Judy of York Hill

by Ethel Hume Bennett

The after-dinner half-hour of rest had been a time when the crew of the "Jolly Susan" had shut their door on the outside world and had taken their ease. Visiting without permission at this hour was not usually allowed, but Catherine was often quite willing that Judith and Nancy should be in each other's rooms, for they could talk quite quietly and made no disturbance. Now Judith could hear Nancy in Sally's room, and this was more than she could bear. Instead of coming up to her room directly after lunch, she asked to have a practising period put on her time-table from two to two-thirty, and the odd fifteen minutes before the two o'clock bell rang, which was legitimate time for visiting, she was spending in other girls' rooms; in fact Judith was beginning to find out that there were other interesting and lovable girls in the school besides those select few in the "Jolly Susan."

There was Rosamond, for instance, whom Judith had at first regarded with mild contempt because she was greedy, but Rosamond, she found out, was aware of her besetting sin and this Lenten season was disciplining herself strictly, and no one could be more sympathetic if one were in trouble than the same Rosamond; and there was Joyce Hewson whom Judith had thought proud, but who seemed unapproachable because she was really shy and very conscious of her unusual height; and then there was Florence Newman who had seemed at the beginning of the term so unresponsive and dull. Florence and Josephine had become friends, drawn together by love for their far-away Western homes, and dropping into Florence's room one day with Josephine, Judith had been entranced by the tales of mountain climbing and hunting which Florence had to tell. Florence had scarcely seen a girl of her own age until she dropped suddenly into the hurly-burly of York Hill, and it was no wonder that a painful shyness had made her seem ungracious and almost rude. She simply hadn't known how to meet the advances of these kind, jolly girls.

And then there was Miss Ashwell. Miss Ashwell had slipped on the ice a couple of months before and had sprained her ankle so badly that, although she was able now to get up and down to the studio, she walked slowly and with a cane. Judith got into the way of knocking at Miss Ashwell's door after lunch to see if she could do any errand for her. Sometimes she carried her books up to the studio, or ran downstairs to see if there were any word of the model who was to come for the two-thirty class, and sometimes she went in and sat in Miss Ashwell's comfortable chair and felt rested and happy, for Miss Ashwell seemed to possess some curious secret of healing.

Judith was a beauty-lover, and if any one had asked her why she liked Miss Ashwell, she would probably have replied promptly, "Because she is so pretty." Miss Ashwell was pretty, with her clear blue eyes, gold-brown hair, and a skin so fair and soft, that it made one think of apple-blossoms; and she had charm, that indefinable something, which like a magnet drew others to her.

The week after the miserable dinner-party was rainy and cold, and something of the grey dulness out-of-doors seemed to have penetrated within. For Judith, at least, the mornings dragged heavily; everything seemed to have lost its flavour. At recess she would look over at Nancy, who seemed to be having a jolly time with Sally May and Joyce, and want to join them and laugh, too. There wasn't any reason in the world why she shouldn't do so except the nasty little spirit which had taken possession of her. But she hardened her heart—and was quite miserable in consequence.

Towards the end of the week, one day after lunch she stood hesitating for a moment at the head of the stairs. Should she go down to the "Jolly Susan," or visit with Florence or Miss Ashwell. The thought of Miss Ashwell was comforting, her room was the "homiest" place Judith knew, so she tapped at the door of the pleasant little brown room at the end of the corridor.

Miss Ashwell was knitting to-day. She was nearly always knitting for some one else, thought Judith, as she idly watched the needles flashing. Knitting made her think of Red Cross work, and that led straight to the awful thought of a Current Events test shortly coming off. While they were to be examined on the whole term's work, part of the test was the writing of an essay on a subject chosen from a list of three. Judith had decided to write on "Red Cross Work in Italy." Her father's brother, Brian, was a brilliant engineer who had been loaned to Italy by the British Government, and Judith naturally knew more about the war in Italy than anywhere else. She would have to get Uncle Brian's letters out and piece together the bits of information he had given her. She and her father had read several magazine articles last summer, but she couldn't even remember what magazines they were. Oh, dear, what a lot of work it would be! How tired she was! If she could just stay here and sleep all afternoon! She heaved a big gusty sigh. Miss Ashwell looked up quickly.

"What's wrong, Judy, dear?" Miss Ashwell never seemed to be in a hurry herself, a miraculous achievement at York Hill. Judith told her tale of woe, sure of sympathy.

Miss Ashwell seemed even more interested than usual.

"I believe I can help you, Judy," she said, her cheeks flushing; "just hand me my despatch-case from the table." She opened it and took out snapshots, pictures cut from magazines, and several descriptive articles dealing with the subject in hand.