Читать книгу: «A Bunch of Cherries: A Story of Cherry Court School», страница 6

"If you say a word against mother I shall leave the room this instant, and never speak to you again," said Florence.

"Really, my dear, you do go a little beyond yourself – I who have done so much for you; but that Scholarship is interesting. Florence, you had better go home; I will have a word with your mother by herself. First of all, however, are you likely to win it?"

"I vow that I'll get it," said Florence.

"Florence is really clever, dear Susan," said Mrs. Aylmer the less, now bursting in in an irrepressible voice; "I believe Sir John is much struck with her. He did an extraordinary thing, and at the Cherry Feast, which always ends the summer term at the school, had a preliminary examination, and dear Flo, with two other girls, is eligible to compete for the great Scholarship. They call themselves the lucky three – their names are Kitty Sharston, Mary Bateman, and Florry. Yes, Florence is very clever."

"She has a good-shaped forehead," said Mrs. Aylmer; "I greatly admire genius. You can go, Florence; I'll speak to your mother."

"I think you had better come too, Mummy," said Florence; "surely it is not necessary for you to remain."

But Mrs. Aylmer glanced at her sister-in-law and then at Florence, and decided to remain.

"No, no, dear child," she said, "I have a great deal to say to your Aunt Susan; she has the kindest heart in the world, and the fact is, I am looking forward to my cup of tea. What delicious tea it looks! It is so kind of you, Susan, to give it to me."

Florence stalked to the door without a word, opened it, and shut it after her. When she had done so the widow glanced at the rich Mrs. Aylmer.

"You must forgive the dear child, Susan," she said.

"Forgive her! there is nothing to forgive," said Mrs. Aylmer.

"But she was very rude to you."

"I prefer her rudeness to your fawning, Mabel, and that I will say frankly."

"Fawning! Dear Susan, you certainly have a very peculiar way, but there – "

"We need not talk about my ways; my ways are my own. I wish to say something now. If my niece Florence wins the Scholarship, after her term at Cherry Court has expired I shall send her abroad for two years, paying all expenses of her education there. On her return, if she turns out to be a highly-educated, stylish woman, I shall take her to live with me, taking a house in London and giving her every advantage. I intended to do this for Florence if she turned out good-looking; she will never be good-looking, but she may be a genius which is equally interesting. All depends on her winning the Scholarship. If she loses it she goes to Mrs. Goodwin's school at Stoneley Hall, having clearly proved to me that her abilities are not above the average. If she wins it I do what I say, and in the meantime I wish you, my dear Mabel, to get her one or two pretty dresses, a nice hat, and a few suitable clothes. Or, stay, I have not the least doubt that your taste is atrocious; give me her measurements, and I shall write to my own dressmaker in London. Florence shall return to Cherry Court School as my niece, and I will write to Sir John Wallis myself with regard to her. Now, I think that is all. Oh, you would like your tea. Take it, pray, and hand me a cup. That silly girl! but I always did admire frankness."

CHAPTER XII.
THE FAIRY BOX

The rest of the week at Dawlish passed on the wings of speed.

Mrs. Aylmer took her departure on the following morning, and neither the little Mummy nor Florence saw her again, but at the end of the week a box arrived at the widow's cottage. It was a wooden box carefully nailed down, and labelled: "This side up with care." It was addressed to Miss Florence Aylmer, and caused intense excitement, not only in the breast of Florence herself and Mrs. Aylmer, but also in that of Sukey and the near neighbors, for Mrs. Aylmer's tongue had not been idle during the few days which had passed since her sister-in-law's visit, and the intentions of Aunt Susan with regard to Florence had been freely talked over and commented on.

Nothing was said about the Scholarship. Mrs. Aylmer thought it just as well to leave that out. Her remarks were to the following effect:

"Florence is about to be adopted by her very wealthy aunt; she is already keeping her at a good school, and is about to send her some suitable dresses. In the end she will doubtless leave her her fortune."

After this Sukey and the neighbors looked with great respect at Florence, who for her part had never felt so cross in her life as when these hints were made.

"Mummy," she said once to her parent, "if I want to keep my self-respect I ought to refuse those clothes and give up Aunt Susan."

"My dear child, what do you mean? If you wanted to keep your self-respect! My dear Florence, are you mad?"

"Alas, mother, I fear I am mad," replied the girl, "for I do intend to accept Aunt Susan's bounty. I will wear her pretty dresses, and all the other things she happens to send me, and I will take her money and do my best, my very best, to get the Scholarship; but all the same, mother, I shall do it meanly, I know I shall do it meanly. It would be better for me to give up the Scholarship and go as a poor girl to Stoneley Hall. Mother, there is such a thing as lowering yourself in your own eyes, and I feel bad, bad about this."

Florence made these remarks on the evening the box arrived. The box was in the tiny sitting-room still unopened. Mrs. Aylmer was regarding it with flushed cheeks, and now after Florence's words she suddenly burst into tears.

"You try me terribly, Flo," she said, "and I have struggled so hard for your sake. This is such a splendid chance: all your future secured and I, my darling, relieved of the misery of feeling that you are unprovided for. Oh, Flo, for my sake be sensible."

"I will do anything for you, mother," said Florence, whose own eyes had a suspicion of tears in them. "It was just a passing weakness, and I am all right now. Yes, I will get the Scholarship, and I will stoop to Aunt Susan's ways – I will cringe to her if necessary; I will do my best to propitiate Sir John Wallis, and I will act like a snob in every sense of the word. There now, Mummy, I see you are dying to have the box opened. We will open it and see what it contains."

"First of all, kiss me, Florry," said Mrs. Aylmer.

Florence rose, went up to her mother, took her in her arms, and kissed her two or three times, but there was not that passion in the embrace, that pure abandon of love which Florence's first kiss when she arrived at Dawlish had been so full of.

"Now, then," she said, in a hasty voice, "let us get the screwdriver and open the box. This is exciting; I wonder what sort of taste Aunt Susan's dressmaker has."

"Exquisite, you may be sure, dear. There, there, I am all trembling to see the things, and Sukey must have a peep, mustn't she, Flo?"

"If I acted as I ought," said Florence, "I would take this box just as it stands unopened to Cherry Court School to-morrow."

"Oh, no, my dear; you could not think of doing such a thing; it would be so unkind to me. I shall dream of you in your pretty dresses, my love."

Florence said nothing more; she took the screwdriver from her mother, and proceeded to open the box.

Inside lay fold after fold of tissue paper. This was lifted away and then the first dress appeared to view. It was a soft shimmering silk of light texture, fashionably made and very girlish and simple. Florence could not help trembling when she saw it. All her scruples vanished at the first sight of the lovely clothes, and she took them out one by one to gaze at them in amazed delight.

The silk dress was followed by a flowered barege, and this by one or two cottons, all equally well made, quite suitable for a young girl, and the sort of dress which would give to Florence's somewhat clumsy figure a new grace. Under the three lighter dresses was a very plain but smartly-made thin blue serge, altogether different from the sort of serge which Florence had worn up to the present. To this serge was pinned a label, on which the words were written: "Travelling dress, and to be worn every day at school."

Under the pretty serge were half a dozen white embroidered aprons, and below them piles and piles of underlinen, all beautifully embroidered, silk stockings, little shoes, plenty of gloves, handkerchiefs, also embroidered with Florence's name. In short, a complete and very perfect wardrobe.

"Dear, dear, is it a dream?" said Florence; "am I the same girl? What magic that Scholarship has worked!"

"You must try them on, Flo," said the widow; "we shall be up some time. You must try one and all of them on, and Sukey shall come in and see you."

"Oh, mother, is it necessary to show them all to Sukey?"

"I think so, love, for it will spread the news, and it will greatly enhance my position in the place. I quite expect the Pratts will ask me to tea once a week, and they give very good teas – excellent; I never tasted better hot cakes than Ann Pratt makes. Yes, Flo dear, Sukey must see you in your smart clothes. Come upstairs to our bedroom and let us begin the trying-on, dearest."

Florence was sufficiently impressed with her new position to agree to this. She went upstairs with her mother, and for the next two hours the ladies were very busy.

Sukey was called to view Florence in each of her frocks, and when Sukey held up her hands and said that Miss Florence looked quite the lady of quality, and when she blinked her old eyes and fussed round the young girl, Mrs. Aylmer thought that her cup of bliss was running over.

At last the trying-on was completed, the old dresses discarded and put away, and Florence came downstairs in her travelling serge, wondering if a fairy wand had been passed over her, and if she were indeed the same girl who had arrived at Dawlish a week ago.

"And here's a letter from your aunt; it arrived a quarter of an hour ago," said Mrs. Aylmer. "I have not opened it yet. I wonder what she says."

"Read it to me, mother; we may as well go in for the whole thing. Aunt Susan evidently intends to turn me out properly. Do I look much nicer in this serge, mother?"

"You look most elegant, dear, you really do. You will have a very fine figure some day, and your face now in that very pretty setting-off has a very distinguished appearance. You have an intellectual forehead, Flo; be thankful that you inherit it from your poor dear father."

"Well, read the letter now, mother," said Florence.

Mrs. Aylmer opened the envelope, and took out the thick sheet of paper which it contained.

Mrs. Aylmer the great generally wrote few words. It was only on the occasion of her last letter that she had indulged in a long correspondence. Now she said briefly:

"MY DEAR MABEL: I believe that Florence's box of clothes will arrive on Thursday evening, so that she will be able to return to Cherry Court School dressed as my niece. I wish her in future to speak of herself as my niece, as I am very well known in many circles as Mrs. Aylmer, of Aylmer Hall. If Florence plays her cards well and obtains the Scholarship she will have a good deal to say of Aylmer Hall in the future.

"I enclose herewith a five-pound note, and please ask Florence to exchange her third-class ticket for a first-class one, and telegraph to the station-master at Hilchester to have a carriage waiting for her, in order to take her back to the school as my niece ought to arrive. Tell her from me that during the next term I will allow her as pocket-money two pounds a month, so that she may show her companions she is really the niece of a wealthy woman. As to you, Mabel, I hope you will not interfere in any way with the dear child, but allow her to pursue her studies as my niece ought. If she fails to get the Scholarship all these good things will cease, but doubtless she has too much spirit and too much ability to fail."

"There," said Mrs. Aylmer, when she had finished the letter, "can you take your tea after that? Five pounds, and you are to go back first-class! That I should live to see the day! This is all Sir John Wallis's doing. There is not the least doubt that he had a wonderful effect upon Aunt Susan."

"Yes, a wonderful effect," said Florence, in a gloomy voice. She was wearing the neat and beautifully fitting serge, a white linen collar encircled her throat, and was fastened by the neatest of studs, and white linen cuffs also encircled her wrists; her figure was shown off to the best advantage. On her feet were the silk stockings and the dainty shoes which she had so coveted a week ago, and yet her heart felt heavy, heavy as lead. Her mother pushed the five-pound note towards her, but she did not touch it.

"Look here, Mummy," she said, "we will exchange the third-class fare for a first-class one, and then you shall have the balance of the five pounds. It will make up for what you denied yourself to have me here; it is only fair."

"Oh, Flo, you dear, sweet, generous child – but dare I take it?"

"Yes, Mummy, you must take it; it is the only drop of comfort in all this. I don't like it, Mummy. I have a mind even now to – "

"To what, my dear child?"

"To take off this finery and send back the money, and just be myself. I wish to respect myself, but somehow I don't now. Oh, Mummy, Mummy, I don't like it."

"Florence, dear child, you are mad. This sudden happiness, this unlooked-for delight has slightly turned your brain – you will be all right in the future. Don't think any more about it, love. We must go upstairs now to pack your things in order to get you ready for your journey to-morrow."

"All right," said Florence.

"You have not taken your tea, dearest. Is there any little thing you would fancy – I am sure Sukey would run to the butcher's – a sweetbread or anything?"

"No, no, mother – nothing, nothing. I am not hungry – that's all."

The next morning at an early hour Florence bade her mother good-bye and started back for Cherry Court School. It was very luxurious to lie back on the soft padded cushions of the first-class carriage and gaze around her, and sometimes start up and look at her own image in the glass opposite. She could not help seeing that she looked much nicer in her white sailor hat, her pretty white gloves, and well-fitting dark blue serge than she had looked when she went to Dawlish one week ago. And that trunk in the luggage-van kept returning to her memory again and again, and in her purse were ten shillings, and in her mother's purse were three pounds, for the difference between the third-class and the first-class fares had been paid, and Florence, after keeping ten shillings for immediate expenses, could still hand her mother three pounds.

"You don't know what it will be to me, Flo," the little Mummy had said. "I shall be able to buy a new dress for the winter. I didn't dare to say a word to your Aunt Susan about her cast-offs; I scarcely liked to do so. But there are your clothes too, dear; I can cut them up and make use of them. Yes, I am quite a rich woman, and it is all owing to the Scholarship."

The thought of that three pounds for her mother did comfort Florry, and her conscience was not accusing her so loudly that day, so she sat back on the cushions and reviewed the position. She was going back to Cherry Court School as a rich girl; what would her companions think of her?

CHAPTER XIII.
AN INVITATION

The holidays had come to an end, and the girls were returning to the school. The three who were to compete for Sir John's Scholarship had special desks assigned to them, were instructed by special teachers, and were looked upon with intense respect by the rest of the school. The holidays had gone by and had been pleasant, for Mrs. Aylmer had written to Mrs. Clavering to beg of her to take her niece Florence for a week's change on the seaside, and Mrs. Clavering had insisted on Kitty accompanying them, and, as Mrs. Aylmer paid the greater part of the expenses, the girls had a good time.

Mrs. Aylmer now wrote twice a week, if not to Florence herself, at least to Mrs. Clavering; and Mrs. Clavering had to alter her views with regard to Florence, to give her every advantage possible, and to look upon her with a certain amount of respect.

"It certainly is most important that you should get that Scholarship," she said once to the young girl. "Mrs. Aylmer has explained the whole position to me, but then you won't get it, Florence, unless you earn it."

"I know that," said Florence.

"And Kitty has an equal chance with you. I think Kitty is a remarkably intelligent girl. It is just as important for her to get it as it is for you, you quite understand that?"

"Oh, I quite understand," said Florence.

"Then there is also Mary Bateman. Mary has not as brilliant an intellect as Kitty, and in some ways is not as scholarly as you are, Florence, but she is very plodding and persevering, and as a rule gets to the head of her class. Mary is neither rich nor poor, but she would be very glad of the Scholarship, and says that it would give her father and mother great happiness if she obtained it; so you see, dear, you three girls are to work for the same goal – it is almost as important to one of you as to another. I want you therefore to be perfectly fair in your dealings each with the other, and to try to keep envy and all ill-feeling out of your hearts. The one who wins this great generous offer of Sir John Wallis must not think more highly of herself than she ought, and those who lose must bear their loss with resignation, feeling that they have acquired a great deal of knowledge, even if they have not acquired anything else, and trying to rejoice in the success of the one who has succeeded. The next few months until October will be a time of strain, and I hope my dear girls will be equal to the occasion."

Florence got very red while Mrs. Clavering was speaking to her. "Sometimes – " she said, in a low voice, and then she paused and her tone faltered.

"What is it, Florence?"

"Sometimes I heartily wish that Sir John had not put this great thing in my way. Last term I was poor and had shabby clothes, and no one thought a great deal of me, but in some ways I feel less happy now than I did last term. Last term, for instance, I was very fond of Kitty Sharston and I liked Mary Bateman, but there are moments now when I almost hate both of them."

"It is brave of you to confess all this, Florence, and I think none the worse of you for doing so, and if you pray against this feeling it will not increase, dear. Now go away and prepare for your French paper. By the way, a special master is coming twice a week now to coach all three of you. This has been done by Sir John Wallis's orders. Go away now, dear, and work."

The one great subject of conversation in the school was the Cherry Court Scholarship, and the lucky three were looked upon with wonder and a little envy by their less fortunate companions, for their privileges were so great and the goal set before them so high. For instance, Mrs. Clavering had so contrived matters that the three could work at their special Scholarship studies in the oak parlor. She had given each girl a desk with a lock and key, where she could keep her different themes and exercises. They had a special master to teach them deportment in all its different branches, and once a week they spent an evening in Mrs. Clavering's drawing-room, where special guests were invited to see them.

On these occasions the young girls had to act turn about as hostess, pouring out tea, receiving the visitors, seeing them out again, and entering into what was considered in the early seventies polite conversation. The almost lost art of conversation was as far as possible revived during the time of Scholarship competition, and in order to give Kitty, Florence, and Mary greater opportunities of talking over the events of the day they were obliged to read the Times every morning for an hour.

Their companions, those of the Upper school, were invited to assemble in the drawing-room on the occasions of the weekly conversazione, as it was called, and a special subject was then introduced, which the girls were obliged to handle as deftly and as well as they could.

As to conduct marks, there was nothing said about conduct, and no one put down those marks except the head mistress herself. Florence sometimes trembled when she met her eyes. She wondered if those calm grey eyes could read through down into her secret soul, could guess that she herself was unworthy, that she had committed a deed which ought really to exclude her from all chance of winning the Scholarship. Then, as the days went on, Florence's conscience became a little hardened, and she was less and less troubled by what she had done with regard to Kitty Sharston.

Florence's change in circumstances were much commented upon by the other girls, and there is no doubt that in her neatly-fitting dress with her abundant pocket-money she did appear a more gracious and a more agreeable girl than she had done in the old days when her frock was shabby, her pinafore ugly, her pocket-money almost nil.

One of the first things she did on her arrival at the school was to present Kitty Sharston with a white work-bag embroidered with cherries in crewel-stitch, and with a cherry-colored ribbon running through it. She had spent from five to six shillings on the bag, and had denied herself a little to purchase it.

Kitty received it with rapture, and used to bring it into Mrs. Clavering's drawing-room on the company evenings, and to show it with pride to her companions as Florence's gift.

"She had never had such a pretty bag in her life," she said, and she kissed Florence many times when she presented it to her.

Florence meant it as payment for the cherry-colored ribbons, but she did not mean it as payment for what she had stolen out of Kitty's desk. She knew that nothing could ever pay for that deed; but it comforted her conscience just a little to present the bag to Kitty.

The Scholarship was to be competed for on the thirtieth of October, and the girls reassembled at Cherry Court School about the fifteenth of August.

Three weeks after the school had recommenced, some time therefore in the first week in September, Mary Bateman, who had been bending for a long time over her desk with her hands pressed to her temples and her cheeks somewhat flushed, suddenly raised her eyes and encountered the fixed stare of Kitty Sharston. Kitty had done her work and was leaning back in her chair. Kitty's sweet pale face looked a little paler than usual. She was expecting a letter from her father, and on the week when the letter was to arrive she always looked a little paler and a little more anxious than she did at other times.

"Have you finished your theme?" said Mary, abruptly.

"Yes," answered Kitty.

"You write so easily," pursued Mary, in a somewhat discontented voice; "you never seem to have to think for words. Now, I am not at all good at composition."

"I am not at all good at other things," replied Kitty, in a gentle voice; "mathematics, for instance; and as to my arithmetic, it is shameful. Father wants me to be able to keep accounts very well for him. I shall do that when I go to India, but still I have no ability for that sort of thing – none whatever."

"How much you must love your father," said Mary.

"Love him!" answered Kitty. Her color changed, a flush of red rose into her cheeks, leaving them the next moment more pallid than ever.

"You don't look very strong," pursued Mary, who had a blunt downright sort of manner; "I wonder if India will agree with you; I wonder if you will really go to India."

"Why do you say that?" answered Kitty, impatiently, "when it is the one dream, the one hope of my life. Of course I shall go to India. I shall do that in any case," she added sotto voce.

"It is so strange all about this Scholarship," continued Mary, in an uneasy voice, "that we three should long for it so earnestly, and yet each feel that two others will be more or less injured if we win it."

"Don't let us talk of it," said Kitty. "I – I must get it."

"And I must get it," pursued Mary, "and yet perhaps it means a little less to me than it does to you and Florence. Florence is the one likely to win it, I am sure."

Kitty's face turned white again and her little hand trembled.

"I must get it," she said, in a restless voice. "I don't think I am selfish – I try not to be, and I would do anything for you, Mary, and anything for Florence; but – but I can't give up the Scholarship: it means too much."

She shivered slightly.

At that moment Florence entered the room. She sat down at her desk, unlocked it, and took out her papers. She was just about to commence her study – for the Scholarship study was all extra, and had to be done in odd hours and moments – when, glancing up, she met the disturbed and questioning gaze of Kitty Sharston.

"Look here," said Kitty, "we three are alone now; let us have a good talk, just once, if never again. Why do you want to get the Scholarship, Mary? Why?"

"Why do I want to get it?" said Mary.

"Oh, I wish to work now; if you mean to discuss that point I had better leave the room," said Florence.

"No, no, do stay, Flo; I won't be more than a moment. I want to understand things, that's all," said Kitty. "Please, Mary, say why is the Scholarship of great importance to you."

"Well, for several reasons," replied Mary. "I am not like you, Florence, and I am not like you, Kitty. I have got both a father and mother. My father is a clergyman; there are nine other children besides me – I am the third. It was extremely difficult for father to send me to this expensive school, but he felt that education was the one thing necessary for me. Father is a very advanced, liberal-minded man; he is before his time, so everyone says; but mother does not think it necessary that girls should know too much. Mother thinks that a girl ought to be purely domestic; she is very particular about needlework, and she would like every girl to be able to make a shirt well, and to be able to cook and preserve, and know a little about gardening, and know a great deal about keeping a house in perfect order. But father says, and very rightly, that every girl cannot marry, and that the girls who do not marry cannot want to know a great deal about keeping a house in order, and that such girls, unless they have fortunes left to them, will have to earn their own living. Of course, there are very few openings for women, and most women have to teach, so it is decided that I shall teach by and by. If marriage comes, all right, but if it does not come I shall earn my living as a governess.

"Now, to be a really good governess father wants me to be very well educated, and he is spending the little money that he might have left to me when he died in sending me to this good school. Whether I get the Scholarship or not, I shall remain at the school for three years. I am fifteen now; I shall remain here until I am eighteen. If I do get the Scholarship father means to save the money that the three years' schooling would cost, and he means to send me when I return home at the age of eighteen to a wonderful new College for Women which has been established at a place called Girton. He will spend the money which he would have spent on my education at Cherry Court School in keeping me at Girton, where I shall attend the University lectures at Cambridge, and learn as much as a man learns. It is wonderful to think of it. Mother is rather vexed; she says that I shall be put out of my sphere and cease to be womanly, but I don't think I could ever be that. You see that it is very important for me to win the Scholarship, and I mean to try very, very, very hard."

When Mary had finished her little speech she drooped her head once again over her desk. When at last she raised her eyes she encountered the bold black ones of Florence Aylmer, and the soft, lovely, dilated eyes of Kitty Sharston.

"And I want to win the Scholarship," said Kitty, taking up the theme, "because it means staying on here and being happy and being well educated for three years. It means getting the best lessons in music, and the best lessons in singing, and the best lessons in art, and it means also getting the best instruction in modern languages, and in all those other things which an accomplished woman ought to know. Then at the end of three years if all is well and father gets promoted to the hill station, I shall go out to join him in Northern India, and I want to be as perfect as possible in order to be father's friend as well as daughter, his companion as well as child."

"And if you don't get the Scholarship, what will happen?" said Florence, in a low, growling sort of voice.

"Why, then I am going to live with a lady whom I don't love; her name is Helen Dartmoor; she is a Scotchwoman, and a cousin of my mother's. She is not the least like my dear mother, and I never loved her, and I know that the best in me will not be brought to the fore if I am with her; and I shan't learn those things which would delight dear father; I shall not know modern languages, nor be a good musical scholar, nor be able to sing nicely, and I – I shall hate that life, and my nature may be warped, and I – but, oh! I will win the Scholarship."

Kitty sprang to her feet and went over to the window. "This makes me restless," she said; "I didn't mean to express all my feelings; I am very sorry for you, Mary, and for you, Florence, but, I mean to get the Scholarship."

"You have not yet seen the thing from my point of view," said Florence. "Perhaps in reality this means more to me than even to you, Kitty, for I – I in reality am horribly poor. I know, Kitty, that you are poor too – I know perfectly well that your father is poor for his position; but whatever happens, you are a lady, Kitty, and your father is a gentleman, and at the end of three years, whether you win the Scholarship or not, you will go out to him and lead the life of a lady. I don't suppose, when all is said and done, that it will make any difference in his affection whether you can speak French and read German or not, and I am certain he won't kiss you less often because you do not play charmingly and because you do not sing divinely. But I – if I lose the Scholarship I lose all – yes, I lose all," said Florence, rising to her feet and standing before the other two girls with a solemn and yet frightened look on her face. "For I shall sink in every sense of the word; I shall no longer be a lady, I shall go as pupil teacher to a common, rough sort of school, and my mother, my dear mother, will suffer, and I shall suffer, and all the good things of life will be taken from me. So it is more to me than it is to you, Kitty Sharston; and as to you, Mary Bateman, you are out of count altogether, for why should you go to that new-fangled college and be turned into a man when you are born a woman? No, no; I mean to get this Scholarship, for it means not only all my future, but mother's future too. It is more to me than to either of you."