Читать книгу The Second Form at St. Clare's - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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The second form did not much mind when Mirabel was annoying in classes they disliked, such as the maths. class, which they found difficult that term—or even in Mam’zelle’s class when she took irregular French verbs, hated by every girl. But they did dislike it when she spoilt, or tried to spoil, the English class, or the Art class.

“It spoils our reading of The Tempest, when you make idiotic remarks, or flop about in your seat and make Miss Jenks keep on saying ‘Sit up!’ ” said Hilary, angrily. “Either behave badly enough to get sent out of the room at once, idiot, or else keep quiet.”

“And if you dare to upset your paint-water all over somebody again, and make us lose ten minutes of the art class whilst we all get ticked off by Miss Walker I’ll scrag you,” said Carlotta, all in one breath. “We wouldn’t mind so much if you did something really funny, like Bobby or Janet did last term—what you do isn’t funny—just idiotic, spoiling things for the whole class.”

“I shall do what I like,” said Mirabel.

“You will not,” said Elsie, spitefully. “I’m head-girl of this form—with Anna—and we say you are to behave yourself, or we’ll know the reason why.”

“You do know the reason why,” said Mirabel, pertly.

“Any one would think you were six years old, the way you behave,” said Bobby, in disgust. “Well—I warn you—you’ll be sorry if you keep on like this. We’re all getting tired of you.”

The explosion came during the Drama class. This was taken by the new teacher, Miss Quentin, and was really rather an exciting class. The girls were to write and act their own play. Dark-eyed Miss Quentin was full of good suggestions, and the play was almost written.

The new teacher was not much good at discipline. She relied on her good looks and rather charming manner, and on the interest of her lessons, to help her to discipline her classes. Alison adored her, and, as the girls had already foreseen, was copying her in everything, from her little tricks of speech, to the way she did her hair.

Most of the girls liked Miss Quentin, though they did not very much respect the way she coaxed them to behave when they became a little unruly. They really preferred the downright methods of Miss Roberts or Miss Jenks. Mirabel, of course, soon found that Miss Quentin was quite unable to keep her in order.

“Your turn now, Mirabel dear,” Miss Quentin would say, smiling brightly at her. Mirabel would pretend not to hear, and Miss Quentin would raise her voice slightly.

“Mirabel! Your turn now, dear!”

The class disliked Miss Quentin’s “dears” and “lambs” and other names—except Alison. She loved them. They all looked at Mirabel impatiently. She was always losing time like this, when they wanted to get on.

Mirabel would pretend to come back to earth with a start, fumble for the place, be gently helped by Miss Quentin, and at last say something, usually incorrect. When there was any acting to be done she came in at the wrong moment, said the wrong lines, and altogether behaved in a most annoying manner. Miss Quentin was at a loss to know how to deal with her.

“Mirabel! I have never yet sent a girl out of my class,” she would say, in such a sorrowful voice that it quite wrung Alison’s heart. “Now come—pull yourself together and try again.”

One morning Alison was waiting to act a part she loved. She had rehearsed it over and over again to herself, acting it, as she thought, to perfection. She was longing for her turn to come, so that she might gloat over the sugared words of praise she felt sure would drop from Miss Quentin’s lips.

There were ten more minutes to go—just about time for Alison’s turn to come. And then Mirabel chose to be stupid again, saying her lines incorrectly, doing the wrong things so that Miss Quentin had to make her speak and act two or three times. The teacher, following her usual rule of being patient and encouraging, wasted nearly all the precious ten minutes on Mirabel.

Alison cast her eye on the clock, and bit her lip. All her rehearsing would be wasted now. How she hated that stupid Mirabel, holding up every class in order to be annoying.

“Now Mirabel dear,” said Miss Quentin, in her charming, patient voice, “say it like this ...”

It was too much for Alison. She stamped her foot. “Mirabel! Stop fooling! It’s hateful the way you take Miss Quentin in—and she’s so patient too. You’ve wasted half the time—and now I shan’t have my turn.”

“Poor little Alison!” said Mirabel, mockingly. “She so badly wanted to show off to her precious Miss Quentin, and hear her say ‘Well done, darling!’ ”

There was a dead silence. Then Alison burst into a flood of tears, and Carlotta boxed Mirabel’s ears very neatly and smartly. Miss Quentin stared in horror.

“Girls! Girls! What are you thinking of? Carlotta! You amaze me. I cannot have this behaviour, I really cannot. Carlotta, apologize at once to Mirabel.”

“Certainly not,” said Carlotta. “I don’t mean to be rude to you, Miss Quentin—but you must see for yourself that Mirabel deserved it. I knew no-one else but me would dare to do it—and it’s been coming to Mirabel for quite a long time.”

The bell rang for the next class. Miss Quentin was most relieved. She had no idea how to tackle things of this sort. She gathered up her books quickly.

“There is no time to say any more, girls,” she said. “I must go to my next class. Carlotta, I still insist that you put things right with Mirabel by apologizing.”

She went out of the room in a flurry. Carlotta grinned round at the others. “Well!” she said, “don’t stand staring at me like that as if I’d done something awful. You know quite well you’ve all wanted to box Mirabel’s ears yourselves. We’re as tired of her as we can be. It’s a pity half-term isn’t here and we can see the back of her.”

“Carlotta, you shouldn’t do things like that,” said Janet. “Alison, for pity’s sake, stop howling. Mirabel, you deserved it, and now perhaps you’ll shut up and behave properly.”

Mirabel had gone rather white. She had not attempted to hit back at Carlotta. “If you think that will stop me doing what I like to spoil things for anybody you’re mistaken,” she said, at last, in a tight kind of voice. “It’ll make me worse.”

“I suppose it will,” said Hilary. “Well—I’ll give you a warning. If you don’t stop being an idiot, we shall make things uncomfortable for you. I don’t mean we shall box your ears. We shan’t. But there are other ways.”

Mirabel said no more—but as she made no attempt that day or the following to behave sensibly, the girls made up their minds that they must carry out their threat.

They met in one of the music-rooms. Elsie Fanshawe was pleased. This excited her—it gladdened her spiteful nature, and added to her sense of importance, for, as she was one of the head-girls, she could direct every one in what they had to do.

“We’ve met together to decide how to get back at Mirabel,” she began.

Hilary interrupted her. “Well—not exactly ‘get back’, Elsie,” she said. “It’s more to prevent her from going on disgracing herself and our class.”

“Call it what you like,” said Elsie, impatiently. “Now—what I propose is this: we’ll take her books from her desk and hide them. We’ll make her an apple-pie bed each night. We’ll stitch up the pockets and sleeves of her out-door coat. We’ll put stones into her Wellingtons. We’ll ...”

“It all sounds rather spiteful,” said Hilary, doubtfully. “Need we do quite so many things? I know Mirabel is perfectly sickening and needs a good lesson—but don’t let’s make ourselves as bad as she is!”

“Well—do as you like,” said Elsie, rather sneeringly. “If you’re too goody-goody to follow the lead of your head-girls, well, there will be plenty of us who’ll do what I say.”

“I bet Anna didn’t think of any of those things,” said Bobby, looking at the plump, placid Anna, sitting beside Elsie.

The meeting discussed the matter a little more, and then, at the sound of a school-bell, broke up. Only Gladys had said nothing. She had sat, as usual, in a kind of dream, paying hardly any attention to what was said. The girls were becoming so used to the Misery-girl, as they called her, that they really hardly noticed whether she was there or not.

“Well,” said Hilary, as the girls ran off to change for games, “I suppose we must do something to teach Mirabel that two can play at being annoying—but somehow a lot of spitefulness seems to have got mixed up in it.”

“It’s bound to, with Elsie Fanshawe to lead us!” said Bobby. “I wish she wasn’t our head-girl. She’s not the right sort. As for Anna, she’s no use at all—just a lazy lump!”

“Mirabel’s going to have a few shocks from now on,” said Alison, who was more pleased than anyone to think of the tricks that were to be played on Mirabel. “I for one will do everything with the greatest pleasure!”

“I hope your darling Miss Quentin will be pleased with you!” said Bobby, with a grin, and scampered off to the field before Alison could think of any reply.