Chapter VI: The Guide Cup

“Bet-ty!” called Gerry.

They were friends now. Their liking for each other, perhaps, had dated from the very first moment they had met; but their friendship had begun after Sybil’s evening visit to the dormitory on the first night of term.

For Gerry had taken up the rôle of protector that evening in her quick, impulsive way. There had been something in the lonely look of Betty, left standing in the middle of the floor of the Oak Room as the Guides had all trooped out, which had appealed to the youngest Guide of the company. Though younger in years than the rest, she was perhaps as understanding in heart as any of the senior Guides themselves. It had been the solitary look of Betty standing alone “under the clock,” too, among crowds of chatterers, which had brought Gerry to her side; and that same lonely look had been responsible for the mascot idea which had been hatched out of Gerry’s brain, to be hailed with enthusiasm by the entire company of Guides next day.

Betty had wakened, indeed, to “find herself famous.” Everybody had looked at her with friendly grins as the “new mascot.” She was addressed on the subject in a hail-fellow-well-met fashion by girls who had not seemed to notice her existence before.

“I say, that makes nine, then, for the Daisies. Hope you will bring them good luck. Not that they need it. They’ve kept the Cup for two years.”

“It’s hard work with us; not luck.” Thus Sybil, who was passing by, and who spoke in a business-like tone. “Not that we’re not glad of our mascot,” she added, smiling swiftly at Betty.

The whole school had been out in the garden that day between breakfast and classes. Prefects moving about talking of school arrangements together; groups of younger girls still exchanging holiday reminiscences; Gerry, faithful still to her companion, sticking, as cicerone, to Betty’s side.

“I say, it is fun having you as mascot, you know. There are such lots of things to show you, specially now that you’re a Daisy: Guide things. Not many out here, though, except, of course, the gardens.”

In another minute the gardens had been reached.

The Guide plots occupied the strip of land behind St. Benedick’s. In years gone by this part of the grounds had been laid out as a large lawn; but the land had been dug over, and divided into five portions, each of equal size. A great part of the digging and the actual making of the gardens had been done by the Guides themselves, under the supervision and with the help of the head gardener. Very gradually the work had been carried out; but now, several years since the Guide movement had been adopted as part of the Benedick curriculum, Betty’s first glimpse of the gardens was a glimpse that she did not soon forget.

The warm days of late spring that year had hastened the growth of the early summer flowers. The gardens lay in a sheltered spot of the grounds, and the wild profusion of their blooming plants--owing to the fact that the gardeners had been absent for a matter of several “good growing” weeks--and the reckless beauty of the luxuriant flower-beds caused city-bred Betty to hold her breath. On the other side of the building the stately garden, with its old-time dignity, through which she had passed yesterday, was peaceful; _this_ garden looked joyous--there was no other word.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Gerry quite agreed. “That’s the Daisy plot over there. We choose flowers, all of us. In the War, you know, the beds were used for vegetable growing mostly; and herbs grew there too. I was too little to be here then; but Sybil told us. And then, afterwards, Miss Carey said the girls could show by their gardens how pleased they were that peace had come. It’s--like cheers and flags still, isn’t it?” finished up Gerry.

She was right; the gardens were just like cheers and flags. The gardens of youth; just as the gardens of age and dignity lay on the other side of the house. Already great patches of different coloured wallflowers were scenting the air; great clumps of pinks, too, were already open. Dusty-millers and polyanthuses were clustered round about. Pansies of all colours showed their faces; a big lilac-bush was in full bloom; the red hawthorns were nearly over; and fruit blossom was making the dwarf trees planted here and there both pink and white with bloom. “We’ve got a gorse bush in ours,” said Gerry, “because we do so love the smell. We brought it home from a picnic when it was small. It’s small still; but we want to hear the pods cracking in the sun some day when it’s very hot, like they do on the moor. The bees love the gardens, too,” she finished up thoughtfully.

So they did; there was no doubt of that. Although nine o’clock had not struck yet, the bees, buzzing and humming over the gardens, seemed to have been marketing for hours.

“We always have a huge hedge of sweet-peas in one of the gardens,” said Gerry. “Every year. Each of the patrols has it in turns. It’s the Foxgloves’ turn now, so we’ll catch the scent in our classroom, because the hedge will be just under our window. Won’t that be lovely!” She gave a little skip of delight.

Betty had felt inclined to do the same on that first morning. She had never known that school could give such delights, or that a garden could give such a happy feeling. She had never owned a garden before; but now, together with the rest of the Daisies, it certainly seemed that she owned a part of this. “At least, I suppose that only being a mascot,” she inquired eagerly, “doesn’t mean that I don’t count.”

“There isn’t any ‘only’ about being a mascot, I’m certain,” Gerry had told her; “though we might ask Sybil. Of course it’s partly your garden too. There’s the Cup, though, of course. I don’t know about _that_,” she added, wrinkling up her forehead as she bent over the bed of pinks. “I say,” she suddenly broke out, “here’s a snail. We don’t want him on the pinks, do we? And I daresay he likes ferns just as much. I’m going to put him over the fence into the wood. Mona squashes them, but I think that’s hateful.”

“What were you saying about the Cup?” inquired Betty, eagerly falling to upon a snail search; “I wish you would tell me. One of the other girls said----”

“‘The Cup!’ Well, it’s just the Guide Cup. It belongs to the Daisies this year,” explained Gerry proudly. “You’ll see it. It’s in the Oak Room, and if you had been watching yesterday you might have noticed that our patrol was standing just underneath it when Miss Carey called us all up. On the wall, on a bracket, that’s where the Cup stands,” went on Gerry. “The Daisies lead out first always this year, because we won it. Well, on Midsummer Day Miss Carey will decide again which patrol has been the best; and whichever she decides on will call the Cup theirs, and stand under it in Hall, and file out of Hall first, and take first place.” Gerry stopped.

“I should like to see it,” said Betty, with sparkling eyes; “most specially as I’m a Daisy too.”

“You can’t till to-night. We don’t go near the Oak Room all day. Unless--” Gerry broke off. “You can see it through the window _now_, if you like. Come along. The Oak Room window looks out this way. Just across here, between the Daisy and the Cowslip gardens on this strip of grass. (We _did_ grow daffs and snowdrops in the grass two years ago, but we couldn’t help stepping on them when we went by, and that was so horrid that we stopped growing them!) Here, you _can_ see!”

Betty could see quite plainly. They had arrived under one of the big windows of the Oak Room, and there, just inside, was the little ledge on which stood a small silver cup.

“You could see it better--you could even touch it,” said her guide proudly, “if the window were open. But all the same----”

All the same Betty feasted her eyes on it as they stood there in joy and pride. The Cup was the possession of her patrol, she thought--until Midsummer Day at least!

That had happened on the first morning after her arrival; but a whole week of term had passed by since then--a week which had really seemed as full as a year.

On the evening of that first day the new girl had found herself called into the headmistress’s room again to answer Miss Carey’s promised inquiry whether Betty was shaking down happily into “school ways.” There had been no doubt, from the look in the child’s eyes, what her answer would be, even before she had stammered out the words,--

“Oh, _yes_. I never guessed----”

No, Betty had never guessed the evening before that next day she would stand gazing round the Daisy garden feeling like this. As she stood on the same spot a week later, she felt as happy, or perhaps happier than before.

Lessons? They were hard, perhaps; but then everybody was patient and understanding. Miss Drury and Miss Stewart, Miss Lee and Mademoiselle--they all seemed to know when she was trying, and to be quite satisfied with that. But when classes were over life was like a dream; there was only one “only” at St. Benedick’s, only one thorn in Betty’s bed of roses--the absence of the twins and baby; of anybody, in fact, who needed her in the same way that she had been always needed at home!

Betty still felt a little choky at times, therefore, not to have Jan’s bed pulled close to her own; not to have to play “Little Mother” all day long. If there had been any “mothering” of any kind to do at St. Benedick’s, then school would have been to her a perfect place. But except for Gerry, who had begun by protecting Betty herself, and who certainly did not intend to be “mothered,” Betty was the youngest girl of all. Mona and Rene were each a few months older, and proportionately proud of the fact; and the Mascot found herself in much the same position at St. Benedick’s as that occupied at home by Jan, the twin.

She was smiled at by the seniors, and petted a little. And though to be “treated like a little one” was just what she needed, and lovely, too, in a way, yet Betty wanted to pet some one herself! If it hadn’t been for the garden her heart would have had an empty place in it which nothing else at St. Benedick’s quite knew how to fill.

But the Daisy garden was hers--partly, at least. Sybil had told her so. At the first Guide meeting the patrol leader--very quiet and business-like, and altogether unlike the affectionate laughing girl who had sat on shy Betty’s bed and hugged her--had presided over her patrol, and had explained, after going into details, none of which the Mascot understood, what Betty’s work would be.

“I want Mona and Rene and Gerry to teach you the Guide promises, and to explain them, Betty. They will do so as well as they can, and you can all talk them over together. Then, on Saturday week, you may come and repeat them to me. That will be enough Guide work for you; though, if you like, you might begin practising some of the easy knots. Perhaps in the garden, you know.”

“Sybil,” Gerry had piped up, “Betty was asking--you see, she wants to know if she may garden. She’s not taking dancing, nor music, nor singing, nor riding, nor----”

“That will do, Gerry,” Sybil stopped her.

Betty was taking none of the “extra subjects” at school. Auntie and Dad had explained the reason to her--it was because of “the expense”; and Betty had nodded a business-like head at the time.

At St. Benedick’s, however, Miss Carey had put the matter to her in another way. “I am very glad, my dear, that you are to have a quiet term. You will have plenty of free time on your hands in which to learn to be happy in quiet ways.”

Betty had found, so far, that her steps had always seemed to lead her gardenwards at those times. For there was generally a broken stalk to help, or a flower to water, or the progress of some bee to follow, or the gradual growth of some small seedling to wonder at. All the things in the garden were smaller than Betty. Defenceless, too. Somehow they seemed to need her a little bit in the way that the children had needed her at home. She had looked up eagerly to hear what Sybil would say in answer to Gerry’s suggestion.

“Why, of course she may garden. Whenever she likes. I will go with you myself to-day, Betty, and show you what you may do.”

In Betty’s first week, then, she had grown more and more in love with the Daisy garden. All the “quiet hours,” as Miss Carey had called them, had been spent there alone. It was not until the last day of the week that she suddenly began to wonder if she really were quite as alone as she had thought.

For something had happened. Once before she had half-guessed at a “something.” And again, to-day, there was “something” going on which could not exactly be explained!

She was trying to explain it to herself, sitting back on her heels on the grassy strip between the plots, when suddenly Gerry’s voice broke through the silence.

“Betty,” called Gerry. “Bet-ty!”