and the morning dawned when the all-important lists were to be read aloud. The girls were tired after the strain, the teachers exhausted by the work of reading over hundreds of papers, and it was consequently a somewhat pale and dejected-looking audience which a.s.sembled in the Hall to hear the report.

Rhoda sat tense on her seat, and puzzled for some moments over the meaning of a certain dull, throbbing noise, before discovering that it was the beating of her own heart. It seemed to her morbid sensitiveness that every eye was upon her, that everyone was waiting to hear what place the new girl had taken. When Miss Bruce began to read she could hardly command herself sufficiently to listen, but the first mention of her own name brought her to her bearings with a shock of dismay. After all her work, her care, her preparation, to be so low as this, to take so poor a place! The mortification was so bitter that she would fain have hidden herself out of reach of consolation, but to her surprise, so far from condoling, teachers and pupils alike seemed surprised that she had done so well.

"You have worked admirably, Rhoda. I am pleased with you," said Miss Murray.

"Well done, Fuzzy!" cried Tom, and even Miss Bruce said graciously:

"Very good progress for a first term, Rhoda!"

It was evident from their manner that they meant what they said, and another girl might have gleaned comfort from the realisation that she had expected too much of her own abilities. Not so Rhoda! It was but an added sting to discover that she had been ranked so low, that an even poorer result would have created no astonishment. She was congratulated, forsooth, on what seemed to her the bitterest humiliation! If anything was needed to strengthen the determination to excel at any and every cost, this att.i.tude of the school was sufficient.

In the solitude of the cubicle she vowed to herself that the day should come, and that speedily, when she would be estimated at her right value.

She stood in the damp and cold gazing up at the Record Wall, and renewed the vow with fast-beating heart. The sun struggled from behind the clouds and lit up the surface of the tablets, and the Honours girl, and the B.A. girl, and the girls who had won the scholarships, seemed to smile upon her and wish her success, but Eleanor Newman's name was in the shade. The sun had not troubled to light it up. She was "stupid,"

and had never won a prize.

The last two days were broken and unsatisfactory, and Rhoda longed for the time of departure to arrive; yet it was not without a pang of regret that she opened her eyes on the last morning, and gazed round the little blue cubicle. It was delightful to be going home, yet school had its strong points, and there were one or two partings ahead which could not be faced without depression. How nice it would be if she could take all her special friends home--Dorothy and Kathleen, and Miss Everett, and-- yes! Tom herself; for, wonderful to state, she was unaffectedly sorry to part from Tom. What fun they would have had running riot in Erley Chase, and summoning the whole household to wait on their caprices!

The gong rang, and all the little bells followed suit in their usual objectionable fashion, but the girls yawned and lay still for another five minutes, aware that leniency was the order of the day. The roll of the organ and the first two lines of the hymn found them still in bed, and the words were clearly distinguishable:--

Awake my soul, and with the sun, Thy daily course of duty run--

"How stupid!" commented Rhoda to herself. "`Course of duty' on the very day we are leaving school. What a ridiculous choice!" and then she tumbled out of bed and listened no more.

The rest of the morning seemed a comical Alice-in-Wonderland repet.i.tion of the day of arrival. The same long queues were formed to march down, instead of upstairs; the teachers stood on the landings to say good-bye, instead of welcome; the "Black Marias" bore the pupils to, instead of from, the station, where the saloon carriages stood waiting as before.

The Blues crowded into one carriage, and Tom seated herself by Rhoda, and with twinkling eyes called attention to the undulating beauty of the landscape. It was all exactly the same, yet delightfully different, for now there was no shyness nor restraint, but the agreeable consciousness of liberty to chaff in return, and be as cheeky as one chose.

There was unceasing talk on the journey, yet each girl realised as the train steamed into Euston that she had forgotten to say the most important things, and was divided between regret and anxiety to look out for friends waiting on the platform. Rhoda had heard that Harold was to meet her, and presently there he was--handsomer than ever, or looking so after the three months' separation, and as immaculate as if he had stepped out of the traditional bandbox.

"There he is! That's Harold! That's my brother!" she cried, with a thrill of pride in the tall, frock-coated figure; and Thomasina looked, and rolled her little eyes to the ceiling.

"What a bee-ootiful young man! A perfect picter! Give him my fond love, Fuzzy, and say that I am desolated not to be able to stay to make his acquaintance, but I must make a bolt for my train."

She seized her bag as she spoke and hurried to the door, prepared to jump on to the platform at the first possible moment, while her companions impatiently followed in her wake. Rhoda had a vague recollection of promising to write regularly to half a dozen girls, and then she was shaking hands with Harold, and laughing in pure joy at seeing the familiar face.

"Here I am! Here I am! I have come back at last!"

"So I see!" He swept a glance over her, half smiling, half startled.

"Awfully glad to see you. Got your luggage in the van, eh? Don't know how on earth we shall get hold of it in this crowd. What an--excuse me!--an appalling set of girls!"

"I thought so too, at first, but they look different when you know them.

Some of them are sweet, and awfully pretty."

"Humph!" said Harold, sceptically. "They are not conspicuous. I don't see a decent-looking girl anywhere, except--who's the girl in the grey hat?"

"That's Miss Everett, our house-mistress, the one I'm so fond of--the one who has the invalid brother, you know, to whom mother sent the game!"

"Teacher, is she? I thought she was a pupil. Sorry for her, poor little thing, if she has to manage a lot of girls like you. Ha! `R.C.'

That's your box at last. I'll get a porter to put it on a four- wheeler. Watch where I go, and keep close behind."

He strolled forward, and such was the effect of his imposing appearance and lordly ways, that the porters flew to do his bidding, and piled the luggage on the cab, while others who had been first on the scene were still clamouring for attention. Rhoda glanced proudly at him as they drove away together, but the admiration evidently was on one side, for he frowned, and said critically--

"You--er--look pale! You have lost your colour!"

"I've been working hard."

"You have grown thinner!"

"Games, I suppose. We are always running about."

"Er--what has become of your hair?"

Rhoda first stared, and then laughed.

"Oh, my pigtail! I forgot that you hadn't seen it. I hated it too, at first, but I've grown accustomed to it, and find it very comfortable.

It worries me now to have my hair blowing about and tickling my face."

"All the same, my dear, you had better untie it before we get home. We will lunch at the Station Hotel, and you can comb it out there. It will give the mater a shock if she sees you looking so changed. She would hardly know you, I think."

The tone of disapproval hit hard, and to hide her chagrin Rhoda adopted an air of indifference.

"Oh, we don't trouble ourselves about appearances at Hurst. So long as we are comfortable we are satisfied. If a girl worries to dress up, we chaff her unmercifully."

"The more foolish you! I hope and pray, Rhoda, that you are not going to develop into one of the strong-minded young women one meets nowadays, who seem to spend their lives in trying to be as much like men as possible. It will be a mistake if you do. Be as learned as you like, and as sensible as you like, and as hardy as you like--that is all to the good--but, for pity's sake, be pretty too, and dainty, and feminine!

We don't want to have all our womenkind swallowed up in athletes, warranted to be `hard kicks,' or `useful forwards!' We want them to play the ornamental part in life, and be pretty, and sweet, and attractive."

"Ha, ha, yes! That's the man's point of view!" quoth Rhoda loftily, and her brother smiled good-naturedly as the cab stopped before the hotel.