‘Jean’s going to do them four days, and I’m going to do them the other three,’ she said. ‘And Jean’s going to begin,’ she added, and walked away heroically.
‘Oh, no, you begin,’ said Jean, feebly.
But Margaret smiled and pinched her ear. ‘You begin, child,’ she said; and Jean fairly loved the new girl from that moment onwards.
CHAPTER XI
MISS FINLAYSON’S UNCLE, THE CANON
‘It’s all very well to tell you to do things for other people; but when nobody wants anything done, how are you going to carry it out?’ demanded Charlotte Bigley of a circle of attentive listeners.
It was plain-work evening, some five weeks or so before the end of the term; and fifty-five busy little people, on one side of the curtain, sewed laboriously at fifty-five flannel garments, while thirty-two others, in the seniors’ room, were cutting out fresh ones and struggling with what Miss Smythe called the ‘fixing.’ Usually, plain-work evening was the dullest out of the seven, for conversation did not flourish under the depressing dominion of flannel, and Miss Smythe, the needlework mistress who came from the town twice a week to teach them, had never managed to interest her pupils either in herself or in what they were doing. But to-night there was something to discuss that thrilled every one of the workers on both sides of the curtain, and the effect on the flannel garments of this unusual enthusiasm even awoke a faint wonderment in the mind of Miss Smythe. She did not know, never having tried to win the confidence of the children, that the cause of the emotion that was pulsing from end to end of the two playrooms was the temporary residence, under the honoured roof of Wootton Beeches, of Miss Finlayson’s uncle, the Canon.
The Canon had always been an object of interest, theoretically, to the girls at Wootton Beeches. They did not know much about him, except that he lived in some cathedral town in the North of England, and came South about once a year and spent part of his holiday at Wootton Beeches; and they were familiar with his portrait, which always stood on the writing-table in his niece’s study. That was all they could have told anybody; but the very lack of facts only added to the magic of his name, and as none of them happened to be in touch with a bishop, or even with a dean, Miss Finlayson’s uncle the Canon continued to impress them from a distance with his importance. Hitherto, his visit had always happened to fall in the holidays; but, this time, he had unaccountably appeared in the middle of the term, and the excitement of his actual presence among them had given them enough news to put in their letters home for quite two weeks. The day before, he had even replaced the curate in the little chapel, and had not only read prayers but had delivered an address on unselfishness as well; and it was this address that had provided the whole school, on plain-work evening, with a burning topic of conversation.
The problem that had just been put into words by Charlotte Bigley was one that had exercised the ingenuity of everybody since yesterday morning. To do good works was the present ardent desire of all their hearts; but where were the good works to be found?
‘I suppose there’s always something to be done for somebody, only we’ve got to discover what it is,’ said Mary Wells, after profound reflection.