out of church by Miss Rebecca Lambent, who would rise spectrally above the red curtains of the organ-loft, and stand pointing at the door till the trembling girl had gone.
Ann Straggalls horrified Hazel upon this occasion by giving vent to one of her explosions, and then turning purple as she tried to hide her face.
“Ah, you’ll have to punish her,” said Mr Chute. “Oh, by-the-way, Miss Thorne – ”
“If he would only go!” thought Hazel, for the girls were getting very lively and boisterous, seeing their teacher’s attention taken off, and catching a little of the infection from beyond the partition shutters.
“I say, you’ll have a deal of trouble over the school pence” – Mr Chute was a prophet in this case, though he did not know it – “they’ll try all sorts of plans to get out of paying – a few of them will; but don’t you be imposed upon by their excuses. It’s only a penny a week, you know. There’s the Simms’s never will pay, and they ought to be turned out of the schools, for it isn’t fair for some children to pay and some not, is it?”
“Of course not,” replied Hazel. “Oh, why won’t he go? Surely he must see that my time is wanted.”
Just then the noise in the boys’ school became furious, and Mr Chute made an effort to let his rebellious subjects know that, though invisible in body, he was present with them in spirit, by going on tiptoe across the school and rapping on one of the sliding shutters sharply with his knuckles.
The effect was magical, and he came back triumphant.
“That’s how I serve them,” he said, with a self-satisfied smirk. “They know I won’t stand any nonsense; and, I say, Miss Thorne, if you hear me using the cane, don’t you take any notice, you know. It’s good for them sometimes. You’ll have to use it yourself.”
“I hope not,” said Hazel quietly; and she glanced towards the door.
“Ah, but you will,” he said, laughing, and in profound ignorance of the fact that Feelier Potts was imitating his every action for the benefit of her class, even to going across and pretending to tap at the partition.
“I believe in kindness and firmness combined, Mr Chute.”
“So do I,” he said, as if lost in admiration. “That’s exactly what I said to Lambent; and I say, Miss Thorne, just a friendly word, you know. You back me up and I’ll back you up; don’t you stand any nonsense from Lambent and those two. They’re always meddling and interfering.”
“Those two?” said Hazel, thinking of Ophelia Potts and Ann Straggalls.
“Yes; Rebecca and Beatrice, Lambent’s sisters, you know. Rebel and Tricks we call them down here. They’re as smooth as can be to your face, and they go and make mischief to Lambent. You must have your eyes open, for they’re always telling tales. Beatrice is going to marry the young squire at Ardley, at least she wants to, and Rebecca wants old Burge, but he can’t see it.”
“You really must excuse me now, Mr Chute,” said Hazel. “I have so much to do.”
“Yes, so have I,” he said pleasantly; but he did not stir. “You are sure you have plenty of chalk?”
“Oh yes, plenty.”
“And slate-pencil? I believe the little wretches eat the slate-pencil, so much of it goes.”
“I will send for some if I want it,” said Hazel; “I must go now to those classes.”
“Yes, of course, but one minute. My mother wants to be introduced to your mother, as we are to be neighbours, you know, and if there’s anything household you want, mind you send for it.”
“Yes, certainly, Mr Chute.” – Oh, I wish he would go!
“May I bring my mother in to-night to see you?”
“Not to-night, please, Mr Chute; we are hardly settled yet.”
“No, of course not. Well, good-bye; I must go now.”
He held out his hand.
For some time past Miss Lambent and her sister had been waiting. They had entered the boys’ school to leave a message, and for a while their presence had acted as a brake upon the spirits of the young gentlemen; but waves of noise soon began to rise and fall, growing louder as the time went on.
“Master’s in the girls’ school,” one of the boys had said. “Should he fetch him?”
“No, boy; go on with your lessons,” said Miss Beatrice; and she exchanged glances with her sister. Then they settled themselves to wait, standing like a pair of martyrs to circumstances, listening to the increasing noise, and at last marching together out of the boys’ school and towards the girls’.
“Henry had better send for Mr Chute, and give him a good talking to,” said Miss Lambent.
“I formed my own impressions yesterday,” said Miss Beatrice. “These proceedings only endorse them. She will never do for Plumton.”
“Never!” said Miss Rebecca; and after an inquiring look, given and taken, the sisters entered the girls’ school, to find Miss Feelier Potts standing up, gazing pensively at Ann Straggalls, as she held and pressed her hand in perfect imitation of the action of Mr Samuel Chute, who was taking a farewell of the new mistress as if he were going on a long voyage – never to return.
Chapter Nine.
Excitement at Plumton
“I don’t know what has come to Henry,” said Miss Lambent. “If I had been in his place I should have immediately called a meeting of the governors of the school, paid Miss Thorne, and let her seek for an engagement elsewhere.”
“I quite agree with you, Rebecca,” replied Miss Beatrice. “Henry is behaving weakly and foolishly in all these matters. But we cannot be surprised. He is so profound a thinker and so deeply immersed in his studies that these little matters escape him.”
“I think it unpardonable. Here is a strange girl – for she is a mere girl, and far too young, in my estimation – appointed to the school, and just because she has rather a genteel appearance, everybody is paying her deference. Henry is really absurd. He says that Miss Thorne is quite a lady, and that allowances should be made. No allowances are made for me.”
“Don’t be angry, Rebecca.”
“I am not angry, Beatrice. I never am angry: but in a case like this I feel bound to speak. There is that absurd Miss Burge ready to praise her to one’s very face, and Mr William Forth Burge actually told me yesterday, when I went up to him to talk about the preparations, that we ought to congratulate ourselves upon having found so excellent a mistress. I haven’t patience with him.”
“Are the Canninges coming?” said Miss Beatrice, changing the conversation; and as she spoke, standing in the vicarage drawing-room, with her eyes half-closed, a faint flush came into her cheeks, and she looked for the moment a very handsome, graceful woman. A connoisseur would have said that she was too thin, but granted that it showed breeding and refinement while her dress was in perfect taste.
“Yes; Mrs Canninge told me yesterday that she should certainly drive over, and that she would persuade George Canninge to come. He ought not to want any persuasion, Beatrice,”
