Read Ebook: The Third Class at Miss Kaye's: A School Story by Brazil Angela Dixon Arthur A Arthur Augustus Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1083 lines and 63786 words, and 22 pages

where Bertha Harding was educated. It seems satisfactory in every way, and the Welsh mountain air would suit Sylvia; she looked so well after that fortnight we spent at Llandudno."

"I should like to know a little more about it first. Sylvia is such an unusual child, and would be miserable if she were popped down amongst an unsympathetic number of girls and a set of teachers who didn't understand her."

"Miss Kaye is a clever woman. I think her system seems excellent."

"I don't wish Sylvia to grow up a kind of walking dictionary, with her mind so crammed full of Greek, Latin, and Euclid that there's no room for an original idea."

"She won't there. The girls lead a very rational, healthy life, with plenty of time for games and outdoor exercise."

"Neither do I want her conversation to consist of nothing but golf and hockey, like some of the young ladies of my acquaintance, whom I'm afraid I scarcely admire."

"Gordon, how perverse you are! Louisa shall talk to you herself, and tell you everything about the school that you can possibly wish to know. She's coming to-morrow, when we can discuss the question thoroughly, and in the meantime we must take care that Sylvia doesn't get the least idea of what is in the wind."

If our little heroine could only have known the consultations which were taking place about her future she would no doubt have acted very differently on the following day; but as she was quite unaware that any change was proposed, she naturally went on in her accustomed way, with the result that her father, who was regarding her from a new standpoint, noticed a good many things to which he had previously been absolutely blind. In the first place she was dainty at breakfast; refused her egg because it did not happen to be a brown one, left her toast when she found that the crust was burnt, and helped herself to an enormous serving of marmalade, which she did not finish. She argued hotly with Miss Holt about some trifling point, and even took upon herself to correct her mother. She never passed anything at table without being asked, jumped up and began to read a book before the others had finished, pretended not to hear when she was requested to ring the bell, and had to be told twice that it was nine o'clock before she would go upstairs to the schoolroom.

"It's certainly high time we sent her away," thought Mr. Lindsay. "I'm afraid, with the best of intentions, we've completely spoilt her. Louisa's right. She needs to be among other girls, to have her corners rubbed off. At school there's no allowance made for fads and fancies, and she would be obliged to fall in with the general rules. It will do her good to be of a little less importance than she is at home. Strange that I never noticed all this before!"

When Aunt Louisa arrived, therefore, in the evening, prepared to encounter a great many objections to her suggestion, she was surprised to find that her brother agreed with her so easily, and, after listening to her detailed accounts of Miss Kaye's excellent arrangements, consented quite readily that Sylvia should be sent there as soon as the necessary preliminaries had been settled and her clothing should be considered in due order.

"A week will be ample time for that," said Aunt Louisa. "Miss Saunders will soon run her up a school frock, and you could send anything else she requires afterwards, Blanche. It would be a pity for her to lose more of the term than we can help. She won't like to find herself behind-hand in the classes, and now you have made up your minds it will be better not to let her have too long to think it over."

"I don't know what Sylvia will say!" sighed Mrs. Lindsay, who half repented of parting with her darling. "I'm afraid she will never forgive us."

"I shouldn't ask her," replied Aunt Louisa firmly. "She will like it very much when once she gets there, and the improvement which it will make in her is well worth a few tears at the start. I beg, Blanche, that you will not be foolish now, and stand in the way of the child's real good."

"I'll try not," said poor Mrs. Lindsay, wiping her eyes; "but when you've only the one, and she's never been away from you before, it seems so hard to let her go."

"Oh, you'll get over that! I felt just the same when Cuthbert first went to school, and I'm quite accustomed to it now. We can't expect to keep our children always tied to our apron strings."

"I suppose not, but boys are different from girls, and Sylvia has been such a pet. If she's not happy at Heathercliffe House she'll simply make herself ill with fretting, and the cure will be worse than the disease."

"I'm sure she will not do so. She will be so interested in her work and her new companions that, after the first few days of homesickness are over, she will settle down and like her fresh life immensely."

"You really think so?" said Mrs. Lindsay. "Well, the decision is made and I suppose we must keep to it now; but I'm dreading the moment when I shall have to break the news to her."

To Sylvia the announcement came as a great shock. She was totally unprepared for it, and the idea of such a sudden change was anything but a welcome one. When she fully understood that in one short week she was to be banished to a strange place, among people whom she had never seen, she clung to her mother in such a passion of tears that if it had not been for the thought of what Aunt Louisa would say, Mrs. Lindsay would have yielded and have begged her husband to keep the child at home after all. As it was, she did her best to soothe her, and to paint the future in as bright colours as her fancy could depict.

"Nonsense, darling, you must try to be brave! Heathercliffe House is a most charming school, and I'm sure you will be happy. You'll find ever so many nice little girls of about your own age who will be ready to make friends with you, and there will be plenty of fun going on as well as lessons. I want you to make some more friends."

"I have Effie and May."

"They're too young for you. You would get on better with girls rather older than yourself, I believe. It will be quite a new thing for you to be one of a class. I'm sure you will like Miss Kaye."

"But she's not. She's very kind and not at all prim. She takes the girls the most delightful country walks, and sometimes they go down to the beach. You're so fond of the seaside, aren't you?"

"Imagine anything you wish, dear; but I don't suppose you will need to amuse yourself with pretendings at Aberglyn. You will find some fresh books there, at any rate; there is a large school library."

"I'd like that. But oh, Mother, I shall have my birthday at school!"

"I'm sorry for that; but we can send you your presents, and you shall have your party when you come home. Now, won't you be my brave girl, and cheer up? I want to begin to decide what things you're to take with you, and what must be left behind."

So much had to happen during Sylvia's last brief week at home that from morning till night the days seemed completely full. Her usual lessons with her governess were given up, and the schoolroom turned for a time into a kind of outfitting establishment. Miss Saunders, the dressmaker, was installed at the table with her sewing machine, working at a school frock and a new autumn coat, while her mother and Miss Holt between them hastily finished winter underclothes.

"We don't know how soon the weather may turn cold," said Mrs. Lindsay, "and it's as well to send everything at once if we can, though I expect the thick nightdresses will have to follow."

Sylvia found it really rather exciting, and if it had not been for the thought of parting from her father and mother she would have quite enjoyed being a person of such great importance. It was decidedly gratifying to have Aunt Louisa coming in every day to consult about her clothes and assist in choosing her new hat; she had never taken so much notice of her little niece before, except occasionally to express disapproval, and Sylvia felt that at last her aunt was giving her the consideration which was only her due. Then the shopping expeditions were great fun; it seemed nice to buy yards of hair ribbon at a time, and several pairs of boots and gloves, as well as a dozen pocket handkerchiefs, a mackintosh, and a pair of goloshes. Miss Holt was kept busy marking her new possessions, stitching tapes on stockings, and lengthening her winter petticoats.

"You must read a little piece every day, darling, as you do at home, though I shall not be there to explain it to you. Miss Holt has made you this pretty marker to keep your place, and I have put a sprig of lavender at our favourite chapter."

Father had bought her a Prayer Book and hymnbook in a case to take to church on Sundays, and added a tiny purse in which to keep her collection money. Cousin Cuthbert sent a cedarwood pencil box containing a blue-handled penknife, several new lead pencils, an indiarubber, and an ink eraser; the cook made her a box of toffee, and the housemaid crocheted a toilet tidy to hang on her dressing table. A large new trunk had arrived, and stood in the spare bedroom all ready to be packed, and so many parcels were being delivered from various shops that it was quite an excitement to carry each fresh one upstairs to the schoolroom and open it.

"All right, Miss Holt!" replied Sylvia, "I'll do my best, but I wish we could lose old Clementi; I do so hate the sonatinas. I hope my new teacher will give me some fresh pieces, and won't bother with the metronome. I think it's that which makes me count wrong. I'll tell her it's not your fault, anyway. Are you going to teach your nephews and nieces in Derbyshire?"

"No, they all attend a day school except the baby, who is too young for lessons. I shall have plenty to do in looking after them and the house. I hope you will be happy, Sylvia, in your new life. I have tried to ground you thoroughly, and any future teachers ought to find you fairly well-informed upon most subjects."

There was very little time left even for the final instructions which Miss Holt considered necessary; the days seemed literally to fly, and the last one came only too soon for all concerned. Effie and May called to say good-bye, much distressed at parting with their playfellow, and immensely impressed by the preparations, which Sylvia was secretly extremely proud of being able to show to them.

"You'll be too big to play with us when you come back," said Effie wistfully.

"No, I shan't," replied Sylvia, kissing them in a rather superior and patronizing manner. "I shall like to have you just as much at my Christmas party; but perhaps I shan't care to romp about quite in the same way, because, you see, when I come back I shall be eleven years old, and one of Miss Kaye's girls at Heathercliffe House."

The Third Class

Heathercliffe House was a large modern building which stood in its own grounds about a mile from the sea, and an equal distance from the railway station at Aberglyn. It looked bright and cheerful on the October afternoon when a cab containing Mrs. Lindsay and Sylvia turned in at the gate and drove slowly up the drive to the front door. Sylvia, gazing with eager eyes from the window, noticed the trim garden, the shrubbery of laurels and rhododendrons, the beds still gay with geraniums, and the smooth lawns where in the distance she could just catch a glimpse of girls playing tennis. As the cab passed under a big chestnut tree she saw a little girl of about her own age run rapidly to the top of a bank, and, hiding behind a broom bush, peep down with evident curiosity at the newcomers below. She was a bonny child with a creamy complexion, blue eyes, and thick, straight, brown hair, tied with a ribbon that at present hung over her left ear; she stared hard at Sylvia as the latter leaned out of the window, then, seeing Mrs. Lindsay in the background, she took fright and dashed away among the shrubs even more quickly than she had come.

"I wonder what her name is, and if I shall like her!" thought Sylvia. "She looks nice. Oh! There are some more of them!" as about half a dozen older girls paused in a game of croquet to glance at the cab, and several little ones, playing under a tree, pointed eagerly, for which they were evidently reproved by a teacher who was with them. There was no time, however, to see further; the cab had drawn up at the front steps, the cabman was ringing the bell, and Mrs. Lindsay was collecting small parcels and telling Sylvia to jump out first.

"Our usual schoolroom tea is at five o'clock," she said, "but to-day you shall have yours here, as I know you will wish to be with your mother as long as possible. Then, when you have seen your bedroom, and taken off your things, you will be ready to make friends with some of your companions."

Sylvia sat very solemnly during tea, listening to the talk between Miss Kaye and her mother, and though the mistress sometimes addressed a question to her she was much too shy to answer anything except "Yes" or "No". She was glad when the ordeal was over and Miss Kaye suggested that, as Mrs. Lindsay had only a short time left before she must return to the station, they would like to look through the school, and see both classrooms and dormitories.

When she tried afterwards to recall her first impressions of Heathercliffe House she had only a confused remembrance of clinging very tightly, almost desperately, to her mother's hand, as they were shown the neat bedrooms, the large empty playroom, the schoolrooms with their desks and blackboards, and took a peep into the dining-room where rows of girls of all ages were sitting round two long tables having tea. Then came the moment which she had been dreading from the beginning, that hurried last goodbye, that final hug as Mrs. Lindsay kissed her again and again and hastened down the steps into the cab, the rumble of the departing wheels, and the sudden sense that she was left alone in a school of more than thirty girls, and that she did not yet know one of them even by name. An overwhelming rush of homesickness swept over her, so bitter in its force that she almost cried out with the intensity of the pain; she stood still in the hall with the dazed expression of one newly awakened from a dream, turning a deaf ear to Miss Kaye's well-meant efforts at consolation, and longing only for some safe retreat where she might escape to have a little private weep, out of reach of watching eyes. Seeing the mistress pause to speak to a teacher who came at that instant from the dining-room, she seized the opportunity, and dived into the drawing-room, where she ran to the window to catch the last glimpse of the coachman's hat as he drove through the gate, and disappeared behind the trees and bushes which bordered the road. Miss Kaye did not follow her; perhaps long experience had taught her that it was sometimes best to leave new girls judiciously alone, and for a few minutes she stood playing absently with the tassel of the blind, and struggling hard to keep back her rising tears. Why had she been brought to school? Why had she not begged her mother to take her home with her? It was cruel to send her away. It was all Aunt Louisa's doing, she was sure. She could never make herself happy, and she should write to-night to her father and tell him so. Perhaps he might relent and come to fetch her.

She took out her handkerchief ready for the expected deluge, but life is often very different from what we propose, and before she had time to do more than wipe away the first scalding drop she was startled by a voice at her elbow. Turning round hastily she found herself face to face with the little girl who had run to the top of the bank to peep at her as she came up the drive, and who now stood smiling in a particularly friendly fashion.

"Miss Kaye has sent me to take you to the playroom," she said. "We've just finished tea. You've had yours, haven't you? So come along."

"What's your name?" asked Sylvia, stuffing her handkerchief back into her pocket in a hurry, and blinking the remains of a drop off her eyelashes. She was too proud to care to be caught crying like a baby, and hoped her companion had not noticed.

"Linda Marshall. I know yours. Miss Kaye told us this morning. You're going to be in our class, and you're to sleep in my bedroom, because I'm the only one who hasn't got a room mate. Do come! Miss Kaye'll be cross if we're not quick. We're not allowed in the drawing-room at all, only she sent me in to fetch you."

"Do you like being here?" asked Sylvia, following her new friend with some deliberation.

"Sh! we mayn't speak in the hall! There, I can talk to you now we're down the passage. Yes, of course, I like it. Everyone does; we have such jolly times. Now come here," pausing with her hand on the door handle, "I want to go in quite suddenly and surprise them."

She flung the door open, and, with a giggle, announced "Miss Sylvia Lindsay", giving our heroine such a vigorous push forward that she nearly fell into the midst of a group of girls who were standing close by. There were six of them, and they had evidently been waiting to see the new arrival, though they pretended they were only finding some books and putting away their paintboxes. They looked steadily at Sylvia, but no one volunteered a remark, and the silence would have grown oppressive had not Linda come to the rescue. "Now then," she cried, "have you all gone dumb? Sylvia, this is our class. I'll tell you their names. Connie Camden, Hazel Prestbury, Marian and Gwennie Woodhouse, Nina Forster, and Jessie Ellis. There were only seven of us before, and you'll make eight. It's a much nicer number, because we can just get up a set of lancers by ourselves now, without one of the second class joining. I hope you know the lancers?"

"A little," said Sylvia, who felt rather overwhelmed by the six pairs of eyes fixed upon her.

"We'll soon teach you if you don't. The dancing lessons begin next week, and they are such fun. Miss Delaney is a perfect dear. We all adore her. I'm sure you'll think she's sweet; won't she, girls?"

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet