A Bunch of Cherries: A Story of Cherry Court School

"Well, of course, she belongs to a totally different order of being," said Mrs. Clavering, dropping her voice; "but what about the Scholarship, Sir John?"

"I dare not think of anyone else winning it," said Sir John; "but, of course, I have to face the fact that either of the other girls may succeed. Above all things, one must act fairly."

"I just doubted whether you gave a fair subject for the essay," said Mrs. Clavering.

"What do you mean?"

"Heroism," repeated the head mistress, speaking slowly and dropping her voice. "With such a subject you appeal so distinctly to the heart. If the heart does not respond, the essay on Heroism will never be done justice to."

"Ay, it is the supreme test, the supreme test," said Sir John, slowly. Again his eyes wandered to Kitty. From her charming, bright, anxious face he looked at Florence. It so happened that at that moment Florence had raised her own dark eyes and fixed them on him. The suffering she had lately lived through had added refinement to her face, and the baronet caught himself looking at her again and again.

"Yes, she has improved; there is something in her; but what is she so unhappy about, I wonder?" he thought.

Just then Mary Bateman skipped up, asked his opinion with regard to a fresh sketch she was making, and carried him away to chat with her in a corner.

Next to Kitty, Sir John certainly liked plain little Mary best.

Light refreshments were brought in on little trays, and the girls were invited to partake. The three young hostesses acted with aplomb and much tact. Dull girls were drawn out of themselves, lively girls were placed with suitable companions. Games were proposed, which were all conducted in a spirited and lively manner, and finally the proceedings ended with a gay dance. It was at this moment, just when the dance was in full swing, that Sir John Wallis came up and offered his arm to Florence.

"Will you waltz with me?" he said.

She looked up at him, colored with delight, and laid her hand on his arm. The two led the dance, and right merry was the music which was played to it.

The dance had just come to an end when Sir John looked full at Florence and spoke.

"I heard from your aunt, Mrs. Aylmer, and she is much pleased to accept my invitation. She will be my guest on the evening of the 29th, and I hope I may persuade her to stay a few days longer. You must see a great deal of her while she is at Cherry Court Park. You are a great favorite with her, are you not?"

"Of late I have been a favorite," said Florence, and now she looked full at Sir John and her lip trembled.

"There is something the matter with you, my dear," said Sir John.

"Oh, I don't know – nothing." Then she added, as if the words were wrung from her lips, "I hate Aunt Susan."

"Oh, come, come," said Sir John, truly shocked; "let me tell you that is a very unladylike way of speaking and scarcely fair to your aunt, who is doing so much for you."

"That is all you know, Sir John, but I dare not say any more."

"But having said so much, I am afraid you must. I asked you three girls what special friend or relation you would like to be present in the hour of your triumph, and you selected Mrs. Aylmer. If you did not like Mrs. Aylmer, why did you ask her to come? I would gladly have received your own mother."

"I will tell you," said Florence, in a hurried voice. "Mrs. Aylmer is much interested in your Scholarship, Sir John, and she says if I win it that she will adopt me. I shall be her – her heiress then. You understand that it means a great deal to me, the Scholarship?"

"Yes, I understand," said Sir John, gravely. His face looked troubled. "Sit down here, my dear," he said. Florence seated herself on a chair by his side. "I can understand, and I am sorry; it is scarcely fair that your young mind should be strained to this extent. And if you don't win the Scholarship?"

"Ah, if I don't, Aunt Susan will not need you to ask me much to Cherry Court Park. She will wash her hands of me."

"Indeed, this is disturbing."

"I ought not to have told you, and you must pretend that you do not know."

"I shall say nothing, of course; all the same, I am sorry."

Sir John sat very thoughtful for a moment. After a long pause he spoke.

"I ought not to give you any special advantage over the other girls," he said, "but suppose I do this?"

"What?" asked Florence, looking into his face.

"Suppose I have Mrs. Aylmer as my guest and allow you to choose another? What about your mother, Miss Aylmer?"

"Oh, do you mean it?" said Florence; her face flushed, and then turned pale. She had a wild, wild thought that even if she failed her mother would not turn from her. She had a choking sensation in her throat, which made her feel that even in the moment of absolute defeat the little Mummy's kisses would be supporting, cheering, encouraging. Tears brimmed into her eyes. "You are very good," she said.

"Then I'll do it; give me your mother's address. She shall be your guest; the other Mrs. Aylmer shall be mine. And now cheer up, my dear; we can never do more than our best."

Sir John turned aside, and soon afterwards the little party broke up.

That night Florence hardly slept. At a very early hour she awoke. She had prayed her prayer of the night before; she had asked God to help her. As to not winning the Scholarship, that was absolutely and completely out of the question. She must win it. The thought of disgrace was too intolerable; she must, she would win it. She determined to rise now and test her powers of composition. It was between five and six in the morning. She rose very softly, got into her clothes, and stole out of the dormitory.

The light was just beginning to dawn, but there was not light enough to work. Florence slipped softly down to the oak parlor; having secured a candle and a box of matches, she lit the candle and placed it on her desk, and, taking out a sheet of manuscript paper, she pressed her face on her hands, once again uttered a wild, passionate prayer, and then, dipping the pen in the ink, waited for inspiration.

"Heroism," she said, under her breath. "What did it mean?" All that it really meant rushed over her – self-denial, self-abnegation, the noble courage which comes to those who think of others, not themselves. "I cannot write," she said, passionately. She said the words aloud, dashing down her pen and making a blot on the fair sheet of manuscript paper. At that moment the door was opened and Bertha came in.

"I thought I heard a noise," she said; "so it is you? What are you doing there, Florence?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing; but why have you come to tempt me?" said Florence. She raised two haggard eyes to the pupil teacher's face.

"Not to tempt you, but to help you, poor child. Of course, you will do what I wish. There, Florence, I wrote your essay for you last night. It came over me and I wrote it without much trouble. Here it is, dear; you have only to copy it; put it in your desk for the present, there is plenty of time, and go back to bed, dear, for you look worn out."

Florence burst into tears. The next moment she had flung her arms around Bertha's neck and laid her head on her shoulder.

"There, there," said Bertha, "there, there, you are overcome, but it will be all right now."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE GUESTS ARRIVE

It wanted three days to the Scholarship competition. The girls who were called in the school the lucky three now scarcely spoke on the subject – the other girls watched them anxiously. All lessons, except those in connection with the Scholarship, were suspended so far as Mary Bateman, Kitty Sharston, and Florence Aylmer were concerned.

The trial essays, the essays which were to be the supreme test of merit, were all written, and in sealed envelopes were handed in to Mrs. Clavering. Meanwhile exercises on history, French, German, arithmetic, were the order of the hour. The girls were busy all day long. The three faces were somewhat pale, and lines which ought not to have appeared round the young eyes and lips were beginning to make themselves manifest.

"I shall be truly thankful when the thing is over," said Mrs. Clavering to Sir John; "this is bad for them, very bad. In particular I do not like Florence Aylmer's expression. The girl thinks too much about this matter. If she fails she will have an illness."

"And if she succeeds Kitty will fail or have an illness," said Sir John, restlessly.

"Kitty will feel it, but she will not have an illness," said Mrs. Clavering; "you have but to see the expression on the two faces to know that. Kitty is anxious also and resolved, but there is a firm, steady, fine sort of expression about her, quite the reverse of poor Florence's."

"Yes, I confess I do not understand that girl," said Sir John; "and yet," he added, "I cannot help liking her; she has a good deal in her."

"I pity her, poor child," said Mrs. Clavering; "she is placed in a very false position. I once met her aunt, Mrs. Aylmer, of Aylmer's Court; that was on the occasion when Florence was brought to my school, and I confess I did not take to her."