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A JOYFUL OCCASION

“Now tell me all about it!” Jen had kissed Mrs. Shirley and greeted the cats, and had arranged cushions for herself and Joan outside the door of the chapter-house, where the afternoon sun shone full upon them. “I didn’t ask Joy, in the car, and she didn’t say anything,” she added. “You’d said you would tell me, so I waited for you.”

“Joy’s full of a new tune. She says she dreamt it and now she has to work it out.”

“I thought she looked a bit dreamy. I shall ask her to play it to me. Isn’t this really a joyful occasion, as I said, Joan? It’s lovely to be here with you again!”

“It’s a very serious occasion,” Joan warned her.

Jen gave her a quick look. “Nothing can make it less joyful for me. But tell me, Joan! I’m dying to hear.”

The stout black cat, the Mother Superior, came pacing across the garth, tail very erect, and laid a large soft paw on Jen’s knee; then changed her mind and went to Joan, and did the same thing, looking up into her face.

Jen thrust her into Joan’s lap. “Joan’s your missus. I’ll have Timmy. Come on, Shaggy-Mat! Now settle down and be happy, for we want to talk.” She stroked the long gray locks which Timmy wore and looked eagerly at Joan. The third cat, the Curate, aloof as usual, glanced at them and went off for a lonely prowl.

“We had a visitor yesterday.” Joan fondled the Mother Superior, and plunged into the story. “We took him to the station before we came to school to see you. Guess who it was!”

“I couldn’t possibly.” Jen stared at her wide-eyed. “You said ‘him.’ Joan, you couldn’t mean—it couldn’t have been—no, it simply couldn’t!”

“I don’t call that guessing nicely at all! I fancy you’re getting warm, all the same.”

“Not Angus?” Jen gasped.

“Yes, Angus. He came to ask us to help him.”

“But what ghastly cheek! After all you did for him! How could he, Joan?”

“He was very humble about it, but he wanted something and he was quite sure we could do it for him, if we would.”

“And will you? You never say no, do you? Joy does, sometimes, but not you.”

“We talked it over last night. We’ll try to help, but only if you’ll back us up.”

“Me? Oh, Joan dear, don’t talk silly! What can I do? What did Angus want?”

“Angus has a girl-friend and he wants to help her. He can’t do it alone; he’s right there. He wondered if we’d lend a hand.”

“Well, that’s a relief to my mind!” Jen said fervently. “You mean there’s a girl he wants to marry? That’s all right! I was afraid he might want Joy, or even you.”

“Gracious, Jen! What put that into your head?”

“I don’t see how any man could help wanting to marry one of you, and I suppose Angus is a man, though he doesn’t behave like one. I thought Joy was the most likely, because of her music. You’re far too good for him.”

“Your mind can be quite at ease! Neither of us is thinking of marrying Angus Reekie, even if he becomes a famous violinist. His girl is in Glasgow, working in a shop, and he’s really terribly keen on her. I liked him better, when he talked about her, than I’ve ever done. Terry has given him a cheque, and he wants to spend it on this girl.”

“That’s decent of him,” Jen acknowledged. “But what does he want you to do about it? I suppose they’re engaged?”

“No, nothing like that. Selma is only sixteen.”

“Who?” Jen’s eyes widened again.

Joan smiled at her. “Her name is Janet.”

“Poor bloke! I couldn’t like anybody called Janet.” Jen disliked her own name heartily. “But that’s not what you said. You called her something else.”

“She’s Janet Selma Andersson,” and Joan told of the origin of Selma’s name, so far as she knew it.

“Selma! Oh, that’s better! It’s rather pretty! Yes, I like Selma.”

“Angus says she is pretty too; he was quite poetical about her. But—don’t you see?—it’s too early to talk of marrying. He is twenty-one, but she is only sixteen. He can’t ask her to be engaged for a year or two.”

“Some girls would,” Jen said thoughtfully. “But I think it’s silly. I’m nearly sixteen myself, but I’m not going to get engaged just yet.” And she gave Joan an impish grin.

“Please don’t! You haven’t heard yet what Angus wants us to do for Selma.”

“No. Tell me, Joan. What can you do for her?”

“He wants us to have her here.”

Jen had settled herself comfortably to listen, stroking the happy Timmy, but at this she sat up suddenly.

“Joan! But why? Oh, Joan, tell me more! I’m sorry, Timsy; I know I startled you, but Joan made me jump right up in the air. Settle down again, Angel. Joan, why?”

“He said, quite simply, that if Selma could live with people like us it would be just what she needed.”

“He’s right there! It was jolly clever of Angus. But, Joan——”

“I think it’s because of Mother,” Joan said. “He looks at her as if she is something very special—precious and rather rare. I watched him, and there was something almost touching in the way he looked at her and held her hand. He has never seen anyone like her.”

“I’d never have believed Angus had so much sense! Does he want her to adopt Selma? But hasn’t she any family?”

“Only a stepfather, whom she dislikes. Angus is thinking of the future. He’s determined to be a great violinist and play with big orchestras in London; he’s also determined to marry Selma. But he feels——”

“If she’ll have him,” Jen interrupted.

“Yes. But he’s quite firm about it. She is his girl, his lassie, as he says.”

Jen pursed her lips. “When Selma grows up, she may like somebody else better.”

“He has to risk that. I don’t think it has occurred to him. Well, you see, he feels that she is not having the education she needs for the future. She has been to school; a good school, I think, from his tone; but now she has a job in a shop, and he feels it isn’t good enough. He is going ahead, with his first-class lessons from McAlistair, but she is stuck in a rut.”

Jen nodded. “A change would be useful for her. He wants her to come here and see if she’ll get infected with your niceness?”

“Oh, Jen!” Joan laughed. “Not our niceness; I daren’t claim that. But he thinks it would be good for her to live with new people for a while.”

“And especially with you and dear Aunty Shirley. I do think Angus is sensible! You’ll let her come, won’t you? But you said I was to back you up. Do you want me to be friends with her? How can I, if I’m at school?”

“What if you were here?”

“To live with you? Is that what you mean?” Jen gave her well-known shriek of delight, and once more had to apologise to Timmy. “Oh, Joan, will you have me again, like last term?”

“We might manage to bear it,” Joan said seriously. “We shall have to ask your mother, but the Head understands and is willing you should come.”

“The darling! She really is a lamb sometimes. Oh, Mother will let me come. It’s so much better for my health than living in Wycombe.” Jen’s solemnity matched Joan’s.

Joan laughed. “We feel Selma should go to school. You’ll take care of her, won’t you?”

“I’ll take care of a dozen girls, if I may live with you! But will she like going back to school, if she’s grown up and been in a shop?”

“Angus wants her to get experience in meeting all kinds of people. He didn’t put it that way, but that’s what he meant. And the right sort of people. He particularly asked if you would be friendly with her; he seems to have a high opinion of you. Showing his good sense again, you see!”

“Goodness!” Jen cried. “But I was the one who jumped on him and knocked him down!”

“It seems to have made a good impression on him; he thinks a lot of you. Perhaps he liked being jumped on. Will you be kind to Selma, Jen?”

“Joan, I will!” Jen promised fervently. “Whatever she’s like, I’ll be nice to her. But I hope she’ll be a good sort. Do you suppose she’ll be like Rykie?”

“Why should she be like Rykie? And you managed Rykie all right.”

“Only sometimes. She was a bit of a trial to me. You’ll write to Mother to-morrow, won’t you?”

“And to Angus. We haven’t promised anything yet. We’re thinking it over and consulting Miss Macey, and your mother, and you.”

Jen grinned. “Miss Macey and I are willing, and we know Mother will say yes. You can write to Angus. But there’s one thing bothering me.”

She sat gazing across the garth at the broken remains of the cloisters, her yellow plaits falling on each side of her grave face, Timmy in her lap forgotten.