"I think I ought to tell you, young ladies," he said nervously, "that I am very well acquainted with the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, having taught the subject for several years at an institution for deaf-mutes."
Connie went extremely red, as well she might, for she had asked Linda where Mr. Dawson got the flower in his buttonhole, and if Miss Coleman had given it to him? The girls never ventured after that to try talking in the drawing class, though they did a little surreptitiously during dancing.
The first grand meeting of the society was felt to be an occasion of great importance. The playroom door was carefully shut, after ascertaining that no one was in the passage, and Brenda even peeped under the table and behind the window curtains to make quite sure that none of the second class were concealed there. At last, considering themselves secure, the magazine was produced by the Secretary, and handed to the President, who, according to the rules, was to read it aloud from beginning to end. It was written on sheets of paper torn from exercise books, stitched together inside an old arithmetic cover, the back of which had been adorned with scraps and transfers and S.S.L.U. printed on a school label and gummed in the middle. The idea of illustrations had to be abandoned, because nobody had any magazines which they would spare to be cut up, neither did anybody's talent rise to the pitch of original drawings; but on the whole that did not much matter.
"It's stories we want, not pictures," said Marian, settling herself on the seat of honour with a piece of toffee handy, in case her throat grew troublesome through her arduous duties.
"The first on the list," she began, "is--
THE KNIGHT'S VENGEANCE A Story in Two Parts
By Nina Millicent Forster Author of 'The Baron's Secret'; 'The Mystery of the Castle'; &c.
&c.
PART I
The forest was dark and gloomy as Sir Brian de Fotheringay rode along on his superb white charger, carrying his shield in one hand and his sword in the other."
"How did he manage to hold the reins?" enquired Connie Camden.
"You musn't interrupt," said Marian. "Perhaps he held them bunched up with the sword. No, that would be the wrong hand, wouldn't it?"
"The horse knew its own way," explained Nina. "But if Connie's going to find fault with everything one puts----"
"She shan't!" said Marian hastily. "Nobody's to make any remarks till the end of the story. Now I'm going on.
His undaunted spirit heeded little the perils of his path, and as the moonlight flashed on his steel helmet he bade defiance to all his foes. In front of him stood the Castle, its tall towers strongly guarded by a force of armed men. The drawbridge was up, and the portcullis was down. But dangers were welcome to Sir Brian de Fotheringay, for they did but prove how much he could accomplish for the sake of his lady love. She stood at the turret window, the beautiful Lady Guinevere de Montmorency, the greatest heiress in the land. Leaving his charger on the bank, he swam the moat, and, flinging a rope ladder up to her window, he begged her to fly with him.
'Knight, for thee would I dare all!' she replied, but before she could say more, a stern figure in armour appeared in the turret behind her and seized her by her flowing golden locks. It was her angry father.
'Hence!' he cried. 'Hence, Sir Brian, ere I kill thee. You, lady, will be immured in the dungeon until you have promised to wed Lord Vivian de Fitz Bracy, the suitor of my choice.'
With a shriek she disappeared from the view of her despairing knight.
PART II
Determined to save his lady love from so terrible a fate, Sir Brian de Fotheringay collected all his retainers, together with a band of outlaws to whom he had rendered some services, and who had promised to assist him in time of need. Uttering his warcry, they rushed at the Castle, the portcullis gave way before their furious attack, and the archers were slain at their posts.
'Yield thee, Sir Guy de Montmorency!' cried Sir Brian, waving his invincible sword.
'Never!' shouted the Baron, but it was his last word, for Sir Brian stabbed him to the heart.
He had soon forced open the dungeon and released the beautiful Lady Guinevere. The Castle was now hers, so they were married without delay, and the King and Queen themselves came to the wedding."
"It's perfectly splendid!" cried the girls, when Marian had finished reading. "Nina, how did you manage to think of it?"
"Oh, I don't know; it just came!" said Nina, modestly. "I'm rather fond of making up tales."
"There's only one thing," said Connie. "Wasn't the lady rather sorry when her father was stabbed to the heart, even if he had shut her up in a dungeon? I should be."
"I don't think people minded in the Middle Ages," said Nina. "You see, somebody had to get killed, and she liked the knight best."
"But her own father!" objected Connie.
"I'm going to read the next one now," said Marian, who, as President, felt bound to keep the peace. "I think Nina's story's very good, and makes a capital beginning. This one seems much shorter. It's called:
MOST HASTE, LEAST SPEED
By GWENDOLEN WOODHOUSE
Matilda Jane was a girl who was always in a hurry. One day her grandmother told her to take the bucket and fetch some water from the well, but to be sure to tie her boot lace first. Now Matilda Jane wanted to be very quick, so that she might go and play, and she did not stop to tie her boot lace. As she ran out of the door, she tripped over it and fell. The bucket rolled from her hand and hit the dog; the dog howled and made the geese cackle; the geese cackling made the pigs grunt; the pigs grunting frightened the hens into the field; the hens frightened the cow, which began to run; when the horse saw the cow running, it ran too, and they both jumped over the hedge into the road; then the hens flew after the horse and the cow, and the pigs went after the hens, and the geese followed the pigs, and the dog chased the geese, and it took Matilda Jane and her grandmother the whole afternoon to drive them back, and all because she had been in too great a hurry to tie her boot lace.
The moral of this tale is 'Most haste, least speed!'"
The girls laughed.
"I don't generally like stories with a moral," said Brenda, "but I don't mind this one at any rate. Go on, Marian!"
"The next is a piece of poetry," said Marian.
THE KITTENS' CHORUS
By SYLVIA LINDSAY
Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch mice, we do, we do!
But our mother, the old white cat, Says we are rather too young for that.
Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch flies, we do, we do!
But our mother says that if we do it We'll grow so thin that we soon shall rue it!
Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch mother's tail we do!
But she says she is not such a common cat As to let her kits be so pert as that.
Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to be good, we do, we do!
But that's much harder to do than to say, So we'll think about that another day.
The poem proved so popular that Marian had to read it over again. It was the first time that the class had heard any of Sylvia's effusions, and they were quite impressed.
"I'm afraid mine will seem very stupid after it," said Brenda. "I couldn't think of anything to write, but I was obliged to put something."
"The title sounds interesting," said Marian.
MY VISIT TO FRANCE
By BRENDA G. PRESTBURY