“She spent the money her uncle gave her on buying that big birthday cake for Joan, and other presents and cards,” said Miss Belle. “That is where the money went, Rita!” “But why didn’t Elizabeth say so?” asked Rita, puzzled.
“Because if she explained that, the school would know Joan’s unhappiness at being forgotten by her mother,” said Miss Best. “If Elizabeth had been longer at Whyteleafe School, she would have gone to you, Rita, or to one of the monitors she trusted, and would have asked their advice-but she has been here such ~ short time, and is such a headstrong, independent child, that she takes matters into her own hands-and gets into trouble!” “All the same, she has the makings of a very fine girl m her,” said Miss Belle, “She is fearless and brave, kind and clever, and although she has been the naughtiest, rudest girl we have ever had, that only lasted for a little while.” “Yes,” said Rita, “I liked her almost from the beginning, although she has been very difficult. But she really is the sort of girl we want at Whyteleafe. I’m afraid now, though, that she will go home, for we have promised that she shall, if she wants to.” “You must send for her and have a talk with her, Rita,” said Miss Best. “She was supposed to come and tell you when she had an answer to her letter to Mrs. Townsend, wasn’t she? Well-we know the answer now-and it is not an answer that can be explained fully to a School Meeting. Have a talk with Elizabeth, and then decide what to do. I think you will feel that although Elizabeth did wrong, the kindness that was at the bottom of it more than makes up for the upset she caused!” “Yes, I think so too,” agreed Rita, who had been very interested in all that Miss Belle and Miss Best had told her. She was glad to know that Elizabeth had spent the pound on somebody else, glad that it was only kindness that had caused such a disturbance! She went out to look for Elizabeth.
It was after tea. Elizabeth was running to see if Matron would let her sit with Joan again. She bumped into Rita round a corner.
“Good gracious! What a hurricane you are!” said Rita, her breath bumped out of her. “You’re just the person I want to see, Come to my study.” Rita had a little room of her own, a study all to herself, because she was Head Girl. She was very proud of it, and had made it as nice as she could. Elizabeth had never been in it before, and she looked round in pleasure.
“What a dear little room!” she said. “I like the blue carpet-and the blue tablecloth-and the pictures and flowers. Is this your very own room?” “Yes,” said Rita, “William has one too. His is just as nice as mine. He is coming here in a minute. Have a sweet, Elizabeth?” Rita took down a tin from the small cupboard and offered it to Elizabeth, who at once took a toffee. Elizabeth wondered what Rita and William were going to say to her. There was a knock at the door, and William strolled in.
“Hallo,” he said, smiling at Elizabeth. “How’s the Bold Bad Girl?” Elizabeth laughed. She liked William calling her that, though she had hated the name not so very long ago.
“Elizabeth, William and I know now what you spent that pound on, and why you did it,” said Rita, “And we want to say that we quite see that you couldn’t tell the Meeting.” “And we shan’t tell the Meeting either,” said William, sitting down in Rita’s cosy arm-chair.
“But won’t you have to?” asked Elizabeth in surprise.
“No,” said William. “Rita and I are the judges of what can be told the Meeting, and what need not be explained, if we think best. We shall simply say that we have had a satisfactory answer and explanation, and that the matter is now finished.” “Oh, thank you,” said Elizabeth. “It wasn’t really myself I was thinking of, you know, it was Joan.” “We know that now,” said Rita, “You tried to do a right thing in a wrong way, Elizabeth! If you had been at Whyteleafe a little longer, you would have done things differently-but you haven’t been here long enough.” “No, I haven’t,” said Elizabeth. “I do see that I have learnt a lot already, but I haven’t learnt enough. I wish I was wise like you and William.” “Well, why not stay and learn to be?” said William with a laugh. “You are just the sort of girl we want, Elizabeth, You would make a fine monitor, later on.” “Me! A monitor!” cried Elizabeth, most astonished, “Oh, I’d never, never be a monitor! Good gracious!” “It may sound funny to you now, Elizabeth,” said William. “But in a term or two you would be quite responsible and sensible enough to be made one.” “I’d simply love to be a monitor, and sit in the jury!” said Elizabeth, “Whatever would Mummy say-and Miss Scott, my old governess, would never, never believe it. She said I was so spoilt I would never do anything worth while!” “You are spoilt!” said Rita, smiling. “But you would soon get over that. What about staying on, Elizabeth, and seeing what you can do?” “I’m beginning to feel it would be nice,” said Elizabeth. “But I can’t change my mind, I said I meant to go home at half-term, and I’m going to. It’s only feeble people that change their minds, and say first one thing and then another. I’m not going to be like that.” “I wonder where you got that idea from?” said William, “I mean, the idea that it’s feeble to change your mind once it’s made up? That’s a wrong idea, you know,” “Wrong?” said Elizabeth, in surprise.
“Of course,” said William. “Make up your mind about things, by all means-but if something happens to show that you are wrong, then it is feeble not to change your mind, Elizabeth. Only the strongest people have the pluck to change their minds, and say so, if they see they have been wrong in their ideas,” “I didn’t think of that,” said Elizabeth, feeling puzzled, “Well, don’t puzzle your head too much about things,” said William, getting up. “I must go. Think about what we have said, Elizabeth. The next Meeting will be your last one, if you are leaving us-and we shall keep our word to you and let you go if you want to. You can tell your parents when they come to see you at half-term, and Miss Belle and Miss Best will explain everything to them. But we shall be sorry to lose the naughtiest girl in the school !” Elizabeth left the study, her head in a whirl. She did like William and Rita so much. But she couldn’t change her mind-she would be so ashamed to climb down and say she had been wrong! CHAPTER 23.
Elizabeth fights with Herself.
THE next day or two were very pleasant. Elizabeth was allowed to see Joan whenever she liked, and she took her some more flowers from John. She also took her a jigsaw puzzle from Helen, and a book from Nora.
Joan was looking very pretty and very happy. Her mother had gone, leaving behind her a big box of velvety peaches, a tin of barley sugar, and some books, But best of all she had left Joan a promise that never, never would she let Joan think she was forgotten again.
“It’s all because of you, Elizabeth,” said Joan, offering her friend a barley sugar to suck. “Oh, Elizabeth-do please stay on at Whyteleafe. Don’t make me unhappy by leaving, just as I’ve got to know you!” “There are plenty of other people for you to make friends with,” said Elizabeth, sucking the barley sugar, “I don’t want them,” said Joan. “They would seem feeble after you, Elizabeth. I say-have you been looking after my rabbit for me?” “Of course,” said Elizabeth. “Oh, Joan, it’s the dearest little thing you ever saw! Really it is. Do you know, it knows me now when I go to feed it, and it presses its tiny woffly nose against the wire to welcome me! And yesterday it nuzzled itself into the crook of my arm and stayed there quite still time the school bell rang and I had to go.” “Harry came to see me this morning and he said he wishes you were not leaving, because he wants to give us two more baby rabbits, to live with my tiny one,” said Joan. “He said they could be between the two of us.” “Oh,” said Elizabeth, longing for the two rabbits. “Really, if I’d known what a nice place Whyteleafe School was, I’d never have made up my mind to leave it!” She had to go then, because it was time for her music-lesson. She rushed to get her music. Richard was in the music-room, waiting for her with Mr. Lewis.