The Leader of the Lower School Part 16

"Where've you been?" whispered Hetty.

"Arranging my new room. Didn't you know? I've been moved out of our dormitory to make way for Leonora. Miss Edith carried all my things upstairs this morning."

"How sickening! Is that girl to have your bed?"

"Of course."

"And where are you put?"

"In that little box-room on the top floor. The boxes are all piled at one end, to make room for a camp bed."

"You don't mean it? Well, I didn't think Poppie was capable of such a horrid piece of nastiness."

"There's no other place for me at present. I may be extremely grateful to have that attic, so I'm informed. You forget I'm a charity girl!"

said Gipsy bitterly.

Poor Gipsy was smarting sorely from a brief conversation she had had with Miss Poppleton. The Princ.i.p.al had reminded her in very plain terms of her dependent position, and had questioned and cross-questioned her as to whether she could remember any possible clue by which her father's whereabouts might be traced. Gipsy had already told all she knew, so the fresh catechism only seemed to her like the probing of an old wound. She felt so utterly helpless, so unable to offer any suggestions, or any way out of the difficulty. But she stuck tenaciously to her faith in her father.

"Dad promised to come back for me, and he will!" she said, with a gleam in her dark eyes.

"I'm afraid I know more of the world than you do, Gipsy, and it looks bad--very bad indeed!" replied Miss Poppleton, with a dismal shake of her head. "Some men are only too anxious to cast off their responsibilities."

Even Miss Edith, kind as ever though she was, seemed to take a gloomy view of the case.

"I'm sorry, dear--very sorry!" she said, as she introduced Gipsy to her attic bedroom. "I don't like to have to turn you out of your dormitory--and I'm sure Miss Poppleton doesn't either! But, you see, we're obliged to put Leonora there--and there's no other place but this.

If your father hadn't behaved so queerly, of course it would have been different. I'm very sorry, Gipsy--it's hard on a girl to be left like this. I wonder he could have the heart to do it. And it's hard on my sister too. She has to think of ways and means. Dear, dear! what an amount of trouble there is in the world! And you're young to have to begin to feel it. There! I've made you as comfortable as I can here, child. After all, you'll be downstairs most of your time."

When Miss Edith had gone away, Gipsy sat down on the one chair in her room, with a blank, wretched feeling that was beyond the relief of tears. It was not that she minded a camp bed in the least, and she had often slept in far rougher places than her new attic; but the change seemed the outward and visible sign of her forlorn circ.u.mstances. Both Miss Poppleton's uncompromising remarks and Miss Edith's well-meant sympathy hurt her equally, for both expressed the same doubt of her father's honour. Not until that afternoon had Gipsy thoroughly realized how utterly alone she was in the world. Every other girl in the school had home and parents and relations, while she had n.o.body at all except a father who had--no, not forgotten her! that she would never allow; but for some strange, mysterious reason had been kept from communicating with her.

Gipsy had too generous a nature to bear Leonora any grudge for having taken her place in the dormitory. She even volunteered to give some valuable hints to the newcomer, knowing by experience the thorns that were likely to beset her path. Leonora, however, did not seem at all afflicted by many things which would have been most trying to Gipsy. She went her own way stolidly, without reference to her schoolfellows'

comments, good or bad. This att.i.tude did not satisfy Briarcroft standards, and by the time she had been there a week she had been weighed in the balance of public opinion and found decidedly wanting.

She was the exact opposite of what the boarders had expected. Far from being liberally disposed, and inclined to spend her superabundant pocket-money for the good of her companions, she appeared anxious to take advantage on the other side. She readily accepted all the chocolates and caramels that were offered her, but made no return; and if she bought any sweets she ate them herself in privacy. She appropriated other girls' hockey sticks, books, or fountain pens unblus.h.i.+ngly, but had always an excuse if anyone wished to sample her possessions.

"She's the meanest thing I ever met in my life," said Lennie Chapman indignantly one day. "She borrowed my penknife three times this morning, and when I asked her what had become of her own, she said it was such a nice one, it seemed a pity to use it."

"She spoilt my stylo. yesterday," complained Norah Bell, "and she never even offered to buy me another."

"She's greedy, too," said Daisy Scatcherd, swelling the list of Leonora's crimes. "When I handed her my box of candied fruits, she picked out the very biggest!"

"How piggie!"

"And yet she's plenty of pocket-money."

"Oh, yes, heaps, as much as she likes to ask for."

"I don't see what's the use of being a millionairess if you're a miser at the same time!" remarked Dilys scornfully.

A girl who receives everything and dispenses nothing is never popular among her companions, so it was scarcely surprising that Leonora won no favour. A few mercenary spirits, encouraged by the reputation of her millions, made tentative advances of friends.h.i.+p, but rapidly withdrew them on the discovery that it was likely to prove a one-sided bargain.

"I wouldn't be friends with her if she owned the Bank of England!"

declared Lennie. "I think she's too contemptible for words."

"By the by, girls," said Dilys, "it's Miss Edith's birthday on the 1st of March. Aren't we Junior boarders going to get up anything in the way of a present? I know the Seniors are giving her one."

"Rather!" said Fiona Campbell. "I'd stretch a point for Miss Edie if I was on the verge of bankruptcy. I vote we open a subscription list. I'm good for half a crown."

"I expect most of us are," replied Lennie, taking paper and pencil to write down names. "Except Leonora Parker!" she added with a laugh.

"Don't you think she'll give?"

"Not generously."

"Oh, she'll have to!"

"I declare, we'll make her for once!" said Dilys indignantly. "She shan't sneak out of everything."

"I don't see how you're going to make her."

"The millionairess won't fork out unless she feels inclined, I can tell you that, my child."

"Just you leave it to me. I'll manage it by fair means or foul."

"Won't a subscription list make it rather awkward for Gipsy? You know she can't give anything," whispered Hetty Hanc.o.c.k to Dilys.

"Not at all, the way I'm going to do it. I'll take care of Gipsy, you'll see--make it easy for her, but nick in Leonora for more than she bargains."

"You're cleverer than I thought you were."

"Ah, you haven't plumbed the depths of my genius yet, my good child. Now when Leonora----"

"Hus.h.!.+ Here she comes."

The millionairess walked to the fireplace, and stood leaning over the high fender, sharpening a cherished stump of lead pencil.

"We're getting up a subscription," began Dilys, opening the attack without further delay. "It's to buy a present for Miss Edith's birthday.

You'd like us to put your name down, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I'm not sure," replied Leonora cautiously. "What are most of you giving?"

"Half a crown," replied a chorus of voices.

"I've been at Briarcroft such a short time," demurred Leonora. "Perhaps it would really be better if the present came from you, who are all old pupils."

"There's something in that," said Dilys. "Both you and Gipsy Latimer have only been here a little while, so it would be more appropriate, after all, to leave you both out of it, and let it be an old girls'

gift. Lennie, do you hear? You're not to put down either Gipsy or Leonora, however much they beg and pray."

"Right-oh!" said Lennie rather sulkily. She thought that Dilys, in her delicacy for Gipsy, was sparing Leonora too much. But Dilys gave her a withering look, which so plainly implied: "Trust me to mind my own business" that she began hastily to hum a tune.