FullReads

Later we were passing through some wrought-iron gates, and down an avenue of young chestnuts, which made a gorgeous autumn canopy of scarlet, amber, and orange, up to a fine old red-brick house, with a high-pitched roof, and a cupola in which a big bell hung, tinted a warm gold by the afternoon sun.

This was my school, and it did not look so very-terrible after all. There was a big bow-window by the pillared portico, and, looking timidly in, I saw a girl of about my own age sitting there, absorbed in the book she was reading, her long brown hair drooping over her cheek and the hand on which it rested.

She glanced up at the sound of the door-bell, and I felt her eyes examining me seriously and critically, and then I forgot everything but the fact that I was about to be introduced to my future schoolmaster, the Rev. Basil Dering.

This was less of an ordeal than I had expected; he had a strong, massively-cut, leonine face, free and abundant white hair, streaked with dark grey, but there was a kind light in his eyes as I looked up at them, and the firm mouth could smile, I found, pleasantly enough.

Mrs. Dering seemed younger, and was handsome, with a certain stateliness and decision of manner which put me less at my ease, and I was relieved to be told I might say good-bye to my uncle, and wander about the grounds as I liked.

I was not surprised to pass through an empty schoolroom, and to descend by some steep stairs to a deserted playground, for we had been already told that the Michaelmas holidays were not over, and that the boys would not return for some days to come.

It gave me a kind of satisfaction to think of my resemblance, just then, to my favourite David Copperfield, but I was to have a far pleasanter companion than poor lugubrious, flute-tootling Mr. Mell, for as I paced the damp paths paved with a mosaic of russet and yellow leaves, I heard light footsteps behind me, and turned to find myself face to face with the girl I had seen at the window.

She stood there breathless for an instant, for she had hurried to overtake me, and against a background of crimson creepers I saw the brilliant face, with its soft but fearless brown eyes, small straight nose, spirited mouth, and crisp wavy golden-brown hair, which I see now almost as distinctly as I write.

‘You’re the new boy,’ she said at length. ‘I’ve come out to make you feel more at home. I suppose you don’t feel quite at home just yet?’

‘Not quite, thank you,’ I said, lifting my cap with ceremony, for I had been taught to be particular about my manners; ‘I have never been to school before, you see, Miss Dering.’

I think she was a little puzzled by so much politeness. ‘I know,’ she said softly; ‘mother told me about it, and I’m very sorry. And I’m called Marjory, generally. Shall you like school, do you think?’

‘I might,’ said I, ‘if–if it wasn’t for the boys!’

‘Boys aren’t bad,’ she said; ‘ours are rather nice, I think. But perhaps you don’t know many?’

‘I know one,’ I replied.

‘How old is he?‘ she wished to know.

‘Not very old–about three, I think,’ I said. I had never wished till then that my only male acquaintance had been of less tender years, but I felt now that he was rather small, and saw that Marjory was of the same opinion.

‘Why, he’s only a baby!’ she said; ‘I thought you meant a real boy. And is that all the boys you know? Are you fond of games?’

‘Some games–very,’ said I.

‘What’s your favourite game?’ she demanded.

‘Bezique,’ I answered, ‘or draughts.’

‘I meant outdoor games; draughts are indoor games–is indoor games, I mean–no, are an indoor game–and that doesn’t sound grammar! But haven’t you ever played cricket? Not ever, really? I like it dreadfully myself, only I’m not allowed to play with the boys, and I’m sure I can bat well enough for the second eleven–Cartwright said I could last term–and I can bowl round-hand, and it’s all no use, just because I was born a girl! Wouldn’t you like a game at something? They haven’t taken in the croquet hoops yet; shall we play at that?’