Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Youngest Girl in the Fifth: A School Story by Angela Brazil (summer beach reads .txt) 📖
- Author: Angela Brazil
Book online «The Youngest Girl in the Fifth: A School Story by Angela Brazil (summer beach reads .txt) 📖». Author Angela Brazil
"I shan't be content till I can dive," declared Gwen, watching enviously as Elspeth Frazer took a header. "I shouldn't think it's difficult when you get the knack. It will be just having the pluck to try. I can float the least little scrap already, so I've learnt something this afternoon, and so have you."
"We shall both get on grandly at the lessons," assented Netta.
The whole Form agreed unanimously that the experiment was "ripping", and everyone was extremely anxious to come again. Gwen went home mad with enthusiasm, and Lesbia, whose Form had preceded the Fifth, was in equal ecstasies. Both besieged their father with wild entreaties to be allowed to take the course.
"You haven't told me the fees, and that's a very important point," said Mr. Gascoyne.
"I quite forgot to ask," admitted Gwen, brought down to the mundane side of the question. "Lesbia, do you know?"
Lesbia shook her head. She rarely knew anything; as a rule other people were ready to manage her affairs for her.
"Miss Douglas says the swimming course is to be half a guinea each, and admission to the baths threepence a time. There is a special arrangement for[155] schools," said Winnie, supplying the needed information.
"Then I must think it over," returned Father. "Times are bad just now, chicks, and I don't know whether I can afford it. A curacy is not a fat living, remember, and there are seven of you!"
Very much sobered, the enthusiastic bathers betook themselves to their preparation.
"I wish everything nice didn't cost money!" sighed Gwen.
She broached the subject to Beatrice during the evening.
"I've been talking about it to Father," said the latter. "I'm afraid he can't manage it for you both, but he might possibly for one. It will be a choice between you and Lesbia."
"I'm the eldest!" urged Gwen quickly.
"Yes, I know you are, but on the other hand, it really is Lesbia's turn, because you took the St. John's Ambulance last winter at the Parish Room, and Lesbia didn't."
"Swimming's a million times nicer than ambulance!"
"It's not any more useful. Don't be selfish, Gwen! You know how hard up we are. We can't all of us do everything, and I think this time it certainly ought to be Lesbia."
Gwen kicked the orchard gate against which they were leaning, and tried to keep down a lump that rose in her throat. Beatrice's arguments were unanswerable.
"It'll be sickening to be the only one in the Form[156] who doesn't take swimming," she said at last. "Every single girl will join except me. I shall have to stop behind and do prep. instead. I'll feel more utterly out of things than ever."
"You could pay for the course yourself, if you like," suggested Beatrice. "What have you done with all your money?"
Gwen's restless hands were hacking notches on the top bar of the gate. Her penknife slipped suddenly, and cut her finger.
"Your own fault, if you will be so clumsy!" said Beatrice. "Come indoors, and I'll tie it up for you. You'd better hold it under the cold-water tap first."
Gwen groaned in spirit as she went to bed that night.
"I shall never hear the last of that wretched fifteen shillings!" she thought "I feel like Mr. Caudle in the Curtain Lectures, when he'd lent a five-pound note to a friend. That money of mine was to have bought Christmas presents, and boots for Johnnie Cass, and a new tennis racket, and paid for the swimming, and I don't know what else, according to my family's ideas. Oh, dear! Being poor's a hateful business! I wish Dad were Archbishop of Canterbury, instead of only Curate-in-charge of Skelwick Bay!"
[157]
CHAPTER XIV Gwen meets TroubleDon't I wish I were chanting his dirge—ill!
As a door-nail he's dead
Yet his works live instead,
And to me they're a regular scourge—ill!"
So sang Netta, banging down her copy of Æneid I and II with a force that almost dissevered its cover and made the desk ring.
"I call it absolute sickening nonsense," she continued energetically. "Why in the name of all common sense should we girls in this modern twentieth century be expected to bother our precious heads over antiquated old rubbish that would be far better consigned to decent burial? What's the use of it, I want to know?"
"'An admirable training for the intellect', my dear! to quote Thistles," said Annie Edwards. "According to her theory you ought to feel your mind sprouting at every fresh page, and sending out shoots of wisdom."
"Sprouting, indeed! Just the other way!" grunted Netta. "Latin has a paralysing effect upon my brain. Instead of sharpening me it deadens my faculties.[158] When I've been trying to construe a page of Virgil, my intellect feels a pulp."
"Then the obvious moral is, don't try!" yawned Millicent Cooper.
"I don't."
"No more you do, you old slacker!"
"Why should one try when one can scrape through without?"
"Not an easy thing if Thistles puts you on a difficult bit! Have you made any sense out of this part? It's uncommonly stiff."
"Not I—I shall throw myself as usual on Gwen's mercy. Come here, Gwendolen mine, that's a sweet angelic cherub, and interpret these abominable lines!"
Gwen came rather reluctantly. Of late Netta had grown into the habit of applying to her for help with her extremely ill-prepared work, and the habit was assuming proportions that Gwen did not like. At first it had only been a word or two, then an odd sentence, but it was rapidly developing into a demand for a translation of the whole lesson.
"Oh, I say, Netta, you make me a regular henchman!" she objected. "Why should I act as providence to you continually?"
"Because you know the lesson, my hearty, and I don't. Ergo, it is your duty and privilege to impart your information to me."
"Don't always see my privileges."
"Then you ought. If you're helped, you ought to help others."
"I'm not helped!"[159]
"Oh, Gwen! I'm sure Grinnie helps you at home!" broke out Millicent Cooper.
"She doesn't! She doesn't, indeed! I do all my prep, by myself."
"Can you actually swear on your honour she's never once helped you?" said Annie Edwards.
"On my hon—" began Gwen, then stopped and stammered lamely. "Well, at least, there was once—"
The recollection had struck her of the evening when she had caught the rat in the hen-coop. She had been so upset and flurried on that occasion that she had certainly applied to Winnie for assistance with a passage that she could not have otherwise prepared.
"Once!" sneered Annie. "Oh, no doubt! Everybody in the Form knows how it is you get on so well with your work!"
"I get no help at home!" declared Millicent self-righteously.
"Oh, drop drivelling, and let Gwen alone! She's got to tell me these lines," said Netta. "What do I care how she prepares her work? Come, Gwen, ma-vourneen, be a real friend!"
As Gwen translated the passage Netta wrote it rapidly down in pencil, and even Annie and Millicent, in spite of their condemnations of assisted preparations, seized their books and followed the words carefully.
"A particularly nasty bit—I could never do it if I tried half a year. Thanks awfully!" said Netta, slipping the paper inside her Æneid.[160]
"Netta, you're not going to—"
"Never mind what I'm going to do. My concerns are my own," returned Netta airily. "I'm an unlucky person, and I'm sure to get the worst piece if there is one. It's Kismet."
Gwen's desk was close to Netta's, and when the Virgil class began she could not help noticing the latter pop the scrap of paper on her knee under cover of a pocket handkerchief.
Miss Douglas followed no fixed order in the Form; she called on any girl she wished to translate, choosing from back or front desks with strictest impartiality. As Netta had predicted, the difficult passage fell to her lot. To the surprise of almost the whole Form she came off with flying colours. Though Annie and Millicent had strong suspicions, only Gwen had seen the little piece of paper hidden under Netta's handkerchief. At lunch time she flew out on the subject.
"Look here, Netta," she began grimly, "helping you a little is one thing, but I'm not going to act crib for you again; so just don't think it."
"What do you mean?" gasped Netta sharply.
"What I say. You'd better prepare your own Virgil next time."
"Aren't you going to help me any more?" There was an unpleasant look in Netta's eyes.
"Not when you write it out and crib."
"It was only one scrap. Don't be horrid, Gwen!"
"I like things square, and they've not been quite straight lately. I'm going to put a stop to it, so I give you warning."[161]
"Won't you tell me just the hard bits?"
"Not a single sentence."
"Then you're a mean, stingy thing, Gwen Gascoyne! I don't know why you should have taken it into your head all of a sudden to be so sanctimonious. You've not been so remarkably square before that you need turn saint now. You promised you'd stand by me, and this is how you keep your word, is it? I'll know better another time than to help you. You may get out of your own scrapes as best you can. I'll pay you for this, Gwen Gascoyne! I'll catch you tripping some time, see if I don't—and then—" and with a significant nod Netta turned away.
"You can do anything you like; I don't care," grunted Gwen.
She was out of temper that morning, for it was swimming day, and the thought of the rest of the Form jaunting off to the baths without her filled her with despair. She did not speak to Netta during the dinner hour, nor did the latter seek her company.
"What have those two quarrelled about? I thought they were ever so chummy," said Charlotte Perry to Elspeth Frazer.
"I'm sure I don't know. It would be a good thing for Gwen Gascoyne if she did quarrel with Netta, in my opinion."
"Then she'd be in a set by herself! Perhaps she thinks 'better Netta than nobody'."
"Better nobody than Netta, I should say. Do you know, Charlotte, I don't believe Gwen's half bad by herself, if only Netta would let her alone. It's when they get together they're so silly."[162]
"Um—perhaps you're right. Gwen's straight, whatever else she is, and one can't say that for Netta."
"Hardly! I vote we watch them, and if they really are out of friends, we'll see if we can do anything with Gwen. It's rather rough on her to be such an outcast."
"Pity she's not as nice as Lesbia."
"Do you know," said Elspeth reflectively, "I'm not sure that she mayn't be at bottom. Of course Lesbia's awfully sweet-tempered, but then she's made such a fuss of, and there's really nothing in her. Now, I think there is something in Gwen, if she were taken the right way. I didn't like her at all at first, I don't know that I even do very much now, but I fancy she's one of those girls whom one might get to like if one saw the other side of her—I'm certain she has another side, only it never comes out at school."
"It isn't nice of her to rag her own sister, though."
"That's Netta's fault; she starts all the ragging and throws it on to Gwen."
"I'd be glad if I could really think so," returned Charlotte, and there for the moment the matter ended.
That afternoon a joyful, jubilant, rejoicing crew of Fifth Formers set off for the baths, duly armed with their costumes and mackintosh caps, and from the window of the classroom one dejected, miserable girl watched them depart. Gwen thought she had never felt quite so forlorn in her life before. She was aggrieved with Fate, and kept muttering, "Hard luck! hard luck!" to herself as the last school hat whisked round the corner.
"I didn't see Netta," she thought, and then turned,[163] for she heard Netta's indignant, protesting voice in the passage outside in loud altercation with Miss Trent.
"It's no use, Netta, I can't allow it," the mistress was saying. "With that sniffly cold in your head it would be folly to bathe, and as you say your mother is away from home, and you could not ask her permission this morning, I must be the judge, and I say most emphatically no."
"But, Miss Trent! If
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