02 Jo of the Chalet School (22 page)

To say that Madge was angry, is to put it very mildly. She was
furious
. It was bad enough that the other children should have gone; but that her own sister should have set her at defiance like this was unbearable.

‘I have spoilt Jo,’ she thought, after she had rapidly explained matters to Miss Maynard before going down to the lake. ‘Well, she shall be punished most severely for this, and there will be precious little spoiling for months to come.’ She shut the door firmly behind her and hastened down to the lake.

A little cavalcade met her as she opened the gate. First came Simone, crying heartbrokenly with Frieda trying to comfort her; then came Marie and Paula, both crying too; lastly, Margia walked sobbing beside a tall man, who carried in his arms a limp burden that lay very still.

Madge said afterwards that she felt her heart stop beating as she saw them. Then she sprang forward.

‘Joey!’ she said.

The stranger spoke in a reassuring tone. ‘She’s only fainted – and she’ll be a bit stunned too. I expect she’s badly bruised, but that will be all. Let me carry her to the house for you.’

The voice was vaguely familiar, but Madge could only think of Joey.

‘Bring her in,’ she said, and led the way up to the Chalet and into the study, where she switched on the light. The stranger laid Joey on the couch, and as he did so she opened her eyes.

‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘I say! Aren’t you the man who helped us in that train accident last term?’

Before anyone could reply, Simone had flung herself down by the couch. ‘Joey – Joey!’ she sobbed.

Then Joey remembered. ‘My fingers!’ she gasped. ‘O, are they still on?’ She tried to move, but the action was agony, and she screamed.

‘There! Steady!’ said the man, who had been stripping off his coat and scarf. ‘You’ll be black and blue all over, I expect. Your fingers are all there; I fell on you instead.’ Then he turned to Madge. ‘I’m a doctor –

James Russell’s my name; you may remember me. If you will permit me, I will examine her.’

Madge gave thankful permission, and while Miss Maynard, who had joined them by this time, remove dthe other children, she helped hidm to undress Joey and examine her. It was as he had said. Jo was badly bruised. In addition, she had sprained her ankle when she fell, but there was no serious damage.

When things had all been explained, Dr Russell looked down at his small patient – now safely in bed –with a smile. ‘You’ve punished yourself,’ he said. ‘You won’t be able to move comfortably for a week or more, and that sprain will keep you in bed for longer than that. Oh, I’m not going to rub it in; but you’ve asked for trouble – and you’ve got it!’

Then he said ‘Good-night,’ and left her.

Madge came back presently, to find a thoroughly penitent Jo awaiting her. ‘Joey!’ she said.

‘I’m a
beast
!’ declared Jo. ‘I’m awfully sorry, Madge; and it was my fault. Don’t blame the others, please!’

Madge – fresh from an interview with Simone, who had declared it to be
her
fault because she had taunted Joey with being afraid; and another from the other four, who had insisted that it was
theirs
for not opposing Joey’s plan more firmly – nearly smiled. She just stopped herself in time.

‘I’m not going to say anything about it,’ she said gravely. ‘I know you are sorry, and won’t do it again, so we’ll leave it at that. Now I’m going to give you some hot milk, and read you Dick’s letter, and then you must go to sleep.’

‘Shake,’ said Joey, moving her right arm gingerly.

Madge took the bandaged hand in hers, and then, bending down, kissed her small sister as a final token of forgiveness.

‘I
hate
ice carnivals!’ said Jo viciously; ‘and you’re a dear.’

jo writes an ‘elsie’ book

Dr Russell had been quite right when he said that Jo had made her own punishment. She had! For more than a week she was still and aching from her bruises and her sprained ankle, while any movement was a sheer agony for the first two or three days. Like most excitable children, she developed a ‘temperature’ very easily, and during those first nights she was quite light-headed, which might have alarmed her sister seriously had she not been accustomed to Jo. Then, when the worst of the bruises began to heal, and the throbbing her ankle grew less, the young rebel became decidedly bored with life.

For the sake of quietness during those first days, they had put her into the blue room which the two von Eschenaus had shared. Marie had gone to the yellow dormitory, and Wanda had had Grizel’s bed in the green, with the other seniors. The blue room was as pretty as all the others, and its windows looked out on to a magnificent view of the Briesau valley; but Joey preferred the lake, and its crowd of merry skaters, to the still whiteness of the valley, running away to the mountains. She dared not say so, for she knew it was her own silliness which had brought her to this dormitory, and all she could do was to be quiet about her likes and dislikes, and not grumble.

Very little had been said to any of them about the ice carnival affair. Bernhilda, it is true, had scolded Frieda roundly, and Wanda had followed her example with Marie and Paula; but the Head had merely informed them that their behaviour had showed that they were unworthy of the trust she had given them, and said that, for the present at any rate, they were to be treated like the juniors and always have someone in authority with them.

This hurt; and the five left the study, weeping bitterly. Miss Bettany had said very little, but what she said was impressive, and they all wished that they had never heard of such things as ice carnivals. Simone, in particular, cried until she was a sight to behold, and Juliet told her bracingly to ‘mop up,’ and ‘stop being a sponge.’

‘Howling on all occasions won’t help matters at all,’ said Miss Carrick with the dignity of a prefect full on her. ‘The best way for you to show your sorrow is by behaving yourself decently. It’s downright selfish of you to go round with tears perpetually on tap, so to speak.’

‘B-but I am
so
s-s-sorry!’ sobbed Simone in her own language.

‘You look it!’ Juliet spoke briskly. ‘Oh, Simone, do brace up and try to be less like a – a jellyfish!’

As for Joey, the leader in it all, there was, of course, no need to watch her. She was tied to her bed; the other girls were not allowed to visit her except at very long intervals, and she was thoroughly bored.

‘I wish there were some fresh books to read!’ she sighed one day.

The doctor happened to be with her at the time. ‘Find it dull?’ he asked.

‘Duller than dull! I wouldn’t mind so much if I’d only something to read; but I haven’t! I’ve read all the book sin the library, and I’m tired of them. Dr Jem, can’t
you
lend me something?’

Dr Jem – he had told her to call him this – chuckled. ‘As a matter of fact, I can,’ he said. ‘Ever read the Elsie books?’

‘No; but I’ve often heard of them,’ replied Jo. ‘Aren’t they about an awfully good little girl; and aren’t there dozens of them?’

‘But how in the world do
you
know anything about the Elise books?’ demanded Madge, who was sitting beside Joey, knitting a new jumper for her.

‘I picked ‘em up cheap in an all-sorts shop,’ explained the doctor. ‘There are six or seven, I believe. I’d heard on of my aunts talking about them once, and lamenting the loss of her copies, so I thought she’s appreciate them. Anyway, I’ll fetch them along sometime. At least they’ll be fresh.’

‘Jolly!’ said Jo. ‘It is decent of you, Dr Jem.’

He was as good as his word. During this afternoon Marie trotted up the stairs with a parcel of books which she gave the delighted Jo, who spread them all out on the bed in front of her and feasted her eyes on them –

Elsie Dinsmore, Elsie’s Holidays, Elsie’s Girlhood, Elsie’s Womanhood, Elsie’s Motherhood, and Elsie’s
Children
. Madge, coming upstairs an hour later, found her fathoms deep in the first, and felt thankful.

For the rest of the week Joey reveled in the deeply pious atmosphere of ‘Elsie’ and her companions. The wild adventures with the Ku Klux Klan awoke a desire in her to know more about American history, and she nearly drove Madge crazy with her questions.

At length, the sorely-tried sister struck, and vowed she would answer no more. ‘Read up your history if you want to know!’ she cried.

‘Well, get me some more books, then, please,’ replied Joey. ‘I’d like one all about the War of Independence, and the Pilgrim Fathers, and the Civil War. Oh, and an atlas to find the places! Where’s Fort Sumter, and why did its fall start the war? And -’

Madge fled before the storm, and Joey was left with a half-finished question on her tongue; but presently Frieda trotted in with two or three books of general history, and a big atlas. ‘Madame sends these,’ she announced. ‘Do you require anything else, Joey? for I will bring it.’

Joey considered. ‘Yes; you can bring me some paper – reams of it; and some blotchy – on, and my fountain-pen. D’you mind, Frieda? You
are
a sport.’

Frieda brought her what she wanted, and when Miss Bettany came up in the afternoon she found Joey propped up against her pillows, her hair looking rather more like a bird’s nest that usual, and a pile of sheets, covered with her irregular writing, on the bed beside her.

‘Well,’ said the elder girl as she fetched a brush from the dressing-table, ‘what are you busy with now?’

Joey raised an excited face to hers. ‘Oh, Madge, I’m writing an Elise book!’

‘What! Morals, texts, and all? Inquired Madge, choking back a laugh – she had glanced through one of the books, and knew their type.

‘No-o-o!’ said Jo reluctantly. ‘I don’t know enough texts.’

‘I see! Put down your pen for a minute; I want to brush your hair. How much have you done, Joey?’

‘Just the first three Chapters,’ replied Joey as she obediently sat up while her sister as she obediently sat up while her sister brushed the wild elf-locks into order again. ‘I’m calling it
Elsie’s Boys
, and it’s all about the boys – Eddie, and Harold, and Herbert. – I say, I wish you wouldn’t brush so hard!’

‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you. There, baby! You look better now. No; don’t start writing again.

It’s getting too dark to see, and you’ll strain your eyes if you go on.’

‘Well, can’t I have the light on, then?’ pleaded Joey.

Madge shook her head. ‘No; not yet. Lie still and rest. You’ll overtire yourself if you don’t, and then you won’t be able to get up to-morrow.’

‘Get up? Am I going to get up? Oh, how
gorgeous!
‘

‘Dr Russell is coming to carry you down to my study in the morning, and you are to lie on the couch there.

Herr Anserl, who will be here for the day, will bring you back here at the end of the afternoon.’

‘Mag-nificent!’ pronounced Jo with a sigh. ‘I was getting
sick
of this room and the mountains. I like the lake heaps better.’

‘It’s your own fault you’re here,’ replied Madge. ‘I’m
not
going to lecture now. You’ve had your punishment, and a fairly severe one. Past things are past. But I do want you to realise that it isn’t playing the game to grumble at the consequences.’ Then she changed the subject, and that was all Joey heard about her escapade. Her sister stayed with her till it was quite dark and stars glimmered in the blue velvet skies and lit up the snow-crystals. Then she went down to
Kaffee
, switching on the light before she went.

Gisela brought up Jo’s milk and cakes, but she stayed for a very short time only, and presently the invalid heard the sounds of the others going to prep. She heaved a little sigh; then, remembering Madge’s words, decided to make the best of it, and, picking up pen and paper, went on with
Elsie’s Boys
. It was an entrancing occupation, and, when her sister cam to settle her for the night, she was still chuckling over her own imaginings, and not at all anxious to lay her work aside. The next day, as soon as Dr Jem had left her, comfortably arranged on the couch, so that she could see out of the window into the garden, where the girls were spending their mid-morning break racing about like wild things, she demanded her ‘book’ and went on with undiminished ardour.

As long as it was advisable to keep her quiet, Madge was thankful that she could employ herself so happily. But Monday of the next week found her back in the school-room, settled in an invalid chair, manufactured out of an ordinary one and some wood, so that she could keep her sprained ankle up. She was glad enough to be back with the others, but it was a fearful nuisance not to be able to go on with her writing.

Every spare moment she had she devoted to it, and the pile of exercise paper containing the doings of the Travilla boys grew daily larger. Even so, however, she found it difficult to get on as quickly as she would have liked. Then came doubts about it. It was sure to be full of mistakes. It was stupid.

At this juncture Madge unconsciously came to the rescue. ‘When are you going to let me see that story of yours?’ she demanded one day. ‘Isn’t it finished yet?’

‘No – not exactly,’ faltered Joey.

Her sister looked at her amazedy. Jo was not wont to be shy about her works. Madge remembered fragments of a weird and wonderful rigmarole entitled,
Pierre, the Smuggler: a Romance of Napoleon
, and sundry fairy-tales, and beginnings of school stories, which had been pressed on her at various times.

Evidently this was a more serious affair. ‘May I see it, Joey?’ she asked.

Joey mutely held out the bundle, and her sister gasped at its size. ‘Why, Jo, it’s quite a book!’ she cried.

‘Of course it is, silly!’ was all Jo would vouchsafe.

Madge forbore to point out that was
not
the way to address a mistress, and went off to her own den with the manuscript. It was some hours before she could get time to look at it. However, while the girls were doing prep and practice she settled herself comfortably by the stove and began to read it.