9 on the lacrosse field

miss grayling sent for miss peters and told her that zerelda was to come into her form.

“that will be hard for her,” said miss peters. “not the work, i mean—though i don’t think zerelda will find even third form work easy—but the disgrace.”

“sometimes hard things are good for us,” said miss grayling, and miss peters nodded. after all, the girls didn’t come to malory towers only to learn lessons in class—they came to learn other things too—to be just and fair, generous, brave, kind. perhaps those things were even more important than the lessons!

“i don’t know if you think it would be a good thing to say something to the third-formers before zerelda appears in their classroom,” said miss grayling. “you have one or two there—gwendoline, for instance—who might not be very kind. a word or two beforehand might be as well.”

“yes. just as well,” said miss peters. “well, i don’t expect an easy time with zerelda, miss grayling. she’s got such queer ideas about things—spends all her time on her appearance, you know—i’ve not much use for that kind of girl.”

“no,” said miss grayling, thinking that probably it would be good for zerelda to have the hearty miss peters over her for a little while. “well—there’s plenty of good in the girl—she seems very good-humoured, and i like her smile. just say a few words to your form, but don’t make a big thing of it.”

so, to the third form’s intense surprise, miss peters said the “few words” to them that afternoon in class.

“oh, by the way,” she said, “we are to have an addition to our form. zerelda brass is coming to us.”

gwendoline drew in her breath sharply, and looked round with a triumphant expression. she was delighted to think that the american girl would now be approachable—actually in her form, and in her common-room! gwendoline could dance attendance on her all she pleased. she would be her friend.

miss peters read gwendoline’s face wrongly. “gwendoline! i hope you will not delight in another girl’s inability to follow the work of a higher form. i think . . .”

“oh, miss peters!” said gwendoline, a most hurt expression on her face, “as if i would do anything of the sort. i like zerelda. i’m glad she’ll be in our form. i shall welcome her.”

miss peters didn’t know whether to believe this or not. she disliked and distrusted gwendoline. she decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“it would be just as well not to discuss the matter with zerelda if she would rather say nothing about it,” she said. she cast a sharp look at alicia. she knew alicia’s sarcastic tongue. alicia looked back at her. she didn’t mean to jeer at zerelda—but at the back of her sharp-witted mind she knew that zerelda’s disgrace would be a nice little weapon to taunt her with, if she gave herself too high-and-mighty airs.

after the afternoon class there was half an hour’s lacrosse practice. the third-formers streamed out, gwendoline last as usual, with mavis running her close. they were the despair of the games mistress. all the girls began to talk about zerelda.

“golly! fancy being chucked out of a form like that!” said irene. “poor old zerelda. i bet she feels awful.”

“i should think she feels too ashamed for anything,” said mary-lou. “i know how i should feel. i shouldn’t want to look anyone in the face again!”

“i bet the fourth form are glad,” said jean. “ellen told me they had got more order-marks because of zerelda than they’ve ever had before! let’s hope she doesn’t present us with too many. we haven’t done too badly so far—except when irene and belinda leave their brains behind!”

“i think we all ought to be very nice to zerelda,” announced gwendoline. “i think we ought to show her we’re glad she’ll be in our form.”

mavis looked at gwendoline sourly. she knew quite well that once zerelda appeared, she, mavis, would lose gwendoline’s very fickle friendship. nobody else had any time for mavis. gwendoline wasn’t much of a friend, but at least she was somebody to talk with, and whisper to.

“well,” said darrell. “zerelda’s got her faults, but she’s jolly good-tempered and generous—and i vote we welcome her and show her we’re glad to have her.”

so, feeling rather virtuous and generous-hearted, the third-formers made up their minds to be very nice to zerelda, and ease her disgrace as much as they could. they pictured her slinking into their form room the next day, red in the face, hanging her head, almost in tears. poor zerelda! she would be glad of their welcome.

“darrell! darrell rivers! come over here and i’ll give you some catches,” called the games mistress. darrell ran up. she was a swift runner and loved lacrosse. how she longed to be in one of the match-teams. but it was hard for a third-former to be in a school team unless she was very big and strong.

“you catch well, darrell!” called the games mistress. “one of these days you’ll get into a match-team. we could do with a good runner and catcher in the third match-team.”

darrell glowed with pride. oh! if only she could be in the match-team. how pleased her mother and father would be—and how she would boast to felicity. “i was in the match-team when we went to play barchester. i was on the wing because i’m so fast. and i shot a goal!”

she pictured it all as she ran to take another catch. suppose she practised very hard indeed every minute she could? should she ask molly ronaldson for extra coaching? molly always said she was willing to give the juniors any tips if they were keen enough to come and ask for them.

but molly was seventeen and darrell was only fourteen. molly seemed a very high-up, distant, rather grand person to darrell, who hadn’t really a very high opinion of herself.

she saw molly as she was going off the field, hot and happy. she screwed up all her courage and went up to the big, sturdy girl shyly.

“please, molly—could i just ask you something? i do so want to be in one of the match-teams one day. do you think there might be a possible chance if i do extra practice at catching—and—and if you could give me any tips?”

as red as a beetroot darrell stared at molly, the famous games captain. molly laughed and clapped darrell on the back.

“good kid!” she said. “i was only saying to joan yesterday how you were coming on, and a spot of extra coaching would do you good. i’ll send you the times i give extra practice to possible match-team players, and you can come along any of the times you’re free.”

“oh, thank you, molly,” breathed darrell, hardly able to speak for joy. “i’ll come every time i can.” she ran off, her face glowing. molly had actually spoken to joan about her! she had noticed her, had seen that she was coming on well. darrell felt so happy that she leapt along like a deer, colliding with mam’zelle round a corner, and almost knocking her over.

“now, what is this behaviour?” said mam’zelle, tottering on her high heels and clutching wildly at the wall. “darrell! what are you thinking of, to come round the corner like a wild beast?”

“oh, mam’zelle—sorry!” cried darrell, happily. “honestly i didn’t mean it. oh, mam’zelle, molly ronaldson is going to give me extra coaching at lacrosse. think of it! i might be in the third match-team one day!”

mam’zelle was just going to remark that not for anything would she rejoice at that big molly giving darrell coaching at that extraordinary game lacrosse, when she saw darrell’s shining eyes. she had a soft spot for darrell, and she smiled at her.

“i am very glad for you, ma petite!” she said. “it is indeed a high honour. but do not go round the corner and knock your poor mam’zelle over in this way again. you have made my heart go patter-pit!”

“pitter-pat, you mean, mam’zelle,” said darrell, and ran off laughing.

she told the others what molly had said. they were most impressed, all except those who disliked games. no one of the third form had ever been in a match-team, though one or two steady ones, such as jean, had tried very hard. so had sally.

“what with bill rushing off to her horse every single minute, irene rushing off to try out her new tune on the piano, mavis trilling her voice, and now you, darrel, racing off to practise catching from dawn to dusk, the third form will soon have a nice empty common-room,” said alicia, a little jealous of molly’s notice of darrell.

“zerelda will be there to make up!” said darrell. “i don’t expect she’ll mind our company there—she was always slipping into our common-room till you stopped her, jean.”

zerelda came to the third form classroom the next day, carrying her pencil-box and paint-box, which she had forgotten to take to the form room the night before. she walked in looking quite unconcerned.

the third-formers immediately began to be nice. “here, zerelda—wouldn’t you rather have this desk till sally comes back?” said darrell. “it’s got a nice position.”

“no, zerelda. you come and sit by me,” said gwendoline. “i should like that.”

alicia looked keenly at zerelda. zerelda looked exactly the same as ever! she didn’t hang her head, she didn’t look upset, she wasn’t even red in the face.

“i don’t believe she cares a bit!” thought alicia. but zerelda did. she cared terribly. it was very hard indeed to walk into the classroom of a lower form, knowing that everyone had been told that she had been sent down.

she wished they wouldn’t try and be kind to her like this. it was nice of them, but she hated to think they were being nice because they were sorry for her.

“keep your chin up, zerelda!” she said to herself. “you’re american. fly the stars and stripes! make out you don’t mind a bit.”

so, appearing quite unconcerned, she took the desk she had put her things in the night before, put in her pencil-box and paint-box, and began to look for the book she would need for the first lesson.

the third-formers felt a little indignant. they had so virtuously and generously decided to welcome zerelda, and help her not to mind what they considered to be a great disgrace—and she didn’t seem to mind at all. she was exactly the same as usual, speaking in her slow drawl, fluffing up her hair, appearing even more sure of herself than ever.

darrell felt rather annoyed. she considered that zerelda ought to have shown a little more feeling. she didn’t stop to think that zerelda might be putting on a show of bravery, and that was all. underneath it all the girl was miserable, ashamed and feeling very small.

miss peters came in briskly as usual. mary-lou shut the door. miss peters swept keen eyes round the class. “sit!” she said, and they sat. that keen glance had taken in zerelda—but miss peters saw what the others did not see—a rather panic-stricken heart under all zerelda’s brave show. a hand that shook slightly as she picked up a book—a voice that wasn’t quite so steady as usual.

“she feels it all right,” thought miss peters. “but she’s not going to show it. well, she’s got plenty of pluck. let’s hope she’ll learn that she’s not so important a person as she thinks she is. if we got right down to the real zerelda, we might find somebody worth knowing! we might. i still don’t know!”

the lesson began. zerelda concentrated hard. she forgot her hair, her nails, her clothes. she really worked for about the first time in her life!