11 the weeks go on

now the days began to slip by more quickly. two weeks went—three weeks—and then the fourth week turned up and began to slip away, too.

everything was going well. there was no illness in the school. the weather was fine, so that the playing-fields were in use every day, and there was plenty of practice for everyone. work was going well, and except for the real duds, nobody was doing badly. five lacrosse matches had already been won by the school, and darrell, as games captain for the fifth, was in the seventh heaven of delight.

she had played in two of the matches, and had shot both the winning goals. felicity had gone nearly mad with joy. she had been able to watch darrell in both because they were home matches. felicity redoubled her practices and begged darrell for all the coaching time she could spare. she was reserve for the fourth school-team, and was determined to be in it before the end of the term.

the plans for the christmas entertainment were going well, too. so far no help had been asked from either mr. young, the music-teacher, or miss greening, the elocution mistress. the girls had planned everything themselves.

darrell had been amazed at the way she and sally had been able to grasp the planning of a big pantomime. at first it had seemed a hopeless task, and darrell hadn’t had the faintest idea how to set about it. but now, having got down to it with sally, having read up a few other plays and pantomimes, and got the general idea, she was finding that she seemed to have quite a gift for working out a new one!

“it’s wonderful!” she said to sally. “i didn’t know i could. i’m loving it. i say, sally—do you think, do you possibly think i might have a sort of gift that way? i never thought i had any gift at all.”

“yes,” said sally, loyally. “i think you have got a gift for this kind of thing. that’s the best of a school like this, that has so many many interests—there’s something for everybody—and if you have got a hidden or sleeping gift you’re likely to find it, and be able to use it. there’s your way of scribbling down verse, too—i never knew you could do that before!”

“nor did i, really,” said darrell. she fished among her papers and pulled out a scribbled sheet. “can i read you this, sally? it’s the song cinderella is supposed to sing as she sits by the fire, alone. her sisters have gone to the ball. listen:

“by the fire i sit and dream

and in the flames i see,

pictures of the lovely things

that never come to me,

that never come to me,

ah me!

carriages, a lovely gown,

a flowing silver cloak—

the embers move, the picture’s gone,

my dreams go up in smoke,

my dreams go up in smoke,

in smoke!”

she stopped. “that’s as far as i’ve got with that song. of course, i know it’s not awfully good, and certainly not poetry, only just verse—but i never in my life knew i could even put things in rhyme! and, of course, irene just gobbles them up, and sets them to delicious tunes in no time.”

“yes. it’s very good,” said sally. “you do enjoy it all, too, don’t you? i say—what will your parents think when they come to the pantomime and see on the programme that darrell rivers has written the words—and the songs, too!”

“i don’t know. i don’t think they’ll believe it,” said darrell.

darrell was not the only member of the fifth form enjoying herself over the production of the pantomime. irene was too—she was setting darrell’s songs to exactly the right tunes, and scribbling down the harmonies as if she had been composing all her life long—as she very nearly had, for irene was humming melodies before she was one year old!

the class were used to seeing irene coming along the corridor or up the stairs, bumping unseeingly into them, humming a new tune. “tumty-ta, ti-ta, ti-ta, tumty-too. oh, sorry, mavis. i honestly didn’t see you. tumty-ta, ti-ta—gosh, did i hurt you, catherine. i never saw you coming.”

“oh, that’s quite all right,” said catherine, gently, patting irene on the arm, and making her shy away at once. “we don’t have geniuses like you every . . .”

but irene was gone. how she detested catherine with her humble ways, and her continual air of sacrificing herself for others!

“tumty-ta, ti-ta,” she hummed suddenly in class, and banged her hand down on the desk. “got it! of course, that’s it! oh, sorry, miss jimmy—er, james, i mean, miss james. i just got carried away for a moment. i’ve been haunted by . . .”

“you needn’t explain,” said miss james, with a twinkle in her eye. “do you think you’ve got that particular tune out of your system now, and could concentrate, say, for half an hour, on what the rest of the class are doing?”

“oh yes—yes, of course,” said irene, still rather bemused. she bent over her maths book, pencil in hand. miss james was amused to see one page of figures and one page of scribbled music, when the book was given in—both excellent, for irene was almost as much a genius at maths as at music. she insisted that the two things went together, though this seemed unbelievable to the rest of the class. maths were so dull and music so lovely!

the words of the pantomime progressed fast, and so did the music. it was essential that they should because there could be no rehearsing until there was something to rehearse!

belinda was busy with designs for scenery and costumes. she, too, was extremely happy. her pencil flew over the paper each evening and every moment of free time—she drew everything, even the pattern on cinderella’s apron!

little janet waited eagerly as the designs grew and were passed on to her. she too was eager and enthusiastic. she turned out the enormous trunks of dresses and tunics and costumes of all periods, used by other girls at malory towers in terms gone by. how could she alter this? how could she use that? oh, what a wonderful piece of blue velvet! just right for the prince!

little janet had always been ingenious, but now she surpassed herself. she chose out all the material and stuffs she needed, with unerring taste—she sorted out dresses and costumes that could be altered. she ran round the school pressing all the good needle-workers into her service. she begged miss linnie, the quiet little sewing-mistress, to help her by allowing some of the classes to work on the clothes and decorations.

“i would never have thought that little mouse of a janet had it in her to blossom out like this!” said miss potts to mam’zelle. “what these children can do if they’re just given a chance to do things on their own!”

another person who was working hard, though in quite a different direction, was alicia! alicia, who never worked really hard at anything, because she had good brains and didn’t need to. but now she had something to do that, brains or no brains, needed constant hard work and practice.

alicia was to be the demon king in the pantomime—and he was to be an enchanter, a conjurer who could do magic things! alicia was to show her skill at conjuring, and she meant to be as good a conjurer on the school stage as any conjurer in a london pantomime.

“well—i didn’t dream that alicia’s ability for playing silly tricks and doing bits of amateur conjuring to amuse her friends would make her work as hard as this,” said miss peters, the third-form mistress, shutting the door of one of the music-rooms softly.

she had heard peculiar sounds in there—sounds of pantings, sounds of something falling, sounds of sheer exasperation, and she had peeped in to see what in the world was going on.

alicia was there, with her back to her, practising a spot of juggling! yes, she was going to juggle, as well as conjure—and she had an array of coloured rings which she was throwing rapidly up into the air, one after another, catching them miraculously.

then she would miss one, and click in exasperation. she would have to begin all over again. ah—alicia had found something that didn’t need only brainwork—it needed patience, practice, deftness, and then patience all over again.

“why did i ever say i’d be the demon king!” groaned alicia, picking up the rings for the twenty-second time and beginning again. “why did i ever agree to do conjuring and juggling? i must have been mad.”

but her pride made her go on and on. if alicia did a thing it had to be done better than anybody else could possibly do it. the fifth form were most intrigued by this new interest of alicia’s. it was such fun to see her suddenly pick up a pencil, rubber, ruler and pen, and juggle them rapidly in the air, catching them deftly in one hand at the finish!

it was amusing to see her get up to find mam’zelle’s fountain-pen, and pick it apparently out of the empty air, and even more amusing to see her gravely abstract an egg from mam’zelle’s ear.

“alicia! i will not have such a thing!” stormed mam’zelle. “oh, là là! now you have found a cigarette in my other ear. it is not nice! it makes me go—what do you call it—duck-flesh.”

“goose-flesh, mam’zelle,” said alicia, with one of her wicked grins. “dear me—has your fountain-pen gone again? it’s up in the air as usual!” and she reached out her hand and picked it once more from the air.

no wonder the class liked alicia’s new interest. it certainly added a lot more enjoyment to lessons !