A Patriotic Schoolgirl Part 33

"Why, of course we'll go," exclaimed the girls with enthusiasm. "Poor little chap! What a shame he's ill!"

"I hope it's nothing infectious?" objected Hodson, mindful of her duties.

"Oh no! It's his heart," answered Lizzie. "He's got a lot of different things the matter with him, and has had ever so many doctors," she added almost proudly.

She led the way briskly to the little village of Sandside. Where did Eric live, the girls were asking themselves. They had always wondered where his home could be. To their amazement Lizzie stopped at the "Royal George" inn, and motioned them to enter. Hodson demurred. She was an ardent teetotaller, and also she doubted if Mrs. Trafford would approve of her nieces visiting at a third-rate public-house.

"Wait for us outside, Hodson," said Marjorie rather peremptorily.

"I'll go into the post office," she agreed unwillingly. "You won't be long, will you, miss?"

The pa.s.sage inside the inn was dark, and the stairs were steep, and a smell of stale beer pervaded the air. It seemed a strange place for such a lovely flower as Eric to be growing. Lizzie went first to show the way. She stopped with her hand on the latch of the door.

"His ma's had to go and serve in the bar," she explained, "but his aunt's just come and is sitting with him."

Dona and Marjorie entered a small low bedroom, clean enough, though rather faded and shabby. In a cot bed by the window lay Eric, white as his pillow, a frail ethereal being all dark eyes and s.h.i.+ning golden curls. He stretched out two feeble little arms in welcome.

"Oh, my fairy ladies! Have you really come?" he cried eagerly.

It was only when they had both flown to him and kissed him that the girls had time to notice the figure that sat by his bedside--a figure that, with red spots of consternation on its cheeks, rose hastily from its seat.

"Miss Norton!" they gasped, both together.

The mistress recovered herself with an effort.

"Sit down, Dona and Marjorie," she said with apparent calm, placing two chairs for them. "I did not know you were Eric's fairy ladies. It is very kind of you to come and see him."

"This is t.i.tania," said the little fellow proudly, snuggling his hand into his aunt's. "She knows more fairy tales than there are in all the books. You never heard such lovely tales as she can tell. Another, please, t.i.tania!"

"Not now, darling."

"Please, please! The one about the moon maiden and the stars."

The dark eyes were pleading, and the small mouth quivered. The child looked too ill to be reasoned with.

"Don't mind us," blurted out Marjorie, with a catch in her voice. Dona was blinking some tear-drops out of her eyes.

Then a wonderful thing happened, for Miss Norton, beforetime the cold, self-contained, strict house mistress, dropped her mask of reserve, and, throwing a tender arm round Eric, began a tale of elves and fairies. She told it well, too, with a pretty play of fancy, and an understanding of a child's mind. He listened with supreme satisfaction.

"Isn't it lovely?" he said, turning in triumph to the girls when the story was finished.

"We must trot now, darling," said his aunt, laying him gently back on the pillow. "What? More presents? You lucky boy! Suppose you open them after we've gone. You'll be such a tired childie if you get too excited.

I'll send Lizzie up to you. Say good-bye to your fairy ladies."

"Good-bye, darling Bluebell! Good-bye, darling Silverstar! When am I going to see you again?"

Ah, when indeed? thought Dona and Marjorie, as they walked down the steep dark stairs of the little inn.

CHAPTER XXV

Charades

Hodson was waiting in the road when they came out. Miss Norton spoke to her kindly.

"We need not trouble you to take the young ladies back to Brackenfield, they can return with me across the moor," she said. "I dare say you are anxious to get home to The Tamarisks."

"Yes, thank you, m'm, it's got rather late," answered Hodson gratefully, setting off at once along the Whitecliffe Road.

The girls and Miss Norton took a short cut across the moor. They walked on for a while in silence. Then the mistress said:

"I didn't know it was you two who have been so kind to Eric. I should like to explain about him, and then you'll understand. My eldest brother married very much beneath him. He died when Eric was a year old, and his wife married again--a man in her own station, who is now keeping the 'Royal George'. I can't bear to think of Eric being brought up in such surroundings, but I have no power to take him away; his mother and step-father claim him. I had planned that when he is a little older I would try to persuade them to let me send him to a good preparatory school, but now"--her voice broke--"it is not a question of education, but whether he will grow up at all. I am writing for a specialist to come and see him next week. I won't give up hope. He's the only boy left in our family. Both my other brothers were killed at the beginning of the war." She paused for a moment, and then went on. "I'm sure you'll understand that I did not want anybody at Brackenfield to know that my relations live at a village inn. I have not spoken of it to Mrs.

Morrison. May I ask you both to keep my secret and not to mention the matter at school?"

"We won't tell a soul, Miss Norton," the girls a.s.sured her.

"Thank you both for your kindness to Eric," continued the house mistress. "You have made his little life very bright lately. I need hardly tell you how dear he is to me."

"He's the most perfect darling we've ever met," said Dona.

After that they walked on again without speaking. All three were busy with their own thoughts. Marjorie's brain was in a whirl. She was trying to readjust her mental att.i.tude. Miss Norton! Miss Norton, whom she had mistrusted and suspected as a spy, was Eric's idolized aunt, and had gone to the Royal George on no treacherous errand, but to tell fairy tales to an invalid child! When the cold scholastic manner was dropped she had caught a glimpse of a beautiful and tender side of the mistress's nature. She would never forget Miss Norton's face as she held the little fellow in her arms and kissed him good-bye.

"I'm afraid I've utterly misjudged her!" decided Marjorie. "I see now why she was so upset about that lantern slide I took. It was because Eric was in it. It had nothing to do with the German prisoners. After all, anybody can receive foreign letters if they've relations abroad, and perhaps she's going to stay with friends in the Isle of Wight. As for those Belgians in the hotel, perhaps they were genuine ones. We had Belgian guests ourselves at the beginning of the war, and couldn't understand a word of the Flemish they talked."

Marjorie ran upstairs to her dormitory as soon as she reached St.

Elgiva's, and found Chrissie waiting for her there.

"Where's the uniform?" demanded her chum imperatively.

"The uniform? I didn't get it after all," replied Marjorie a little vaguely. The unexpected episode of Eric and Miss Norton had temporarily driven the former matter from her mind.

"You--didn't--get it?"

Chrissie said the words very slowly.

"No. I'm sorry, but it couldn't be helped. Elaine was there--and Dona wouldn't let me--so----"

"You sneak!" blazed Chrissie pa.s.sionately. "You promised! You promised faithfully! And this is how you treat me! Oh, I hate you! I hate you!

What shall I do? Can't you go back for it? send for it? I tell you, I must have it!"

"How can I go back for it or send for it?" retorted Marjorie, amazed at such an outburst on the part of her chum. "I'm sorry; but, after all, it would have been miles too big for you, and you'll really do the part quite as well in my mackintosh, with Irene's broad leather belt. There's a piece of brown calico we can cut into strips and make puttees for you.

You'll look very nice, I'm sure."

Chrissie hardly seemed to be listening. She was sitting on her bed rocking herself to and fro in the greatest emotion. When Marjorie laid a hand on her arm she flung her off pa.s.sionately. She had never exhibited such temper before, and Marjorie was frankly surprised. The occasion did not seem to justify it. The disappointment about the costume could not surely be so very keen. None of the girls had meant to dress up to any great extent for the charades.