A Bunch of Cherries: A Story of Cherry Court School

As to Mary Bateman, she looked at her father and her father looked at her, and then she held herself erect and said to herself, "I can but fail, and in any case I have done my best."

Just then, the murmurs of applause having died away, Sir John took up the first of the envelopes, opened it, unfolded the sheet of paper which lay within, and commenced to read.

The essay on Heroism which he first read happened to be written by Mary Bateman. It was practical, written in good English, the spelling all correct, and also contained some fairly well-chosen allusions to great heroes of history. The essay was thoughtful, and, although there was little originality in it, the guests listened with marked attention. The reading of the essay occupied exactly ten minutes, for Sir John read it slowly, pausing often to give full weight to the words which he read. He had a beautiful, mellow, perfectly-trained voice, and Mary's somewhat lame utterances could not have sounded to better advantage.

When he had finished the guests applauded, but without any intense enthusiasm. He laid the paper down before him on the table, and then proceeded to read the second essay. This had altogether a different note. The allusions to history were far less numerous, but the heart of the young writer made itself felt. It was the work of an immature mind, but here and there was a delicate touch which pointed to the possibility of future genius. Here and there was a graceful allusion which caused Sir John's own voice to falter, and above all things, through each word there breathed a lofty and noble spirit.

"Only the daughter of a soldier could have written those words," thought Sir John; "surely this must be Kitty's work, and surely no other essay could approach hers."

So he thought, and as he came to the last words his voice rang out clear and full, and when he ceased the applause was great, and Kitty's eyes shone, although she dared not meet anyone, for it was part of the code of honor amongst the three girls that the judges should not guess who had written each individual essay.

Then at last it came to be Florence's turn. Florence had copied Bertha Keys' paper, scarcely taking in its meaning. She had copied it in hot haste, with hot rage, defiance, determination in her heart. She scarcely knew herself what the words meant, she had not taken in their true significance. The essay was a little longer than the others, and began in quite a different way.

Sir John paused for a moment, glanced down the page, then adjusted his glasses, drew himself up very erect and began to read. He had not read one sentence before he perceived that he had now quite different metal to deal with. Although disappointment stormed at his heart, he was too true a gentleman and too brave a soldier to allow such a feeling to influence him even for a moment. Yes, he would do the spirited words with which he had now to deal every justice. So he read on, the fire in the paper communicating itself to him, and the guests who listened soon forgot all about the Scholarship and all about the three young candidates. They were interested in the words themselves; the words rang out; they were not remarkable so much for the heart element as for the strong, proud, intellectual touch.

The essay was rich in metaphor and still richer in quotation. From the Greeks, from the Romans, from the English, from America, from Australia, from all parts of the globe did the young writer cull incident and quotation. She used a brief and telling argument, and she brought it to a successful and logical conclusion. Finally she quoted some words from Tennyson, aptly and splendidly chosen, and when Sir John's voice ceased the entire hall rose up in a body and cheers and acclamations ascended to the roof.

Florence's face was white as death.

Sir John laid down the paper.

"We will now," he said, turning to his fellow-judges, "retire for a few moments to decide on the winner of the Scholarship."

Sir John and the other judges immediately left the hall, and the girls, still standing in that strained and painful position, waited with lowered eyes for the result. Amongst the three, however, all doubt was over. Mary Bateman knew that her poor and lame words had not the slightest chance. Kitty would not have taken the Scholarship even if it had been offered to her. Could Mary have written that brilliant essay? Could it by any possibility be the work of Florence? But whoever had written it deserved the Scholarship, deserved it by every rule which had been laid upon the young competitors.

So she thought, and Florence, who did not dare to meet Bertha's eyes, who did not dare at this moment even to look at her mother, wished with all her heart that the ground might open and swallow her up.

Could she take this undeserved honor? The words were crowding to her lips, "Oh, don't, for heaven's sake, give it to me; I could never have written it," but she did not speak the words.

Just then there was a pause amongst the crowd of spectators, and Sir John and the other judges returned. The judges sat down in their seats and Sir John came slowly forward. His face was very white.

"The examination for the Cherry Court School Scholarship is over," he began. "With one accord we have adjudged the prize. The three young competitors have all done admirably. The questions have been so universally well answered that there would have been a difficulty in giving the prize to any one when all three so very nearly had earned it, were it not for the trial essay; but the trial essay has removed all doubt. The Scholarship, by every test of learning, of high endeavor, of noble thought, belongs to the girl whose motto on her paper has been 'The Hills for Ever.' She has indeed gone to the hills for her breezy thoughts, for her noble and winged words. May she to the longest day she lives retain all that she now feels, and go on truly from strength to strength. The names of the competitors are not attached to the essays, therefore I must request the girl who has adopted the motto, 'The Hills for Ever,' to come forward, for she is the winner of the Scholarship."

Sir John paused and looked down the room. He did not dare to glance at Kitty, for he knew only too well that, clever and sweet as she was, she had not written those words.

There was a dead silence. Mary Bateman looked at Florence – Kitty also looked at her. They felt sure she had written the splendid essay, and they wondered at her silence. She remained quite still for a moment.

"Miss Bateman, is this your essay?" said Sir John, holding up the paper to Mary.

Mary shook her head and fell back.

"Catherine Sharston, is this yours?" again said Sir John.

Kitty bent her head low in denial.

"Then Miss Aylmer – what is the matter, Miss Aylmer?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Florence. She gave one wild glance in the direction of Bertha Keys, but Bertha was too wise to meet Florence's eyes just then.

"She feels it, but she must go through with it," thought the pupil teacher. "I did not know that I had such genius, but I shall never doubt my own power in the future. Is she indeed mean enough to take my work and claim it as her own? Of course she is; it would be fatal to me if she did otherwise."

As Florence slowly, very slowly, as if each step was weighted with lead, crept forward to the front of the dais without any of that look of triumph and pleasure which ought to have marked her face at such a moment, Bertha Keys threw back her own head and allowed her watchful light blue eyes to follow the girl, while a smile of sardonic import curled her lips.

When Florence got opposite Sir John she suddenly, as if overpowered by intense emotion, fell on her knees. She could not have done anything which would more completely bring down the house. Cheers, acclamations, hurrahs, every sort of congratulation filled the air. When they had subsided for a moment and Mrs. Aylmer the less had released the hand of Mrs. Aylmer the great, which she had clutched frantically in her intense agitation, Sir John took Florence's hand and with a slight motion raised her to her feet.

"Stand up, Florence Aylmer," he said; "you have done splendidly; I congratulate you. The Scholarship is yours, nobly won, splendidly won. Take your honors, my dear."

As he spoke he stepped to the table and brought back a small crown of filigree silver. It was a simple wreath in the form of bay-leaves. He laid it on Florence's dark head.

"This is yours," he said; "wear it with dignity; keep the great, the good, the true always before you. And this also is yours," he said. He slipped a thin gold chain with the ruby locket attached round Florence's neck. He then placed the purse which contained the Scholarship money for the ensuing year, and the parchment scroll, in her hand. "And now, young people," he said, "let us all cheer three times the winner of the Scholarship."

The girls cheered as lustily as schoolboys, the band in the corner burst forth with the gay strains of "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and after a brief signal from Sir John there was suddenly heard outside the report of a small cannon, which was the intimation that the bonfires were to be lit.

"Florence, Florence, come here!" said her mother, and Florence ran across the hall and buried her face in her mother's lap.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE STING OF THE SERPENT

The day was over, the long, exciting, exhausting evening had come to an end. The girls had danced to their hearts' content, had played and romped, and congratulated Florence with all the heartiness of which their frank natures were capable. They had wandered through the grounds in groups to watch the bonfires, they had partaken of the most delicious supper the heart of girl could conceive, and at last, worn out and intensely happy, they had retired to rest.

Three long dormitories had been fitted up for their occupation, but the lucky three had each a very small room to herself. Florence was glad of that. Yes, if she could be glad of anything on that awful, terrible evening, it was the knowledge that she might be alone, all alone for some hours. During those hours she could think, could collect her thoughts, could face the position which she had in future to occupy.

In the pleasure and delight of the evening no one had specially noticed how little Florence spoke. Mrs. Aylmer the less, as the mother of the heroine, minced about with her head in the air, so elated, so excited, so carried out of herself, that not the grandest county lady present had power to awe her.

"Yes, I am the mother of the dear child. Oh, I always knew that she was specially gifted," Mrs. Aylmer was heard to say. "She could learn from the time she was a baby in the most marvellous way, but even I was astonished at her essay; it wrung tears from my eyes."

"It was a very noble work," said the Countess of Archester, slightly bowing her own queenly head, and giving Mrs. Aylmer a half-quizzical, half-pitying glance. "How the girl wrote it, how that woman's daughter could have written such an essay, is a puzzle to me," said the Countess afterwards to her husband.

But Mrs. Aylmer was unconscious that any such remarks were uttered. She was thinking of her own dazzling future, of what Dawlish would mean to her in the time to come, of what Sukey would say, what Ann Pratt would say, what other neighbors would say. All was indeed well; she was the mother of a genius, a girl who had achieved such high honor that her name in future would always be remembered in the neighborhood of Cherry Court School. Yes, it was a proud moment for Mrs. Aylmer, quite the proudest in her life. It is true that Florence had said very little to her mother, that Florence had scarcely responded to Mrs. Aylmer when she had flung her arms round her neck, and pressed up close to her, and looked into her eyes, and said, "My darling! oh, my darling, my sweet, precious daughter, how proud your Mummy is of you!"

Florence had turned away just then, and Mrs. Aylmer had felt that her daughter's hand trembled as it lay for a moment in hers.

But Mrs. Aylmer the great was even more remarkable in her conduct than Mrs. Aylmer the less. She had called Florence to her, and before all the assembled guests had kissed her solemnly.

"You are my daughter henceforth," she said, "my adopted daughter. Not a word, Mabel; this girl belongs to me in the future."

And just then the queerest pang of jealousy had rushed through the heart of Mrs. Aylmer the less, for was it possible that Susan really meant to take her child from her altogether? Was Florence henceforward to be considered by the world as the daughter of Mrs. Aylmer the great? Was she, her real mother, the mother who had nursed her as a baby, who had put up with her childish troubles, to have nothing whatever to do with her in the future? Notwithstanding that crown of glory which seemed to quiver over the forehead of the little widow, she did not like this aspect of the question. She felt she could scarcely stand it. If Susan meant to have the child, then indeed the Scholarship would present a very serious drawback to the mind of Mrs. Aylmer.

Mrs. Aylmer the great, however, now pushed herself quite into the forefront of the county society. It was impossible to suppress her; she was past suppressing. Sir John himself took her into the great hall where supper was laid. She sat by his side during that auspicious meal, and when he talked of Florence she boldly told him that a golden future lay before the girl.

"It is a pity," was his reply, "that being the case, that Miss Aylmer should have got the Scholarship, for whether she got it or not, being your niece, she would of course have been well educated. The Scholarship money would have done more good to a poorer girl" – and here Sir John had quickly to suppress a sigh, for was he not thinking of Kitty – Kitty, who had never looked sweeter than during this evening of defeat, who had never, never been nearer to his heart?

Mrs. Aylmer the great looked at him in some astonishment.

"I am surprised," she said; "it almost sounds as if you – "

"As if I grudged the Scholarship to your niece; far from that," he answered; "she is a remarkable girl; any girl who could write that essay possesses genius. She will be heard of in the future."