My School-Days | Page 2

but Stuart plaid was enough to blight any lot. She
blighted mine, and I suppose no prisoner ever hailed the falling of his

fetters with the joy I felt when at last, after three or four days of
headache and tears, I was wrapped in a blanket and taken home with
the measles.
When I got better we went for the midsummer holidays to a lovely
cottage among the beech-woods of Buckinghamshire. I shall never
forget the sense of rest and delight that filled my small heart when I
slipped out under the rustic porch at five o'clock the first morning, and
felt the cool velvet turf under my feet. Brighton pavement had been so
hard and hot. Then, instead of the long rows of dazzling houses with
their bow windows and green-painted balconies, there were lovely trees
acacias and elms, and a big copper beech. In the school walks we never
had found any flowers but little pink bind-weed, by the dusty roadside.
Here there were royal red roses, and jasmine, and tall white lilies, and
in the hedge by the gate, sweet-brier and deep-cupped white
convolvulus. I think I saw then for the first time how lovely God's good
world is, and ever since then, thank God, I have been seeing it more
and more. That was a happy morning.
The boys--whom I had not seen for ever so long, because of the
measles--were up already. Alfred had a rabbit for me--a white rabbit
with pink eyes--in a hutch he had made himself. And Harry led me to a
nook among the roots of the copper beech, where he showed me two
dormice in an old tea-caddy.
"You shall go shares in them if you like," he said.
There was honey in the comb for breakfast, and new-laid eggs, and my
mother was there in a cool cotton gown pouring out tea, and purring
with pleasure at having all her kittens together again. There were cool
raspberries on the table too, trimmed with fresh green leaves, and
through the window we saw the fruit garden and its promise. That was
summer indeed.
After breakfast my mother called me to her--she had some patterns in
her hand.
"You must be measured for some new frocks, Daisy," she said.

"Oh, how nice. What colour?"
"Well, some nice white ones, and this pretty plaid." She held up a
pattern as she spoke. It was a Stuart plaid.
"Oh, not that!" I cried.
"Not this pretty plaid, darling? Why not?"
If you'll believe me, I could not say why not. And the frock was made,
and I wore it, loathing it, till the day when I fell out of the apple-tree,
and it broke my fall by catching on a branch. But it saved my life at the
expense of its own; and I gave a feast to all the dolls to celebrate its
interment in the rag-bag.
I have often wondered what it is that keeps children from telling their
mothers these things-and even now I don't know. I only know I might
have been saved many of these little-big troubles if I had only been able
to explain. But I wasn't; and to this day my mother does not know how
and why I hated that Stuart plaid frock.

PART II.
LONG DIVISION.
I SPENT a year in the select boarding establishment for young ladies
and gentlemen at Stamford, and I venture to think that I should have
preferred a penal settlement. Miss Fairfield, whose school it was was
tall and pale and dark, and I thought her as good and beautiful as an
angel. I don't know now whether she was really beautiful, but I know
she was good. And her mother--dear soul--had a sympathy with small
folly in disgrace, which has written her name in gold letters on my
heart.
But there was another person in the house, whose name I will not put
down. She came continually between me and my adored Miss Fairfield.
She had a sort of influence over me which made it impossible for me

ever to do anything well while she was near me. Miss Fairfield's health
compelled her to leave much to Miss ----, and I was, in consequence, as
gloomy a cynic as any child of my age in Lincolnshire. My chief
troubles were three--my hair, my bands, and my arithmetic.
My hair was never tidy--I don't know why. Perhaps it runs in the
family--for my little daughter's head is just as rough as mine used to be.
This got me into continual disgrace. I am sure I tried hard enough to
keep it tidy--I brushed it for fruitless hours till my little head was so
sore that it hurt me to put my hat on. But it never would look smooth
and