On Sunday afternoon, just as the scholars were pouring out of Sunday-schools, there came the rumble of wheels along the road, and presently down the High Street passed a remarkable procession of gilded caravans, horses, and elephants. The men who led them, and the women who peeped from the little curtained windows, were a tired-looking crew who deserved a Sunday's rest; but directly they had crossed the bridge, and arrived in the meadows at the opposite side of the river, they began to work hard at erecting tents, stabling their horses, and setting their temporary camp in order. Nearly all the children in Durracombe stood on the bridge and watched them. It is not every day you can see elephants or a camel or a troupe of tiny piebald ponies. To most of the small folk it was the opportunity of their lives.
Mavis and Merle, from the vantage-ground of the terraced walk by the river, had a splendid view of the settlement. They were almost too near, indeed, for they were much disturbed during the night by weird noises, the roaring of lions in cages and the trumpeting of elephants. They dressed next morning, feeling as if they had slept in a jungle or in an African forest. They found all the girls at school in a state of flaming excitement. Miss Pollard had not yet decided whether the circus was a sufficiently refined entertainment to justify her in taking her boarders. She was old-fashioned in her notions, and very particular about what was suitable and proper for children. She hesitated and vacillated, and even wrote a note to the vicar to ask for his opinion, and was more embarrassed still when she found he had gone out on his motor-cycle, and might not be back until the evening. She and Miss Fanny had discussed the matter threadbare in private, but could not make up their minds in the least. Meantime a whole school full of fluttering girls centred the circus as the one event of the term.
"Of course we're to have a half-holiday this afternoon," began Opal.
"There's no 'of course' about it," returned Miss Pollard, eyeing her god-daughter gravely. She did not like Opal's tone, which was both uncompromising and truculent.
"Oh, but we've simply got to have a holiday! We can't miss this circus. All of us day girls have been promised at home that we may go, and we shall."
Miss Pollard was long-suffering where her pet pupil was concerned, but it is possible for even a prime favourite to go too far.
"That's not the way to speak to me," she rebuked. "Your parents may make any arrangements they wish for taking you to the evening performance, but you will all attend school this afternoon. Do you thoroughly understand me, girls? I give no half-holiday, and I expect you all to be present here as usual at 2.30. You may take that message home with you."
Miss Pollard, very much on her dignity, glared first at Opal, and then round the entire room. She did not intend to be dictated to or forced to give her consent against her better judgment. She was Principal of The Moorings, and as such meant to maintain discipline over her pupils.
Her announcement caused them all to look very sulky, and produced much grousing during 'break', but nobody thought of disputing it. The day girls consoled themselves by hopes of attending the evening performance. The less fortunate boarders said it was just like their luck. Everybody was more or less in a bad temper, but resigned. Mavis and Merle, walking back from Bridge House about 2.15, passed the corner of the Earnshaws' garden, and saw Opal's face peeping over the paling.
"Hello! Going to school like two good little girls," she jeered.