CHAPTER XV

ALLISON TELLS A STORY

When tea was over the Fifth, surprised by the news that Allison wished to speak to them in the common room before they settled down to their evening's prep, made their way thither in groups of twos and threes. Monica was among the company, having left the sick-room that afternoon, though excused from school work till the following morning. Everyone was standing about in groups, wondering what Allison had to say to them, when the Head Girl herself entered the room as brisk and cheerful as ever.

"You all seem to be here, I see. Let's settle down round the fire. Pull out the hassocks, some of you. I've brought some chestnuts mother sent me yesterday, and you can roast them while you listen to what I've got to tell you."

"It isn't a lecture, is it?" asked Ida apprehensively, as they all scrambled to secure seats round the fire.

"Lecture? Oh, no. I'm merely going to tell you a little story. Prinny was going to tell it to you, then she suggested you might like to hear it from me instead and I just jumped at the chance. I love telling stories and this is a true one. Only you must all promise not to interrupt till I've quite finished, or you'll make me lose the thread of it."

"Yes, we promise. Go on, please," came in an eager chorus, for everybody there knew that Allison had quite a genius for telling stories.

So Allison began:

"Well, this is a story about a girl like yourselves. Her name? We'll call her Alice. Unfortunately, Alice's parents died when she was quite young and she was left in the charge of her uncle, who was made her guardian. He was a soldier and was abroad a good deal, so Alice couldn't live with him. Instead, she lived in the country, in charge of her nurse. Alice led rather a lonely life, for she never went to school but had lessons instead at the Rectory, where the Rector taught her and several delicate little boys who were not robust enough to go to preparatory boarding-schools."

"What a rotten time she must have had!" remarked Glenda. "Didn't she know any other children?"

"Well, sometimes she visited the other children who lived near, but very often she had to make her own amusements and formed the habit of reading a great deal and dreaming over the books she read. The red-letter days in her life were her uncle's visits. Other children had mothers and fathers, it is true, but very few had for a guardian an officer in the British Army who wore rows of medals for brave and gallant deeds, and who could tell you breathless stories of daring and heroic actions, who was always kind to you and who made you want to grow up as brave and generous as he was."

"I'd rather have a mother and father," observed Ida, selecting a chestnut from the hearth and peeling off the shell. "However, I suppose he was the next best thing."

"Anyway," Allison went on, "Alice thought the world of him, and like many other young people she cherished a passionate hero-worship for this idol of hers--who, she felt, possessed all the virtues of nobility, gallantry, honesty and courage. You may guess how delighted she was when she heard that he had resigned his commission and had settled down to live in England, and that she was to make her home with him and his sister in the future. But a dreadful blow fell before she experienced this new happiness----"

"What blow?" demanded Ida, pausing in the act of popping the chestnut into her mouth. She hadn't been very interested in Alice up to that point, but now the story began to be more exciting.

"I warned you not to interrupt," Allison said severely. "I'm just going to tell you. Alice's nurse received the news, but kept it from her charge, and in answer to Alice's constant inquiries, 'When is uncle coming to fetch me?' she could only shake her head sadly. But her aunt came to fetch her at last, and Alice's sensitive spirit was chilled by her cold, unloving greeting. She soon learnt the truth. Her uncle and guardian had become involved in money difficulties and had fled the country secretly, taking with him the little fortune which Alice's parents had left in his charge for their child."

"What a shame!" cried several girls together. "Whatever did Alice do?" added Glenda. "I suppose she had nothing at all after that."

"For a little while after she heard the news she had a sort of lost, bewildered feeling as if she could feel no solid ground under her feet," continued Allison. "If her uncle could do this thing, then it seemed as if there was no honour, nor honesty, nor kindliness in the world. The lost, lonely feeling changed and hardened into a spirit of sullen resentment, which grew worse under her aunt's treatment of her. Her aunt, unfortunately, hadn't a very loving disposition and did not care for young people; but being very conscientious, she regarded it as her duty to look after the child her brother had robbed and deserted, though she made it quite plain to Alice that the duty was an unpleasant one. Alice, I suppose, argued that if people in this world had no scruples and were all selfish, why should she bother either? You can understand how she felt, can't you?"

The listeners, now really interested, nodded, and Glenda remarked feelingly: "I guess I should have felt rather like it myself."

"In a very short time," Allison went on, "her aunt despatched her to a boarding-school, still a rebel, and there Alice had a brief but hectic career, which ended in her being expelled for cheating. Everybody cheated in this life when it served their purpose, Alice had decided, so why shouldn't she? As for being expelled, nobody wanted her at the school, so what did it matter?"

At this point in Allison's story the girls, who were now listening with close attention, began to steal glances at each other, then to look round the room as if in search of someone. Monica, who had been sitting in the farther-most corner, near the door, flushed and stirred uncomfortably.

"I say, this girl Alice----" Glenda was beginning, but Allison broke in peremptorily.

"Now, Glenda. You know you promised not to interrupt. Fill your mouth with a chestnut instead."

"Sorry, Allison," said Glenda meekly. "I won't transgress again. Hurry up and tell us what happened to Alice after that."

"Let me see, I had just got to where Alice left her first school. Well, her aunt was naturally extremely annoyed, and I don't quite know what would have happened to Alice if a former great friend of her mother's had not offered to have her at the school of which she was Principal. This lady wanted Alice to have a fair and square start at her school"--here someone was heard to murmur "St. Etheldreda's" under her breath, but Allison took no notice and went on as if she had not heard--"so she purposely ignored the aunt's warnings that her niece must be dealt with very firmly indeed or she would be quite unmanageable. She told no one that Alice had been sent away from one school, only asked the other mistresses to make allowances for her at first, because she had not been accustomed to school life and school rules. Unfortunately, the story leaked out----"

"Glenda had a letter," Ida interjected, hastily, but at Allison's frown she apologized quickly: "Sorry, Allison. I forgot."

"The story, as I said, leaked out, and Alice, who by this time was beginning to feel that perhaps she had made a mistake in judging everybody by the actions of her uncle, and that there were plenty of people in the world who were kind and generous and honourable, learnt straight away that she was not to be given another chance and that all the girls, as she thought, had been carefully warned against her. Once again she felt hurt and sore, and in that 'don't-care-a-hang' mood."

Allison paused, looked round her little circle of listeners to see if they were following her, then added impressively:

"You know yourselves how much you are sometimes affected by quite little things. It was quite a little thing that restored Alice's lost faith in mankind. Or perhaps"--here Allison's expression lost some of its solemnity and her eyes twinkled mischievously--"I oughtn't really to call Nat little, because she's rather big--especially her hands and feet. But----"

Nat jumped visibly at the unexpected sound of her own name, and her serene, placid expression changed to one of confused amazement.

"I?" she stuttered. "What--what had I got to do with it?"

"Only that later on Mon--I mean Alice, heard how one girl in her form had stood up for her and pleaded that she should be given a chance to make a fair start. And afterwards that girl treated her--well, just as she would have treated any other girl of her acquaintance. In return Alice tried to show her gratitude, but her first venture was not very successful. She locked up one of the members of the hockey team, with the sole idea of giving her friend a chance of achieving her ambition and playing in the first eleven. But the friend was angry at the methods she used and quarrelled with her."

Then Allison related the story of the telegram in much the same words that the Principal had used in telling it to her, and when she had finished she went straight on with the adventure of the well from Monica's point of view, which, up till then, had never occurred to anyone.

When Allison had concluded there was silence for just a few minutes--the chestnuts, forgotten, burned unnoticed on the bars of the grate--then Glenda looked round the room.

"By the by, where is Monica?--for of course that's whom you mean, though you called her Alice."

But Monica had disappeared; the place which she had occupied on the outskirts of the group was vacant.

"She was here a minute ago," said someone. "She must have slipped out while we were listening to Allison," Ida suggested.

Allison rose leisurely to her feet, smoothing down the creases in her dress.

"And that's my story, girls. After all, you see, Alice wasn't the desperately wicked character we thought her at first. Certainly she had some funny ideas in her head at one time, but I think she had pretty well got rid of them before she had been here a couple of months. As for the telegram business, the Principal will make a short public announcement at prayers to-morrow to put the responsibility of the dark deed on the real culprit. Thank goodness, we've no girls like that at St. Etheldreda's."

The Fifth looked at each other, much impressed.

"Really, perhaps we weren't as nice to Monica as we might have been," murmured Glenda pensively, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

"Take my advice," said Allison, "and treat her like any other ordinary schoolgirl, and you'll find she'll soon be one."

Irene's cheeks were burning--and it wasn't the fire, though she was quite close to it.

"Anyway," she burst out with explosive suddenness, "this'll be a lesson to me never to go prying into other people's correspondence again."

"To think," said Nat sadly, "that Monica believed she was risking her life to save a clumsy elephant like me, and I've never even said thank'ee for it."

"Plenty of time yet, Nat," said Allison cheerfully. "Well, I mustn't linger any longer. Virgil calls me. Thanks for listening so patiently. Good-bye, everybody."

"Good-bye, Allison," came in an answering chorus.

"Isn't Allison a brick?" said Ida impulsively as the door closed behind the Head Girl. "She might have pointed out what a mean, self-opinionated lot we've been--all, that is, except Nat--but she never said a word. As for Nat, I guess she's the only one of us who's 'put in' much kindness or consideration this term. You remember what Miss Julian said on first day?"

"Oh, rot!" protested Nat with scarlet cheeks.

"No, there's no Head Girl like ours," agreed Glenda, "and I think you're right about Nat, too. Well, I must begin to see about prep, or there'll be wigs on the green tomorrow." She hurried off and the rest of the girls, also with thoughts of the prep that was waiting, reluctantly dispersed.

Allison, however, had not quite completed her mission. On leaving the common room she set out in quest of the missing Monica and speedily ran her to earth in her cubicle.

"Just the person I wanted to see," she declared, as Monica looked up, startled, when she appeared in the doorway. "What made you run away in the middle of my story? Weren't you interested in Alice?"

"I----" stammered Monica, and stopped.

"Well, never mind now," said Allison cheerfully. "I finished the story without you, as it happened. What I've come to tell you now is that Prinny wants to see you in her room. Nothing dreadful," as Monica looked rather apprehensive, "only something she intended to ask you about before, but forgot."

"Am I to go now?"

"Yes. Run along." Allison's smile was both kind and cheery, and Monica went off feeling reassured. When she knocked at the Principal's door and went inside, Miss Julian was still looking as kind as she had done during Monica's last interview with her in the sick-room.

"Allison said you wished to see me." Monica explained her appearance.

"Yes. Sit down, Monica. It is nothing to do with what we were talking about before, but I want you to answer me just as frankly. It is about your exams. How came you to have such a low position? I have had some really good reports about your work and intelligence from some of the mistresses and I know you are capable of doing much better. You did not do your best, did you, Monica?"

Monica wriggled uneasily.

"No, Miss Julian," she confessed, truthfully.

"Why not?"

"Must I tell you?" asked Monica in a low voice, but this time she lifted her eyes frankly to Miss Julian's face. "I will, if you insist, but I would rather not. It is nothing disgraceful," she added hurriedly, "and I promise that I will try to be nearer the top than the bottom next term."

Miss Julian hesitated a moment. She felt sure that Monica was speaking the truth when she denied any discreditable intentions, and from the very clear idea she had now formed of Monica's character, she shrewdly guessed at some queer quixotic motive underlying her act. Quickly she made up her mind.

"No, you need not tell me this time," she replied. "I am going to take your word for it when you say there was nothing discreditable about it. But I shall expect you to keep your promise and do better next term. Now run along and find your form companions. I am sure that you will soon find out that they are ready to be friends, if you are."

So Monica left the Principal's study and made her way towards her own room with a light step that now and again degenerated into a little dancing skip, and with the idea firmly rooted in her mind, and growing stronger every minute, that she was going to find plenty of happiness in her future life at St. Etheldreda's.