Part 3

For once she did care, and when Olive Parker, who had been trying to listen to the conversation from a distance, called out in jeering tones, "Scrapped, are you, Cocky?" she turned on her savagely, instead of passing her by as usual with her nose in the air.

"No! You half-baked shrimp. If you are able to read, look on the board and you will see that I am down to play against Borley Club next Saturday."

This was quite true, and Sally Brendan, like the rest of the Second Eleven, had been counting the days to the match; for it was to be played, not on the home ground, but at Borley, and this meant a char-a-banc ride with lunch and tea at the other end.

"Such a scrumptious feed too," said Cathy Manners of the Upper Fifth, who had played in the match last year. "Why, we had chickens and salad for lunch; I don't mean beastly oil and vinegar stuff, but fruit and cream with ices after tea."

Those of her audience who would not be going groaned; and one of them, Mabel Cosson, put an end to further descriptions by saying:

"Bet you anything you like the match is off! Patty Dolbey is in the San. with a temperature and headache; and Frisky, who is in her room, told me she was spotty all down her neck, only Matron said she wasn't to spread it about."

"That is why you are both keeping so quiet about it, I suppose?" suggested someone, while another voice chimed in:

"Spread what? Small-pox? I am jolly glad I have just been vaccinated. It makes absolute pits in one's skin, I hear."

After this, conversation degenerated into a medical discussion ranging over complaints varying from the Black Death to epileptic fits. Sally Brendan, standing on the outskirts of the group, took no part, for though, having had both measles and chicken-pox, she felt in a position to contradict each of the speakers in turn, she had learned that it was waste of breath to attempt this. Either her remarks were ignored, or someone took her by the shoulders and pushed her away out of earshot.

She would not indeed have remained so close but that she wanted to hear more about the match. This match, she had decided, would give her a chance to distinguish herself before an unprejudiced audience.

As she lay awake that night, with only Decima Pillditch's snores to distract her thoughts, she pictured the captain of the Borley eleven congratulating her on her bowling, and saying:

"We all think that you must be really First Eleven, aren't you?"

That would be a heavy score against Doris Forbes and other snobs of the Upper Fifth and Sixth. Sally turned over on her side with a satisfied smile on her lips, and hopes soon became merged in dreams, not merely of pulling off a hat-trick, but of bowling the entire Borley eleven in as many balls.

"The only runs they made were in the overs that I wasn't bowling," she wrote home in an imaginary letter; and woke with a start to find the sun shining, and a bell ringing violently at the end of the passage.

The first information that greeted her was vouchsafed by Milly Grubb, the captain of the Second Eleven.

"Match off!" she said, and made no answer to Sally's twice-repeated "Why?"

"Beast!" muttered the girl; but during breakfast learned from general conversation that Mabel Gosson had been right in her prophecy. Patty Dolbey had developed measles, and Frisky Harrison, her chum, was also in the sanatorium under suspicion.

"Little cads!" said one of the Second Eleven of these unfortunates. "Why couldn't they have smothered their faces in flour or something until after the match was over?"

"Just imagine if Old Cocaine had caught them powdering their noses!"

"I suppose we shall all be shut up like maniacs for the rest of the term? Sort of thing one expects during Lent, but in the summer it is awful."

There was a general groan, and then Sally heard Peter's drawl:

"I had the afternoon off to go and see my cousins at Springley Manor, this side of Parchester, you know. I suppose they will have all had measles, so I can turn up there all right as arranged. They are none of them children."

However, it was not all right. Miss Cockran made it quite clear that the entire school was in quarantine until further notice; and its inmates must content themselves in consequence with the school boundaries, unless taken for crocodile walks by a mistress. On Saturday afternoon, as there was no match, there was to be a picnic tea on that part of the shore reserved for Seascape House.

"A regular school-treat!" said Peter scornfully, her temper ruffled by a private interview with Miss Cockran, in which she had obtained no more than leave to write a note to her cousins explaining that she would be unable to go and see them.

"Why it's just a bribe to get us to be good little girls, and yet when we sit down to tea there will only be bread and butter mixed with sand and seaweed instead of eating it at tables like ordinary Christians."

The rest of the school was more resigned. After all, the shore was quite an interesting place, with rocks and pools and shells to occupy the attention, and a meal out of doors, even mixed with sand and seaweed, had its exciting side. Saturday, too, proved a perfect day, so calm and sunshiny that bathing prefects did not feel bound to send everyone out of the water after a three minutes' dip.

Sally swam well, just as she excelled in other sports; but she found it dull enough bathing alone, for, as usual, she was sent to Coventry, except for blustering threats of putting her under the water and keeping her there. These latter, of course, came from her enemies of the Fourth, led by Olive Parker.

"Let us drown the little beast," she shouted. "Here, you others, get in a ring and don't let it escape while Susy and I wash its face for it."

Without waiting for the attack, Sally plunged under water, and gripping Susy, who was the biggest of her tormentors, by the ankle pulled her after her. The next minute she was the centre of a struggling group of excited girls, who shot water over her in handfuls as she came gasping to the surface, and tried to push her down again.

"Stop it! Do you hear, kids, stop it! or I shall call Edith Seymour."

Even with this threat, it was not until she had ducked Olive Parker and shaken her that Violet Tremson succeeded in restoring some measure of order.

"You are to leave Sally alone, you little beasts, see!"

"Well, you ducked me," said Olive Parker sulkily.

"I didn't make a plan of it as if I were plotting a dirty assassination. Five to one, aren't you, and all bigger than your victim?"

Olive glared, but the rest of her friends had scattered, evidently somewhat conscience-stricken; and she herself, looking back on it, did not feel so proud of her idea as when she had first suggested it.

"I was only fooling," she said, and her furtive glance at Sally might have been construed into an apology. She was obviously ashamed.

"I have never seen you not being a fool," flew to her victim's lips, and as the words were uttered all hopes of reconciliation vanished.

"Next time I get the chance of doing you in, there will be no fooling about it, I promise you," shouted the other angrily, as she splashed off to join her fellows, leaving Sally and Violet Tremson alone, the former up to her shoulders in water.

"Why do you say those things?" asked the elder girl; "they may be smart and to the point, but they are so ... so hopeless for getting on, I mean, and making friends ... having a good time here, you know. Olive isn't at all a bad sort if you wouldn't always tread on her toes so heavily. She is older than you, remember."

"Yes, but she is junior to me in school, and at any rate she went for me first. I didn't attack her ... fact is I didn't want to have anything to say to that lot."

"She meant just now that she was sorry, Sally, and then you went and spoilt it all by saying what you did."

"I shall say what I like. I didn't ask you to rescue me, did I?"

This time Sally really despised herself for her rudeness. It had been decent of Violet to save her, but she was feeling sore over the cancelled cricket-match and all her vanished dreams of notoriety. That was why the words slipped out, and before she could mutter "Sorry!" Violet had answered with an aggravating sound of laughter in her voice:

"No! You didn't ask. You were mostly under water. Hardly in a position to do so, were you?"

"Then get out and go where someone does want you!"

In sudden flaming fury the younger girl scooped up a handful of water and flung it in her companion's face. Then she dived through a smoothly-rolling wave and came up a few yards off. Let Violet Tremson chase her and duck her if she liked; it would be no disgrace from someone so much taller. Violet, however, did nothing of the sort, but merely swam away leisurely towards a group of seniors gathered round a projecting rock.

CHAPTER THE FIFTH

SALLY IS TAKEN UP

Tea was eaten picnic fashion on the beach, at four o'clock, and Sally wandered away with hers to a flat ledge of rocks, half-way up the cliff. Above her head were the two large, almost circular openings, known as the "Portholes."

Glorious hiding-places, these caves looked; but the rock descended sheer, some six feet below them, and beneath this again was a slope of broken shale and sand that offered no sure foothold, even to the most intrepid climber. The slope was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, with a notice affixed, forbidding anyone to try to pass it.

Sally, as she earnestly studied the lie of the land, wished that she could think of some rapid way of mounting to the caves: it would cause a new sensation, and bring her once more into the limelight that she craved. Something of this desire was evident in her expression, for a derisive voice demanded suddenly, "Going to jump up there, or fly?"

It was Mabel Gosson, of the Lower Fifth; rather a stupid giggler, but a kind-hearted girl, and a friend of the daring Peter.

"No--hardly--but I could easily climb inside, if I were let down on a rope from the top. It's no distance."

Her tone was so earnest that Mabel ceased to jeer, and even looked a trifle alarmed.

"Look here, kid, don't go trying any fool games like you did on the train. Take my word for it, that the only entrance to those caves is from Borley Chine."

"That's nearly a mile along the coast?"

"Not quite, but out of bounds, at any rate. The Chine used to be a smuggling bay, you know, and it is said there are some kegs of brandy stored under Old Cocaine's study, and that she has a private staircase down to them, concealed in her cupboard." Mabel giggled as she spoke.

"You mean there are rooms underground, all the way from the Chine up here?"

"Passages with ledges, more likely--I don't know. We have never been allowed to go there since a boy is supposed to have got walled up there, some years ago, by falling rock, and lost. He was wanted by the police, so I expect myself that he went to America instead."

"It would be rather interesting to unearth the skeleton."

"Beastly," said Mabel, shivering a little. "You are an unpleasant child."

It suddenly occurred to her that it was really beneath her dignity to chatter with a new kid in this familiar way; but to hold her tongue was almost beyond Mabel Gosson's power, if she could find a listener.

"Well, I suppose you mean to start hunting at once?" she sneered, with a sudden assumption of superiority, and prepared to walk off.

"Why not?"

"To-day?"

Sally shrugged. She was playing her usual game of creating a sensation; but her coolness was a trifle overdone, and the other girl sniggered mockingly.

"Peter," she called, "Peter, just come and listen to this. You will die of laughing."

Sally's heart beat fast, as Trina Morrison rose languidly and strolled over towards them. At last, this almost grown-up girl, whom she was determined to make her friend, had been induced to notice her; but the acknowledgment, when it came, was scarcely flattering.

"Oh! it's only the Cocky-doodle. What is she crowing for now? Made the sun rise, eh? I'm sure I don't want to talk to her."

Unexpected tears sprang to Sally's eyes as her romantic day-dreams were shattered.

"I--I didn't ask you to come," she said, with more humility, however, than defiance in her voice; and Peter threw back her head and laughed:

"No--or I guess I shouldn't have arrived. What is it, Mabs?"

"Why, the young ass over there says she is going to climb into the Portholes to-day."

"Oh, she says that, does she? Little liar--her name ought to be Matilda."

Now Mabel Gosson's version had not been exactly what Sally said, but wounded pride made her forget this.

"I am not afraid," she returned hotly.

"Oh, nor are we, for you, so don't hesitate to begin on our account. If you slip, and fall in a jammy mass, the school will hardly mourn or order funeral wreaths out of its pocket money--eh, Mabs?"

Mabel Gosson giggled. Peter often had a cruel tongue, and her slower-witted friend was afraid of it.

"She wouldn't be such an ass as to go," she said uncomfortably.

Sally glared. "I am going to get into those caves, all the same," she said; "so you needn't be so beastly superior."

"Climb on, MacDuff, and we will 'wait and see'--a case of pride and the fall, I prophesy."

Peter seated herself on the ledge of rock as she spoke, and picking up the remains of Sally's unfinished tea, munched it calmly, while Mabel sank down giggling by her side.

"Buck up, kid," she said. "Hop it, or fly; I bet you stick on the barbed wire and have to be plucked off by a prefect."

"I am not going to get in by climbing, you see."

At this there was derisive laughter from Peter, and Sally, in one of her sudden furies, caught her by the shoulder, and shook her.

"I won't kill myself just to amuse you, so there--but there is another way into the caves, and I mean to find it."

Trina Morrison was on her feet now. At first she had looked amazed and furious at the onslaught; but then, to Mabel's surprise, she merely smiled and freed herself.

"It will be out of bounds, you know," she said, in her usual drawl; and Sally nodded.

"You mean I shall be expelled, if I'm caught--Much I care! I loathe this place, and wouldn't be sorry if I never saw a single soul in it again."

"Quite so! Then you intend to commit educational suicide by trotting off to Borley Chine--do you?"

"That's my business."

"Admitted--but take a word of advice. Don't do anything so dull as to explore caves. If you must run risks in order to crow about them afterwards, just trot into Parchester, and buy me some chocolates."

Sally's breath came in a choke; her temper vanished.

"I--why, of course I will, with pleasure, if you will only ask me decently; and I have money of my own too."

She almost whispered the words; and in her eyes was entreaty--something of the look of a dog, accustomed to kicks, who would give his world for a little kindness.

Trina Morrison studied her for a few seconds, beneath narrowed lids, then she laughed, but this time without jeering. She had a very pretty laugh.

"Bless us! If the kid hasn't got a soft side, like a hedgehog unrolled," she exclaimed. And then to Sally, "Of course I will ask you decently, I might even give you a kiss, if you chose the chocolates I like."

Sally went very red. "I hate kissing," she muttered; "but I'll go. Which do you like--soft? Or hard, with nuts?"

Mabel, who had been watching the pair in amazement, now interposed, "Oh, Peter! You oughtn't to send her. She is only a new kid."

"Shut up," said Sally. Then to Trina Morrison, "Well, I'm off. No one will miss me till supper, and that's not till eight. Anyhow, I don't care if they do see me."

The elder girl smiled, catching her by the wrist, as she turned to go.

"A wrinkle from an old hand at the game you are playing," she said. "Leave your school hat-band behind the first hedge."

Sally nodded. "I shan't take it--I brought a cap of my own from home, just for this kind of occasion," she said, airily; and then, kissing her hand to the dismayed Mabel Gosson as she called out "Good-by-ee," she clambered over the rocks towards the steps.

In the school garden she met no one, though she could hear the mistresses having tea and playing tennis on the other side of the big hedge. Servants were moving in the house, but no one saw her as she crossed hall, ran up the stairs and down the corridor to her own room--No. 9.

It was empty, for the girls were forbidden to enter their dormitories during the daytime; and Sally knew that if she were caught, all chance, even of starting on her adventure, would be at an end. Feverishly she hunted through her chest of drawers for her purse, jumping guiltily, as though she were committing a theft, when a clock in the hall clanged five. Some coppers tumbled out on to the floor as she pulled the purse towards her, and Sally had only just time to gather them up in her hand when she heard footsteps coming leisurely down the passage.

Where could she hide? Not under one of the five iron bedsteads, that, without valances, and with the curtains of the cubicles well pulled back, left the floor fully exposed to view. The only other chance was the cupboard behind her, hung thick with dressing-gowns and coats; and into this Sally forced her way, kneeling doubled up, successfully concealed for the moment, it is true, but a prey to cramp, and almost suffocated by her shelter.

The someone whose footsteps she had heard entered the room, tip-toed across the floor, and stood listening; then moved a bed, and half opened a window.

"It's the Matron, bother her!" muttered Sally angrily.

This Matron was already one of her chief enemies at Seascape House; for tidiness, with Mrs. Brendan to spoil her daughters by clearing up their rooms after them, had not been enforced at home: and at school it was one of the few things in which Sally did not seek to excel. "I thought putting things in order was your business, not ours," she had said rudely, when first called to account for a bed heaped with odds and ends of ties, handkerchiefs and gloves; and Miss Budd's heavy figure had heaved with indignation, while her cheeks purpled at this piece of impudence.

"Any more disobedience or rudeness, and I report you at once to Miss Cockran," she had said with finality; and Sally guessed that now that moment had come. She did not look forward to the interview, for Old Cocaine, though small and pinched, had penetrating grey eyes, which she did not care to meet, unless there were some big piece of mischief that she could brazen out, and so, perhaps, arouse astonishment or interest in their depths, instead of pity or contempt.

Very carefully she shifted her position, and tried to part the coats and dressing-gowns, so as to give herself a little air, and view the room. Unfortunately, in doing so, she forgot the coppers clasped in her hand: as she caught at the coat in front of her, they fell in all directions; one or two inside the cupboard, but the rest on the floor outside. It seemed to Sally weeks before the last halfpenny struck a wall, and subsided noisily under a chest of drawers.

"So that's over--and the fat hag has caught me finely," she told herself, and pushing the clothes aside, stepped out with a sullen frown, into the room.

CHAPTER THE SIXTH

AN ESCAPADE

"My good child, are you trying to play hide-and-seek? And if so, whom with? You will never get to Parchester at this rate." It was Trina Morrison's drawl, and with a gasp of relief, Sally realised that she was the intruder.

"I--I--made sure that you were Matron," she said limply.

"We may both thank our stars that I am not; but on this occasion I will let that insult pass. Tell me--were you really intending to go into town, or only bluffing?"

"I was going, of course--I mean, I am going. You see, I have a ten-shilling note Mother gave me before I left, besides my pocket money. I will buy you some really decent chocolates."

"Nice kid!"

Peter's voice was at its softest, and her hand, laid lightly on the other's shoulder, became a caress.

"I am not going to try and stop you, but--

"It's no use trying to stop me--I told you."

"Well, let me make a suggestion, then--it is this. Why shouldn't I come too?"

Sally clasped her hands tight, and her eyes shone.

"Together, we might astonish the school," she said solemnly. "I have always felt it, and longed to know you."

Trina Morrison laughed. "Quaint kid, would that be a great deed?" she asked. Her twinkle, and the derision in her tone, pricked the bubble of Sally's vanity, making her all at once feel very young and silly.

"Why are you going, then?" she demanded a little sullenly, and again the other laughed.

"Not to astonish the school; that's certain. Why, my dear young ass, don't you realise that if we are expelled we shall not be allowed to contaminate the rest of Seascape House, even as a ten minutes' variety show?"

Sally glowered, as her vision of creating a super-sensation in the hall or class-room faded.

"Anyhow, I'm going..." she began.

"Well, for goodness' sake get a move on, then, and don't argue about the why or wherefore. Isn't it enough to want to do a thing to make it worth while? We had better separate, I think, and meet at the third elm by the corner of the road, opposite Marston's cottage. I shall go by my own private road, and wait five minutes, to see if you've been caught or not..."

Sally nodded. "Right oh!" she said carelessly. "I shall be there."

But beneath her studied lack of enthusiasm was a joy she had not felt since she left home. Once again she had triumphed, and the only girl whom she admired out of this horrible school had chosen her for a friend. Fortified by the idea of this companionship, she left the dormitory boldly, and ran downstairs, concealing herself behind the large hall door just before Miss Cockran swept through it from the front drive.

After this, hours passed, it seemed, though in reality it could only have been a few minutes, while the Head-mistress sorted her letters from amongst the newly-arrived post on the table, and disappeared, reading them as she went.