THE eventful day on which the Cliff School was to play the Redford School girls dawned clear and cloudless.
“It’s perfectly ripping weather for the match,” announced the captain from the bottom of the breakfast-table. “I’ve been shaking with nervousness all the week for fear it should be wet, and we should have to scratch it; but now there’s no fear of that, and the best thing we can do is to go out and have a look at the field. Who’ll help to roll the pitch?”
Almost everyone at the long table clamoured aloud for the privilege.
“But you must all remember,” said Miss Read from her place, “that this isn’t a holiday exactly; although, of course, you’re all free to watch the match in the afternoon, and there is the feast to-night! This morning’s preparation must be done just as thoroughly as though to-day were the most ordinary Saturday of the term, and it will be best to leave the field to look after itself until all your school-work is finished.”
A few pigtailed heads shook themselves despairingly at these words of wisdom, and a few solemn voices were heard to proclaim that they “couldn’t learn a single word” with such momentous doings ahead, but one and all suppressed their excited feelings manfully, and in less than half an hour four and twenty heads, bent industriously over the same number of desks in the preparation room, testified to the struggles that the girls were making to perform their usual duties.
Two hours later, Margot, traversing the corridor, inky-faced, and laden with exercise-books, but triumphant in the knowledge of lessons prepared, met Gretta emerging from the music-room, her violin-case in her hand.
“I’ve done, Gretta, have you? Oh, ripping, isn’t it! Let’s fetch Josy; she’s finished, I know, and we’ll go and roll the ground.”
On the field were Adela and Sybil, muffled in coats by nurse’s orders, and walking along arm in arm, with all the air of a pair of conspirators on some mysterious mission bent.
“Come on, you two!” shouted Josy, puffing with her exertions. “Come and help. This roller’s jolly heavy!”
“They won’t come,” announced Joan Curtis, the school-baby, pushing manfully, and evidently feeling rather neglected by her friends; “they’re talking secrets, and they won’t let me hear.”