Winding Paths | Page 2

became apparent they would waken up the
embryo young ladies quite alarmingly, and initiate a new atmosphere of
gaiety that might become beyond the restraining, select influence even
of the Misses Walton.
The first scare came with the new French mistress, who had a perfect
Parisian accent, but knew very little English. Of course Lorraine easily
divined this, and, being something of a French scholar already, she
soon won Mademoiselle's confidence by one or two charmingly
expressed, lucid French explanations.
Then came the translation lesson, and choosing a fable that would
specially lend itself, she started the class off translating it into an
English fabrication that convulsed both pupils and mistress. Hal, of
course, followed suit, and the merriment grew fast and furious after a
few positively rowdy lessons.
Mademoiselle herself gave the fun away at the governesses' dinner, a
very precise and formal meal, which took place at seven o'clock, to be
followed at eight by the pupils' supper of bread-and-butter with
occasional sardines. She related in broken English what an amusing
book they had to read, repeating a few slang terms, that would certainly
not, under anu circumstances, have been allowed to pass the lips of the
young ladies.
After that it was deemed advisable Lorraine should translate French
alone, and Hal be severely admonished.
Then there was the dreadful affair of the Boys' College. It was not
unusual for them to walk past the school on Sunday afternoons; but it

was only after Lorraine came that a system was instituted by which, if
the four front boys all blew their noses as they passed, it was a signal
that a note, or possibly several, had been slipped under the loose brick
at the school entrance.
Further, it was only Lorraine who could have sent the answers, because
none of the other girls had an uncle often running down for a breath of
sea air, when, of course, he needed his dear niece's company. He was
certainly a very attentive uncle, and a very generous one too, judging
by the Buszard's cakes and De Brei's chocolates, and Miss Walton
could not help eyeing him a little askance.
But then, as Miss Emily said, he was such a very striking,
distinguished-looking gentleman, people had already been interested to
learn he had a niece at the Misses Walton's seminary. Besides, one
could not reasonably object to a relative calling, and he had seemed so
devoted to Lorraine's handsome mother when they had together
brought her to school.
But of course, after the disgraceful episode of the notes that blew into
the road, the windows had to be dulled at once, so that no one could see
the boys pass. It was a mercy the thing had been discovered so soon.
Then shortly after came the breaking-up dances, one for the
governesses, when the masters from the college were invited, and one
the next night for the girls, when the remains of the same supper did
duty again, and with reference to which Miss Walton gently told them
she had not been able to ask any of the boys from the school, as she
was afraid their parents would not approve; she hoped they were not
disappointed, and that the big girls would dance with the little ones, as
it pleased them so.
Lorraine immediately replied sweetly that none of them cared about
dancing with boys, and some of the children would be much more
amusing. She made herself spokeswoman, because Miss Walton had
half-unconsciously glanced at her at the mere mention of the word boys,
fondly believing that the other well-brought-up pupils would prefer
their room to their company, whereas Lorraine might think the party

very tame. Her answer was a pleasant surprise.
But then, who was to know that the night of the governesses' dance she
had bribed the three girls in the small dormitory to silence, and after
some half-dozen of them had gone to bed with their night-gowns over
their dresses, had given the signal to arise directly the dance was in full
swing. After that they adjourned to the small dormitory and spread out
a repast of sweets and cakes, to which such of the younger masters as
were brave enough to risk detection slipped away up the school
staircase at intervals, to be more than rewarded by Lorraine's inimitable
mimicry.
"There will be no boys for you to dance with, dear girls," she told them
gently, "as your parents might not approve," then added, with roguish
lights in her splendid eyes: "No boys, dear girls, only a few masters to
supper in the small dormitory."
Hal's misdemeanours were of a less subtle kind. Neither boys nor
masters interested her particularly as yet; but there were a
thousand-and-one other ways of livening things up, and she tried them