CHAPTER IX
Gipsy grows Anxious
GIPSY spent the Christmas holidays at Briarcroft. Miss Poppleton wentaway to Switzerland, to refresh her tired mind with the winter sports;but Miss Edith stayed behind, to count linen, and superintend workmenwho were making some alterations in the bathrooms. She and Gipsy managedto enjoy themselves in a quiet manner, but the latter hailed the returnof her schoolfellows with considerable relief. The house seemed so bigand silent and lonely without its usual lively crew of boarders, and thedormitory with its empty beds oppressed her. Miss Poppleton came backmore brisk and bustling than ever, and was at once immersed in thebusiness of interviewing parents and rearranging school affairs, and inthe thousand and one cares that always occupied her at the beginning ofterm.
When about ten days had gone by, and Briarcroft had settled down intoits ordinary routine, she sent a message to Gipsy to report herself inthe study. Gipsy obeyed with a feeling of considerable apprehension.Miss Poppleton's manner towards her, never very gracious, had beenmarkedly cold since the Christmas holidays. For some reason she wasevidently much out of favour. She tapped more deferentially at the studydoor, and entered less confidently than she had done on the morningafter her arrival. A term at Briarcroft had taught her many lessons. ThePrincipal was seated at her desk, studying an account book, and to judgefrom the jerking movements of her mouth, she was in a state of mindquite the reverse of amiable.
"Gipsy Latimer," she began uncompromisingly, "I've sent for you toenquire if you've heard anything at all from your father?"
Gipsy shook her head silently. It was such a sore subject that she couldhardly bear to speak about it.
"It's a most extraordinary thing!" commented Miss Poppleton. "Since theday he left you here, he has never written a line either to me or toyou. I don't like the look of it at all. Did he tell you where he wasgoing?"
"Back to Cape Town," replied Gipsy briefly.
"Did he leave you any address?"
"No; he said he would be going up-country into a very wild place, but hewould write when he got to the Cape."
"Has he any friends at Cape Town who would know of his whereabouts?"
"Not that I know of."
The barometer of Miss Poppleton's face seemed to fall still lower.
"This won't do at all!" she said, frowning. "When your father broughtyou, he paid for you up to Christmas, but no more. Now, the rule ofthis school is that fees must be paid in advance at the beginning ofeach term. I don't make an exception for anybody. Where are your feesfor this term, I should like to know?--to say nothing of the holidaysyou spent here!"
It was such an utterly unanswerable question that Gipsy did not attempta reply.
"I had a girl left on my hands like this once before," continued MissPoppleton, "and I said then it should never happen again. Have you anyrelations in England?"
"Not one!"
"Or friends who could take charge of you?"
"I know absolutely nobody in England."
"Who are your relations, then? Surely you must have some in some portionof the globe?"
"Not any near ones. We have some cousins in New Zealand, at a farm rightup in the bush."
"Where did your father come from? Hadn't your mother any relations?"
"Father was born in New Zealand, but his grandfather came out fromEngland. Mother was an American, from Texas, I believe. Her mother wasSpanish. I never heard about her relations. She died when I was a baby,and we've always been travelling about ever since I can remember."
"Humph! That doesn't look well. Had your father no permanent address,then, where letters would always be forwarded to him?"
"I never heard him say so."
Gipsy stood with her little brown hands pressed hard together, and hermouth set tightly while she answered this unwelcome catechism. MissPoppleton might have pitied the sad look in the dark eyes, but she wenton bluntly:
"I'm afraid it's only too evident he wants to get rid of the burden ofyour education. We've got to trace him somehow. It's all very fine forhim to leave you here and desert you!"
Gipsy's face turned crimson, and the big sob that had been gathering inher throat nearly choked her for a moment.
"Father would never desert me!" she gasped at last. "He promisedfaithfully he'd come back and fetch me. Oh! you don't know Dad, to saythat. I'm afraid something's happened to him--out there!"
She did not tell Miss Poppleton how she had hoped against hope, and lainawake at night wondering, and searching her mind for any possiblesolution of his silence, but she looked such a forlorn little figurethat in spite of herself the Principal slightly relented.
"Well, Gipsy," she said more kindly, "I'm afraid it looks a badbusiness. I'm sure you understand that it would be impossible for me tokeep on my school if pupils did not pay their fees. I can't afford to bekept waiting. In your case, however, we'll let matters stand for awhile,and see if we hear from your father. In the meantime I might write toyour cousins in New Zealand. It will take three months, though, before Ican get a letter back."
"More," sighed Gipsy. "They only go down to the town once a month forletters, and not then if the river's in flood. They live in such a wildplace--right up in the bush."
"At any rate they're your relations, and ought to be responsible foryou," snapped Miss Poppleton. "If the worst comes to the worst, I couldsend you out to them through the Emigration Society. It's a very awkwardposition to be placed in--very awkward indeed. You're absolutely sureyou know of nobody, either in England or at the Cape, who could giveinformation about your father?"
"No one at all. I didn't know anything about Dad's business. I was atschool, and he used just to come and fetch me for the holidays,"confessed Gipsy sadly.
Miss Poppleton shut her account book with an annoyed slam.
"Well, there's no further help for it at present. We must see what turnsup. Of course, I can't pretend to keep you here indefinitely. Give methe address of your cousins in New Zealand, and I will write to themto-day. That seems the best we can do. The whole thing is mostunfortunate."
Gipsy dictated the address as steadily as she could, then takingadvantage of Miss Poppleton's brief "That will do; you may go now!" shefled to the most remote corner of her dormitory and sobbed her heartout. There she was found later on by Miss Edith, who came to put awayclean clothes. Poor Miss Edith was generally torn in two between strictloyalty to her sister and the promptings of her own kind heart. She knewthe cause of Gipsy's trouble well enough. She sat down beside theforlorn child, and comforted her as best she could.
"I wish Dad would write! Oh, he can't have forgotten me! I wish I'danybody to go to; I haven't a soul nearer than New Zealand!" wailedGipsy.
"You mustn't make yourself so miserable, Gipsy dear!" said Miss Edithnervously. "I'm sure Miss Poppleton will keep you here for a while, andperhaps your father will write after all. My sister will do everythingthat's right--she always does. Oh, don't sob so, child! She'll see thatyou're taken care of. Do try to cheer up, that's a dear! You must trustMiss Poppleton, Gipsy. There, there! You'll feel better now you've had agood cry. Wash your face in cold water, and take a run round the garden.It's a good thing it's Saturday!"
Gipsy didn't feel equally confident of Miss Poppleton's benevolence, butshe gave Miss Edith a hug, and took her advice. She had not lost faithin her father, only his silence made her fear for his welfare. She wasaware of the many dangers of life in the rough mining camps where hiswork lay, and shuddered as she remembered his tales of attacks bydesperadoes, skirmishes with natives, or perils of wild beasts. Almostdirectly, however, her naturally cheerful and hopeful dispositionreasserted itself. She knew letters sometimes miscarried or were lost,or perhaps her father might have been ill and unable to write.
"He'll let me hear about him somehow," she said to herself. "I must justtry and be very patient. Dad desert me! Why, the idea's ridiculous. AndI've a feeling I'd know if he was dead. No! He's alive somewhere andthinking of me, and it will all come right in the e
nd. His very lastwords were: 'I'll soon be back to fetch you!' I mustn't let folks at theschool think I don't believe in Dad. That would never do! I'll show themhow I can trust him!"
True to her intention of vindicating her faith in her father, Gipsy,after the first outburst of tears, took a pride in concealing herfeelings, and preserving at least an outward appearance of calmconfidence. It certainly needed all her courage to face the situation,for there were several circumstances which rendered it peculiarlytrying. Miss Poppleton, with whom she had never been a favourite,snapped at her more frequently than before, and was harder to please asregarded both lessons and conduct. Gipsy often felt she was treatedunfairly, and received more than her due share of blame for any littleoccurrence that cropped up.
A great many small things contributed to make her feel her position. Hermorning glass of milk, which all the boarders and some of the day girlstook in the pantry at eleven o'clock, was knocked off, as were allconcerts and lectures where there was a charge for admission. It was notpleasant, when the other boarders were taken into Greyfield, to have tostay behind for the sake of the price of a ticket and a tram fare. Shehad long ago spent all her pocket-money, and there was no moreforthcoming. Not only was she denied such luxuries as chocolates, butshe was not even able to pay her subscription to the Guild, which, bythe new arrangement, was due at the beginning of each term. TheCommittee, who knew the reason and sympathized with her, ignored thematter; but poor Gipsy, as Secretary, felt her deficiency very keenlywhen she made up the accounts. She was a proud, sensitive girl, and theknowledge that she alone, of the whole Guild, had not rendered her duesto the Treasurer was a bitter humiliation.
It was not in regard to the Guild alone that she was hampered by lack ofmoney. During the spring term the girls at Briarcroft were accustomed toget up a small bazaar in aid of a home for waifs and strays. They werealready beginning to work for it, and Gipsy, who would gladly havehelped, made the unpleasant discovery that it is impossible to makebricks without straw, or in other words that she had no materials. EachForm generally took a stall, so one afternoon there was a littleinformal meeting of the Upper Fourth, to discuss what contributionscould be relied upon.
"I vote that each girl undertakes to make a certain number of articles;that would be far the easiest, and then we should know how we stand,"suggested Alice O'Connor. "We'll draw up a list, and write it down."
"Need we do it quite that way?" said Hetty Hancock. "Wouldn't it beenough if each promises to do what she can?"
"Why? It's much better to nail people."
"Well, you see, it mightn't suit everybody. There's one girl I know whoperhaps really couldn't undertake to make several things. We don't wanther to feel uncomfortable."
Gipsy was not in the room at that moment, so Hetty was free to give herhint.
"If you mean Gipsy Latimer, I don't see why we should spoil the bazaarto spare her feelings!" returned Alice bluntly.
"I don't want to spoil the bazaar. I only thought we might do it someother way that wouldn't hurt her pride."
"What nonsense! People oughtn't to have such ridiculous pride!"expostulated Gladys Merriman. "I think Alice's idea is a good one. I'llvote for it if she proposes it properly."
"But surely you wouldn't like it yourself--" began Hetty.
"Hush! Here's Gipsy!" said Dilys hastily.
Neither Alice nor Gladys bore any special love for Gipsy, and they werenot particularly desirous to spare her the unpleasantness of an openconfession of her inability to make her contribution. Perhaps it waswith a spice of malice that Alice rose immediately and offered hersuggestion.
"Each girl could surely undertake at least three articles--that ought tobe the minimum--and as many more as she's capable of doing," she said inconclusion.
There was a moment's pause in the room. On the face of it, Alice'sproposal was excellent. Everybody felt it ought to be carried out, butmany shared Hetty's motive in objecting to it. It was Lennie Chapman whosaved the situation.
"I beg to propose an amendment," she put in quickly, "that, instead ofeach girl promising things separately, we may be allowed to formourselves into working trios. Three of us could promise a dozen articlesbetween us, to be made just as we like, all stitching at the same pieceof embroidery if the fancy took us--just joint work, in fact. We'd spureach other on in that way, and get far more finished than if we did itsingly."
"Excellent!" commented Dilys. "Who votes for the amendment?"
It was carried by half the Form, much to Lennie's relief. She and Hettypromptly proposed to form a trio with Gipsy, and were thus able torescue her from rather a difficult position.
"But I haven't even a skein of embroidery silk!" sighed Gipsy afterwardsto them in private.
"Never mind! Hetty and I can get the silks, and you shall do some extrawork to make it square. We shall be exactly quits in that way. You cando all the painting part, too, on those blotters; you paint far betterthan either of us. My flowers are always scrawny, and yours are lovely.There's an enormous advantage in working threesomes!"
"Yes, for me!" said Gipsy gratefully.
There are some unworthy natures who cannot resist the temptation ofkicking anyone who is down. It was very quickly realized at Briarcroftthat Gipsy was in ill favour at headquarters; and though most of thegirls were sorry for her, with a certain number her changed fortunesundoubtedly lessened her popularity. Maude Helm never lost anopportunity of a sneer or a slight, and could sometimes raise a laughat Gipsy's expense among the more thoughtless section of the Form. Gipsygenerally responded with spirit, but the gibes hurt all the same.
"GIPSY GENERALLY RESPONDED WITH SPIRIT"]
"When are you going to get some new hair ribbons, Yankee Doodle?" askedGladys Merriman one day. "Those red flags of yours are looking ratherdejected."
"The American turkey's losing its top-knot," sniggered Maude tauntingly."It doesn't soar up aloft like it used to do! Been a little tamed by theBritish lion!"
"If you imagine a turkey to be the crest of the United States, you're atrifle out," said Gipsy scornfully.
"I'd take to a pigtail if I were you," tittered Maude. "It only needsone ribbon!"
"If you were me, then I suppose I'd be you--and, yes, it might benecessary to change my style of hair-dressing," retorted Gipsy, with aglance at Maude's not too plentiful locks.
Some of the girls giggled, and Cassie Bertram murmured: "Rats' tails,not pigtails! Or even mouse tails!"
Maude scowled. She had not intended the laugh to be turned againstherself.
"I wouldn't wear limp, faded red bows at any price," she commented,banging her desk to close the conversation, and stalking from the room.
"That Gipsy Latimer's too conceited altogether! I should like to takeher down a peg," she confided to Gladys, as the pair walked arm-in-armround the playground.
"Well, so you do, continually!" said Gladys.
"That's only by the way. She deserves something more for her Americancheek. I'm going to play a trick on her, Gladys. It'll be ever such fun!Listen!"
The two girls put their heads together, and laughed as Maude whisperedher plan; then they both scuttled up to the empty classroom, andabstracting Gipsy's atlas from her desk, carried it downstairs to thelost-property cupboard, and hid it carefully under a pile of books.
"She won't find that in a hurry!" chuckled Maude.
"There'll be a fine to-do when she misses it," said Gladys.
"People who suffer from 'swelled head' just deserve a little wholesomemedicine, to cure them of thinking too much of themselves. Now she'seditor of the Magazine, Yankee Doodle's unbearable, to my mind. Thereare others in the Form who can write stories as well as herself."
"Yours about the brigands was lovely!" gushed Gladys obediently.
"Well, I don't boast, but I flatter myself it wasn't the worst in theMag. I don't call it fair that everything should be in the hands of onegirl, and she a foreigner, as one might say! I'll talk to you againabout this, Gladys, for I've got an idea I mean t
o exploit later on.Come along now, there's the bell!"
That afternoon the Upper Fourth had a lesson with Miss Poppleton on "TheWork of our Great Explorers". The class was held in the lecture hall,and each girl was required to bring with her an atlas, a blank book fordrawing charts, a notebook, a pencil, and indiarubber. Gipsy's desk wasnot always a miracle of neatness, but she understood its apparentconfusion, and could generally lay her hand in a moment upon anythingshe wanted. This afternoon, however, she rummaged for her atlas in vain.She turned books and papers over and over in her futile search, till thedesk was in a chaotic muddle.
"Where's my atlas? Who's had my atlas? It was here yesterday!" she askedagitatedly.
"Really, Gipsy Latimer, I don't wonder you can't find your things insuch an untidy desk!" remarked Miss White. "You must stay after fouro'clock and put your books in order. Be quick, girls! Ada is waiting.Are you ready? Then take your places and march!"
Miss White hurried off to give a botany demonstration to the LowerFourth, and the Upper Fourth filed downstairs to the lecture hall underthe superintendence of Ada Dawkins, monitress for the time in place ofDoreen Tristram, who was absent with influenza.
As the Form stood waiting for a moment or two in the corridor beforeentering the lecture hall, Maude Helm began ostentatiously to count herbelongings.
"Pencil--indiarubber--map book--notebook--and atlas. I've not forgottenanything!" she said in a particularly audible whisper.
Ada Dawkins heard, and it reminded her of her duties. She was anxious toshow herself a zealous monitress.
"Have you all brought your things?" she enquired authoritatively. "Faceabout into line, and hold them out so that I can see."
The single file of girls wheeled round into a row, each exhibiting whatshe carried. Ada passed along like a commanding officer inspecting aregiment, and immediately pounced upon Gipsy.
"Where's your atlas, Gipsy Latimer? How is it you're the only one toforget? Been taken from your desk? What nonsense! Things don't losethemselves. If you were tidy, you'd be able to find your books. No, I'mnot going to accept any excuses. You all know what you want for thelesson, and it's your own fault if you come without it. Lose two ordermarks for leaving your atlas behind, and a third for arguing! Will younever learn that the monitresses have some authority here?"
Very much snubbed, poor Gipsy went into the lecture hall, to be furtherrebuked by Miss Poppleton later on for the lack of her atlas. It wasonly after a long hunt that she discovered her missing book in thelost-property cupboard.
"I've a very shrewd guess who put it there, too!" she remarked to HettyHancock. "Maude and Gladys were giggling something to Alice O'Connor,and they all looked at me and simply screamed."
"You don't mean to say they've played a low, stingy trick like that uponyou?"
"I'm almost sure."
"Then they're mean sneaks! If ever I catch them at such a thing again,I'll spiflicate them!"