They were friends now. Their liking for each other, perhaps, had dated from the very first moment they had met; but their friendship had begun after Sybil’s evening visit to the dormitory on the first night of term.
For Gerry had taken up the rôle of protector that evening in her quick, impulsive way. There had been something in the lonely look of Betty, left standing in the middle of the floor of the Oak Room as the Guides had all trooped out, which had appealed to the youngest Guide of the company. Though younger in years than the rest, she was perhaps as understanding in heart as any of the senior Guides themselves. It had been the solitary look of Betty standing alone “under the clock,” too, among crowds of chatterers, which had brought Gerry to her side; and that same lonely look had been responsible for the mascot idea which had been hatched out of Gerry’s brain, to be hailed with enthusiasm by the entire company of Guides next day.
Betty had wakened, indeed, to “find herself famous.” Everybody had looked at her with friendly grins as the “new mascot.” She was addressed on the subject in a hail-fellow-well-met fashion by girls who had not seemed to notice her existence before.
“I say, that makes nine, then, for the Daisies. Hope you will bring them good luck. Not that they need it. They’ve kept the Cup for two years.”
“It’s hard work with us; not luck.” Thus Sybil, who was passing by, and who spoke in a business-like tone. “Not that we’re not glad of our mascot,” she added, smiling swiftly at Betty.
The whole school had been out in the garden that day between breakfast and classes. Prefects moving about talking of school arrangements together; groups of younger girls still exchanging holiday reminiscences; Gerry, faithful still to her companion, sticking, as cicerone, to Betty’s side.
“I say, it is fun having you as mascot, you know. There are such lots of things to show you, specially now that you’re a Daisy: Guide things. Not many out here, though, except, of course, the gardens.”
In another minute the gardens had been reached.
The Guide plots occupied the strip of land behind St. Benedick’s. In years gone by this part of the grounds had been laid out as a large lawn; but the land had been dug over, and divided into five portions, each of equal size. A great part of the digging and the actual making of the gardens had been done by the Guides themselves, under the supervision and with the help of the head gardener. Very gradually the work had been carried out; but now, several years since the Guide movement had been adopted as part of the Benedick curriculum, Betty’s first glimpse of the gardens was a glimpse that she did not soon forget.
The warm days of late spring that year had hastened the growth of the early summer flowers. The gardens lay in a sheltered spot of the grounds, and the wild profusion of their blooming plants—owing to the fact that the gardeners had been absent for a matter of several “good growing” weeks—and the reckless beauty of the luxuriant flower-beds caused city-bred Betty to hold her breath. On the other side of the building the stately garden, with its old-time dignity, through which she had passed yesterday, was peaceful; this garden looked joyous—there was no other word.