Chapter XV: April Sunshine

IN the first week of April had come a spell of real summer weather, long before its time, of glorious sunshine and warmth. And the children in the schoolroom, waiting for Mr. Moore, did feel it rather hard to have to settle down again to lessons for the afternoon. Through the open window a chorus of birds' songs claimed attention. Yet, for a wonder, Mousie had brought out her slate and was frowning over rows of figures. For lessons lately had not gone too well, and she was growing anxious about the Conduct-prize.

Last summer and the summer before—in fact, ever since the Moores had come to live in Lethmere West—old Mr. Royle had offered to the children two or three prizes. The second and third were, as Mousie expressed it, "nothing particular," but the first was very particular, for any child who won it was allowed to choose what it should be. Mousie had clear notions as to what "she" would choose if this year she were the fortunate winner. She had set her heart on having a watch, a real little silver watch of her very own.

Mr. Moore, expected every moment, was rather late in making his appearance. Tom had opened a book, and Jock was stretching his limbs, and Hugh was idling close to the window. But Mousie, as already said, had her mind on "the prize."

The winning of it depended mainly on general conduct, though of course lesson-hours were included, and due attention to tasks is a part of "conduct." A black mark was given only in the case of serious wrong-doing, such as grave disobedience or deceit or deliberate untruth, and one black mark would shut off all possibility of the first prize. Tom had once won it and Hugh once, and Mousie's pride was awake. She had set her heart on success this year. It was a pity that she had not thought of the prize when her naughty fit was "on." But in such moods she seldom looked ahead or thought of anything except just the absorbing wish of the moment.

Jock knew himself to be included in the number of those who might get a prize, though, as he would only have tried for part of the year, he could hardly hope for the first. But since the "pond day" he had given up the idea. Though not told in so many words that he would have a black mark against his name, he felt no doubt on the question. Aunt Judith was sure to have told Mr. Royle all about him, he thought.

"Oh dear, oh dear, what 'does' eight times seven come to?" sighed Mousie. "I do hate these horrid seven timeses and eight timeses. If it was tens or fives, I wouldn't mind. Eight times one is—"

"Is it?"—in a muffled tone from behind Tom's book.

"I mean—eight times one is eight, and eight times two is sixteen, and eight times three—"

"My dolly's got a new hat," Bertha was heard informing Artie. "She's such a good girl. I haven't had to put her in the corner, not once to-day."

Artie squatted on his heels, surveying the big doll's staring blue eyes.

"I'd lots rather have a box of soldiers," he remarked.

"'Cause you got to be a man," suggested Bertha.

"And when I'm a man, I'm going to be a naroplane."

"Flying-man, you mean," chuckled Jock.

Then Mr. Moore came in.

"Hallo, Artie, what are you after? Never mind—I'm going to release you all. I'm wanted in a hurry at Lethmere East. And it's a glorious day, so you shall have an extra run. Won't do anybody any harm. Jock, I've just seen Miss Baynes, and she wants you for a walk through the woods. So you'd better be off in double-quick time. Rather lucky that I have to go, for my watch has stopped, and old Barnet must put it right."

Artie found his feet and came close, with an air of interest. "Won't it go? Show me, daddy. Has it got something gone wrong in its little tummy?"

"Just that exactly!"—and Mr. Moore broke into a shout of laughter as he opened the back of the watch. "Wants a lot of doctoring. No ticking, you see. Tummy very much out of order. Now, children, put away your books. Jock, be off—you're wanted quickly."

Jock was not over-keen after the proposed walk. He loved rambles, but he did not so greatly love being with Aunt Judith. Things had gone of late with tolerable smoothness; still, the punishment which Miss Baynes had pronounced was a real one, and he had not found it easy to bear.

Sometimes, especially in the earlier weeks, wrath would take hold of him, and he would feel that he "couldn't bear Aunt Judith," and he would show this in his manner, and Aunt Judith would call him naughty, and Grannie would look sad.

Still, of late the condition of affairs had mended, and you need not suppose that all this had been bad for Jock. Like everybody else, he had his little troubles, and the very fight that he often made to bear it "like a soldier" was good. It helped to make him stronger in will and braver in character. And in general, despite this particular trouble, he had been busy and happy enough.

He had seen the Captain two or three times since their long talk, and had had kind and cheery words from him. Also he had been to the Great House with Aunt Judith, and old Mr. Royle had taken the boy into his study, and had shown him some wonderful South American butterflies and other curiosities, which interested him immensely.

Mousie and he had been together much as usual. Jock was not a boy to nurse vindictive or sulky feelings, even when really offended; still, he did think Mousie had used him ill. They played together as before, but there was not quite so much of a growing friendship between the two, and Mousie knew this, if Jock did not.

She seized upon him now, as Mr. Moore disappeared. "Jock—Jock—don't go. I want you."

"I've got to go."

"Not this d'rectly minute. There's no hurry."

"Yes, there is. Mr. Moore said so."

"Couldn't you ask if you might come back? I do want you—most awfully."

"Oh, bosh—you've got all the others."

Mousie put her head on one side, and smiled her sweetest. "I don't want the others. I want 'you'."

"Well, I can't help it. It's no good bothering."

"Wouldn't you 'rather' be with me?"

Jock was not in a mood for sentiment. "Why, I'm with you all the time. And I've got to go. I don't care."

He twitched his sleeve out of her grasp and ran, leaving a disconsolate little maiden.