Читать книгу The Girls of the Abbey School - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 3

Table of Contents

The crowning of the May Queen was in progress in the big school hall, and among the crowd of girls who hung over the balcony railing none was more interested than Jen. She was very much of a new girl—or else, as she said to herself, she would jolly well have been down there among the other dancing girls, who, in two long lines, were laughing at their partners as they kicked and clapped hands and shook their fingers at one another in a quaint country dance, ‘Sweet Kate.’

The four previous Queens sat on the platform, grouped about the heroine of the day, a sweet-faced, bronze-haired girl of sixteen. Jen gazed at her worshipfully. She had not been shy the day before, her first day at school, because she did not know the meaning of the word, but she had certainly felt strange. The school was so very big; there were such crowds of girls, who all knew one another, and all knew where to go. Then this girl, with the ruddy hair and friendly brown eyes, had espied her and come to the rescue, had shown her over the school and answered her eager questions.

Jen had marvelled that a senior should take so much trouble over a thirteen-year-old, but Nesta and Kathy, of her form, had explained, when, thanks to this introduction, they had accepted her into their midst, ‘She’s the new Queen. The Coronation’s to-morrow night. It’s part of her work to look after new girls.’

‘Then she does it jolly well. What’s her name?’

‘Joan Shirley. Oh, yes, she’ll make a ripping Queen!’ Molly Gilks assented.

So Jen watched Queen Joan with grateful eyes, as she walked bareheaded between the lines of cheering girls to her throne, where the earlier Queens stood waiting to greet her. At first, indeed, she had thought the bronze-haired girl who led the procession of former Queens, and wore a train of bright apple-green, was Joan; but as she watched, wide-eyed, she saw this girl rising to abdicate her place as Queen, to receive a crown of forget-me-nots in place of her faded wreath, and to lead in her successor and crown her with a wreath of starry narcissus. ‘Why, there are two of them!’ she said aloud, in amazement.

Somebody leaning over the railing beside her chuckled. ‘Yes, isn’t it weird? We hoped people who didn’t know them would think they were seeing double. I wanted to be down there in the crowd, and hear what people said. But you’ll do instead, as you’re new. You are new, aren’t you?’

Jen laughed as she turned to the speaker. ‘Awfully, hideously new. I’m only two days old.’

‘Oh, well, you’ll soon grow up,’ her new friend said encouragingly. ‘What Form are you?’

‘III. A.’

‘I’m III. B; that’s why I haven’t seen you, I suppose. But let’s watch the crowning; we can talk while they’re dancing.’

‘But why are there two of them?’ Jen murmured, as the one red-haired girl crowned the other, whose train was of rich violet, kissed her warmly, and left her to stand bowing to the cheering crowd. ‘Twins, aren’t they?’

‘Not exactly; they’re cousins. Joy was last year’s Queen.’

‘Joy and Joan? How muddling! They might have called one of them Alice, or Thomasina, or Muriel.’

The other girl laughed. ‘Now they’re going to have the Maypole! Which of the clubs shall you join?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Jen said cautiously. ‘There are such heaps of them; I’ve been looking at the notices. Why aren’t you dancing? And what’s your name? I’m Jen Robins.’

‘Jen? Not Jenny?’

‘No, never Jenny!’ Jen laughed. ‘The boys say Jen’s quite enough for me! I’m the youngest, you see.’

Her new friend nodded, apparently understanding. Then she laughed too. ‘I’m Jack! I think we’d better chum. My friend left last term. I’m friends with Nesta Green, and Molly Gilks, and Kath Parker, too, but they’re chums all together. You can chum with me, if you like.’

Jen’s eyes brightened. ‘That’s topping of you! But—Jack and Jen! We really can’t help it, can we? I’d like to awfully. What’s the whole of you?’

‘Jacqueline, of course. Isn’t it enough to blight my career?’

‘Not if you put tucks in it,’ Jen retorted.

Jack giggled. She was short and dark, quick in her movements, with black bobbed hair tickling her cheeks and neck.

Jen was taller, but slim, with two thick, fair plaits, and stray twists of curls about her eyes and ears. ‘Why aren’t you dancing?’ she repeated. ‘I’d love to join in! Isn’t this pretty?’ as the plaiting of the Maypole gave place to ‘Sellenger’s Round,’ danced in a big ring around the pole.

‘Because I’m not a Hamlet. The Hamlet Club goes in for rambles and learns folk-dancing, and crowns the Queen. They have topping meetings, mostly out in the country or in a gorgeous old barn; but, you see, I go in for cricket, and they won’t let juniors do both. They say you can’t do either properly. Seniors sometimes do both, but not new girls. Kath and Molly play cricket, but Nesta’s a Hamlet. She’s dancing down there with Molly’s sister Peg.’

‘I’ll want to do both! I can feel it coming on!’ Jen sighed. ‘Oh, what are they going to do now?’ as the dancers scattered, and began slipping rings of bells below their knees and snatching up white handkerchiefs.

‘A morris. Those others were country dances. You’ll like this!’

Jen did like it, and watched with fascinated eyes as the ‘sides’ of six danced ‘Trunkles’ and ‘Blue-Eyed Stranger,’ then changed their handkerchiefs for staves and gave ‘Bean-setting.’ ‘I’m keen on cricket, and I’d like to join the same as you!’ she sighed. ‘But it’s going to be awfully hard to choose! This is so new and queer! I’ve played cricket all my life, but I never saw anything like this before. I’d love to join in those dances! And I’d like to join the club, because that ripping girl’s the Queen.’

‘We ought to belong to the same things, if we chum,’ Jack said doubtfully. ‘But perhaps we could—where do you live, by the way?’

‘Here. My home’s in Yorkshire.’

‘Oh! You’re one of the Special Twenty? Miss Macey only takes twenty boarders.’

‘I’m the twenty-first,’ Jen laughed. ‘Oh, just look at this one!’ as the dancers, discarding their bells, formed in sets of four for ‘Heartsease,’ and fell back from their opposites and turned their partners, all in the graceful, slow running step.

‘That’s awfully pretty!’ Jack decided. ‘Now it’s a minuet. How d’you like being a boarder? I should loathe it!’

‘I think it won’t be bad when I’ve got used to it. It felt queer last night, of course,’ Jen said casually.

Jack gave her a quick look. ‘She’s sporty! Wonder if she cried in bed? I guess I should. Miss Macey’s quite jolly,’ she said aloud.

‘Yes, I should think she’s a sporty old bean,’ Jen agreed warmly.

Jack smothered a laugh. ‘Jen!’

Jen looked at her with would-be innocent eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Don’t you know you mustn’t call Miss Macey a “sporty old bean?” Is that how you talk at home?’

‘When I’m with the boys,’ Jen explained simply. ‘I don’t think I’d say it to her!’

‘To Miss Macey? I hope to goodness you wouldn’t!’

‘Well, she looks a jolly old sport; that’s better, isn’t it?’

Jack looked doubtful. ‘Not so frightfully much. You’ll jolly well have to be awfully careful, if that’s how you talk at home!’

‘I’ve an aunt living in the town here, so I’m going to her for week-ends now and then,’ Jen added. ‘I’m to go to-night, as this is my first Friday, and stay till Monday.’

‘Meet me at the gate at ten past nine, then, and we’ll come in together. We must see one another sometimes, if we’re to be chums.’

‘Don’t you think it’s rather sudden?’ Jen asked solemnly. ‘We’d never spoken to one another ten minutes ago.’

‘Oh, but I can tell if I’m going to like people! Can’t you?’

Jen’s eyes were dancing as she answered cautiously, ‘Don’t you think we’d better try it first for a week? Like being engaged before getting married, you know? I don’t like changing once I’ve made friends.’

Jack laughed. ‘Are you Scotch? I thought you said Yorkshire? All right! We’ll be engaged for a week. Then if we still want to we’ll get married.’

‘Oh, why are they taking off their bonnets?’ Jen had been intent on the dancers all through the conversation, and had watched the ‘Ribbon Dance’ and the ‘Butterfly’ with delight in their changing movements. Now about half of the girls had tossed aside the white caps or bonnets they wore with their many-coloured dancing-frocks, and stood in two long lines, bareheaded girls facing girls still with covered hair. Jen looked at Jack for an explanation. ‘Why is it? You seem to know all about it!’

‘Edna Gilks sat next to me at the last dancing-evening, and I asked her things; she’d hurt her foot, so she couldn’t dance. That’s Edna, the “bridesmaid”—Maid of Honour, I mean—to the pink Queen, Marguerite. This is a boy-and-girl dance; the girls without caps are the men. They say it’s the easiest way to show the difference. If their hair’s covered they’re women. Nesta’s being a man, you see.’

‘Why don’t you say gentlemen and ladies?’ Jen remonstrated.

‘They never do; it’s country dancing, you know.’

‘Oh! But weren’t they men and women before?’

‘Yes, but in some dances it doesn’t matter so much. They say in others you must show the difference, or it’s no fun for the audience. I’ve seen this before; it’s called “Halfe Hannikin.” See! The men are all dancing up their own side and down the women’s.’

‘And each one has to stand and take a rest at the top, and then come in again as a woman. How weird! They’re getting all mixed up!’

‘They’ll do “Peascods” next,’ Jack prophesied. ‘The men and women make separate rings inside the big ring, and clap in the centre at different times. Edna says they’re supposed to be worshipping the old sacred tree on the village green.’

‘I’ll have to join this!’ Jen sighed wistfully, as the big rings of ‘Peascods’ swung joyfully round. ‘It’s just too awfully fascinating for words!’

‘But think of the cricket!’ urged Jack.