Читать книгу The Bravest Girl in the School - Ethel Talbot - Страница 5

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“OH, I’m so glad we’re off,” said Sybil. She settled herself more comfortably into a corner of the carriage, then turned to see with amazement that her elder sister was crying—crying as though she were twelve years old instead of being fourteen, and a housekeeper at that!

“Why, Gretta!” exclaimed the surprised child in horror. Then the corners of her own mouth turned down, her eyes opened wider and wider, and in another moment they would certainly have overflowed in sympathy had not the older girl, with a mighty effort, pulled herself together.

“It’s all right, Sybil, don’t take any notice of me. I was only so afraid that dad would miss us.”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t look like that,” half sobbed Sybil. “I hope school isn’t going to be horrid, after all. Ann said it would be, and now you’re crying about it. It’s unkind of you to frighten me, and if the girls are going to be nasty I shan’t stay. I shall write and ask auntie to take me away!”

It was rather a miserable little couple who peered out of the carriage window at York station and looked anxiously for their aunt and cousin, who were standing on the platform awaiting the incoming train. Margot herself, the self-reliant Margot, was looking a little forlorn, too, though she would not have owned to it for worlds, and even Auntie Tib had a lonely feeling at the bottom of her heart at the idea that she and Margot were to be parted for the first time. But she did not show it. That was not Mrs. Fleming’s way. All was laughter and bustle, and under her genial influence the children’s spirits began to reassert themselves.

“Have you got everything, dears? Gretta, where’s that fiddle? Now, Sybil, Uncle Bob has sent you these chocolates for the journey, but don’t make yourself ill, you know, for that would be such a bad beginning——”

“Oh, auntie, how lovely!” Sybil grasped at the box. “And don’t our clothes look nice! It’s the first time we’ve worn them, you know. Do you think the girls at school will like them?”

“They’ll have far too many other interests to think about your clothes, you may be sure,” said auntie. “We must hurry; it wouldn’t do to miss the train.”

Only a very few minutes after that they were bustled into the Cliffland carriage, and Margot, looking very serious, was hanging out of the window and exchanging last words with her mother. “I’m going to write to-night, mother, so look out for a letter to-morrow morning. Give father my love, and don’t let him miss me.”

“All right, darling.” Mrs. Fleming kissed Margot again, but her last words were for Gretta, and it was almost as though she could read the thoughts that were passing in the child’s mind.

“Uncle Bob and I are going to take the car over to Redgate to-morrow, dear,” she said, just as the guard was lifting his whistle to his lips. “I shall have a talk with Ann, and will write and tell you how your father gets on.”

There was no time for the child to express her thanks, the train was off. Sybil and Margot were both hanging out of the window, waving their handkerchiefs, and Gretta could only assure herself that auntie would know how grateful she was.

“And now we’re really going to school!” announced Sybil in a conversational tone of voice, settling herself comfortably with the chocolates and looking admiringly at her own brown legs. “Do you think all the girls will come and meet us?”

“Very likely they won’t be there yet,” answered Margot, looking perhaps a little pale-faced, but trying to talk unconcernedly; “or there may even be some of them in this train. I wonder if we shall like them. I always used to long to go to school in Australia, but, of course, we lived too far out.”

“Who taught you?” asked Gretta, admiring her cousin’s pluck, and proceeding to imitate her by entering herself into the conversation. “Was it auntie?”

“Well, she did when I was little, but she was very busy, you know. When I was nine she stopped, because Long Jake taught me then.”

“Long Jake!” exclaimed Sybil, looking up from her chocolates. “Whoever was that?”

“Oh, it wasn’t really his name, of course,” laughed Margot. “He is called Mr. Courtney in England, and he was at Oxford University before he came to Australia. He came out and did farming, you know; and he was champion sheep-shearer afterwards. Oh, I can tell you it was wonderful to watch him. In three minutes he could shear a sheep all over, and he never made a single slip with his shears. People came from all parts to watch him.”

“But how did you know him?” asked Gretta.

“Oh, he was one of father’s men at first, and they were great friends too. He taught me in the evenings, just for fun. He was awfully clever. When dad went to the diggings he looked after mother and me.”

“I’d like to see Long Jake,” said Sybil “What’s he like?”

“He’s very big; that was why they gave him his name, of course; and he’s coming to England soon, I know. He’ll be sure to come and see me when he does, so perhaps you’ll see him, too. When we lived in the Bush he and I used to ride together for miles. He taught me lots of things.”

“What kind of things?” Gretta was beginning, but Sybil broke in animatedly: “Oh, look! There’s the sea and the cliffs! Is it Cliffland? And what a funny, tiny house! Can it be the school?”

The other children followed her pointing finger with their eyes. There, in the distance, stood a little one-storied bungalow-like habitation in the shadow of the cliffs.

“What a strange place!” said Gretta. “Why, Margot, look! It hasn’t any windows, has it?”

“Not that I can see,” began her cousin, peering out, but even while they watched the house was lost to view as the train took a sudden curve.

“There! It’s gone!” said Sybil petulantly. “How stupid!”

“It couldn’t have been the school, anyway,” laughed Margot, “it’s too small. Never mind, we’ll go and have a look at it some day. Here, the train’s stopping. I believe this is Cliffland!”

The appearance of a lady at the door of the carriage, who looked in and nodded at them and then proceeded, as the train drew up, to open the door, confirmed their suspicions. “You’re for the Cliff School, aren’t you?” she said cheerfully. “Jump out, and be quick! The porter will see to all your things, so leave them behind—the pony will be waiting!”

Gretta obediently advanced to the stranger’s side, leaving all but her beloved fiddle. Sybil followed her sister, feeling friendly disposed, but shy. Margot, with alacrity, jumped on to the seat, and began pulling down her leather suit-cases from the rack.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” remarked the new-comer pleasantly. “Leave your bags. The porter has his orders, and this is a terminus.” She looked up and down the platform as she spoke and then, with a parting “Wait a minute, girls!” made her way to the other end of the train.

“Whatever did she mean?” said Margot, standing by her bags on the platform and addressing Gretta in mystified tones. “I’d far rather see after these myself.”

“Oh, it’s just school ways,” said Gretta comfortingly. She turned her eyes as she spoke in the direction of the cheery lady, and watched her as she received into her keeping a small girl about Sybil’s size, who was being handed over by an anxious mother, evidently obliged to catch the next train back.

“It must be another new girl,” said Sybil excitedly. “I like that lady. I suppose she’s a teacher; and she smiled at me!”

“I’m Miss Read,” said that capable person, returning with the small girl in tow. “Come along, girls, the trap is outside. We have an hour’s drive to the Cliff. This is Adela Greaves; you will soon know each other quite well.”

Sybil, bent on making friends with all and sundry, advanced to the side of the child. “I like the name of Adela,” she said. “I had a doll called that once. I named her after a queen in history,” she added, with a side glance at Miss Read, vaguely hoping that she might gain favour by such a display of learning.

She was doomed to disappointment, however. “Come along quickly,” said the lady, who, if she heard the speech, was evidently quite unimpressed by it. “I don’t want to keep the pony standing.”

It was a very tight squeeze in the trap. Margot, who, loaded with her suit-cases, was the last to try to climb in, found entrance difficult. “I believe I see what you meant,” she said, after a few struggles, as Miss Read took the reins from a boy at the pony’s head. “That was why you told us to leave the bags.”

“Yes, and you’ve given yourself two journeys, I’m afraid,” said the lady with a smile, “for you’ll have to take them back, now, won’t you? The porter always brings all luggage to the school, for everything’s labelled, you know.”

Without a word, Margot, the independent, did as she was told—there wasn’t anything else to do—but, as she made her way back to the waiting trap, after handing over her goods to the station-master, she wondered to herself whether she liked Miss Read or whether she didn’t.

Sybil, very much on the alert, was certainly conscious that here was a power that must be conciliated. She tried her most ingratiating smiles, and even ventured on a congratulatory speech. “How nicely you drive!” she said. “We’ve never had the chance of learning, but Margot——” Here her well-meant effort was balked by Miss Read herself, who pointed energetically with her whip.

“Look, girls! There’s the sea. You can just catch a glimpse of it through that break in the cliff!”

“And, why, there’s that little house we saw from the train!” exclaimed Margot, brightening considerably. “Look, Gretta!”

Yes, there it was, right on the cliff, not a quarter of a mile away.

“Oh, yes, you’d see that from the train, of course,” said Miss Read. “But we shall lose sight of it again almost at once. It’s a lonely little place.”

“I wonder who lives there,” said Margot. “It seems very strange. For one thing, we couldn’t see any windows. I thought when we passed it in the train that I would go there one day.”

“I’m afraid you won’t do that!” said Miss Read briskly. “It’s altogether too far for the school walks, but it’s an interesting little place—very!”

“Have you ever been inside, Miss Read?” inquired Sybil, in a friendly tone.

“No, indeed,” said that lady, “and I know very little about the house. It was built by an eccentric old man who lives there still, or so I believe. It wouldn’t do at all to call upon him. To say the least of it, it would be a most unwise proceeding.”

The pony had carried them out of sight of the little house, and they were soon on the high road. “We’re not far from the school now,” said Miss Read. “In five minutes we shall be there. You will all be glad of your tea.”

Gretta experienced an uncomfortable feeling as she realized how soon they were to be ushered into the new and unknown world. She looked first at Sybil and then at Margot, and wondered. And, as she wondered, the road took a turn. A huge red house, standing on the cliff in the midst of a large garden, came into view. Here, at last, was the Cliff School!