The Story Book Girls Read online

  Produced by Al Haines.

  Cover]

  The STORY BOOK GIRLS

  CHRISTINA GOWANS WHYTE

  LONDON HENRY FROWDE HODDER & STOUGHTON 1906

  *THE GIRLS' NEW 1/- NET. LIBRARY.*

  (Crown 8vo. Cloth, with Coloured frontispiece.)

  A Girl of the Northland . . . BY BESSIE MARCHANTThe Story Book Girls . . . . . BY CHRISTINA G. WHYTEDauntless Patty . . . . . . . BY E. L. HAVERFIELDTom Who Was Rachel . . . . . . BY J. M. WHITFELDA Sage of Sixteen . . . . . . BY L. B. WALFORDThe Beauforts . . . . . . . . BY L. T. MEADE

  HENRY FROWDE AND HODDER & STOUGHTON.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  ELMA LEIGHTON

  CHAPTER II

  MISS ANNIE

  CHAPTER III

  THE FLOWER SHOW TICKET

  CHAPTER IV

  CUTHBERT

  CHAPTER V

  "THE STORY BOOKS" CALL

  CHAPTER VI

  THE MAYONNAISE

  CHAPTER VII

  VISITORS AGAIN

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE PARTY

  CHAPTER IX

  AT MISS GRACE'S

  CHAPTER X

  COMPENSATIONS

  CHAPTER XI

  THE SPLIT INFINITIVE

  CHAPTER XII

  THE BURGLAR

  CHAPTER XIII

  A RECONCILIATION

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE FIRST PEAL

  CHAPTER XV

  THE ARRIVAL

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE THIN EDGE OF THE WEDGE

  CHAPTER XVII

  A REPRIEVE

  CHAPTER XVIII

  "LOVE OF OUR LIVES"

  CHAPTER XIX

  HERR SLAVSKA

  CHAPTER XX

  THE SHILLING SEATS

  CHAPTER XXI

  AT LADY EMILY'S

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE ENGAGEMENT

  CHAPTER XXIII

  HOLDING THE FORT

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE HAM SANDWICH

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE WILD ANEMONE

  CHAPTER XXVI

  UNDER ROYAL PATRONAGE

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE HOME-COMING

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  ADELAIDE MAUD

  CHAPTER XXIX

  MR. SYMINGTON

  CHAPTER XXX

  "NOW HERE THERE DAWNETH----"

  CHAPTER I

  Elma Leighton

  In a pink and white bedroom where two beds, Elma's and Betty's, seemedthe only pink and white things unspotted by multitudinous photographs,Elma Leighton sought sanctuary. Pursued by a tumultuous accusingconscience, which at the same time gracefully extended the uncertainfriendliness of hope, for who could say--it might still be"embarr*ass*ment," she opened her little own bright red dictionary.

  She prayed a trifling prayer that her self-esteem might be saved, as sheturned shakingly the fine India paper of the 50,000 word compressededition of the most reliable friend she at that moment possessed in theworld. Parents commanded. Relations exaggerated. Chums could bespiteful. But friends told the truth; and the dictionary--beinginvariably just--was above all things a friend.

  She wandered to "en," forgetting in the championship of her learningthat "m" held priority. She corrected herself with dignity, and at lastfound the word she wanted.

  It was emb*arr*assment.

  Woe and desolation! A crimson shameful blush ran up the pink cheeks,her constant anxiety being that they were always so pink, and made aroyal progress there. The hot mortification of despair lent it wings.She watched the tide of red creep to the soft curls of her hair as sheviewed herself in her own little miniature cheval between creamycurtains, and she saw her complexion die down at last to an unusual butbecoming paleness.

  She had said "embarr*ass*ment."

  Nothing could have been more fatal. It was like a disease with Elma,that instead of using the everyday words regarding which no one couldmake a mistake--such as "shyness" in this instance--she shouldinvariably plunge into others which she merely knew by sight and findthem unknown to herself as talking acquaintances. Cousin Dr. HarryVincent, Staff Surgeon in His Majesty's Navy, eyeglass in eye, merrysmile at his lips ("such a dashing cousin the Leightons have visitingthem" was the comment), the sort of person in short that impressed Elmawith the need of being very dashing herself, here was the particular ofall particulars before whom she had made this ridiculous mistake.

  "Now," had said Dr. Harry in the drawing-room when visitors arrived,"come and play something."

  Any other girl overcome by Elma's habitual fright when asked to play,would have said, "I'm too shy." Elma groaned as she thought how easythat would have been.

  But Dr. Harry's single eyeglass fascinated her as with a demand forshowing some kind of culture.

  She blinked her eyelids nervously and answered, "My embarr*ass*mentprevents me."

  Dr. Harry never moved a muscle of his usually mobile and merrycountenance. But the flaming sword of fear cut further conversationdead for Elma. She became subtly conscious that the word was wrong, andfled to her room.

  "While I'm here," she said dismally, "I may as well look up'melodramic.'" This was a carking care left over from a conversation inthe morning.

  It proved another tragedy.

  Being really of a cheerful sunny nature, which never for long allowedclouds to overshadow the bright horizon of her imagination, sheacquainted herself thoroughly with the right term.

  "One consolation is, I shall never make that mistake again as long as Ilive. Melodramatic," she repeated with the swagger of familiarity.

  Then "emb, emb--Oh! dear, I've forgotten again."

  Concluding that embarrassment was a treacherous acquaintance, shedecided to drop it altogether.

  "After this I shall only be shy," she said with a certain amount ofrefined pleasure in her own humour.

  She regarded her figure dismally in the cheval. Her chubby face hadregained its undistinguished pink. She was sorry she could not remainpale, it was so much more distinguished to be pale.

  "How long I take to grow up--in every way." She sighed in a reflectivemanner.

  What she was thinking was how long she took to become like one of theStory Book Girls.

  It is probable that she would never have run to long words, had it notbeen her dearest desire to grow up like one of the Story Book Girls. Itwas the desire of every sister in the Leighton family. Each worked onit differently however. Mabel, the eldest, now seventeen, in thepresent delights of hair going up and skirts letting down, took herideas of fashion straight from "Adelaide Maud" the elegant one."Adelaide Maud" wore her hair in coils and sat under heliotropeparasols. Mabel surreptitiously tried that effect as often as fivetimes a day with the family absent.

  Jean threw all her ambitions on the sporting carriage of "Madeline" whowas a golfer.

  Betty determined to wear bangles and play the violin because "Theodora,"the youngest of the lot, did that. And Elma based her admiration of"Hermione" on the fact that she had "gone in" for science. Long agothey had christened their divinities. It did not do to recognizelatterly that the Dudgeons were known in society by other namesaltogether. One can do these dreamy, inconsequent things with the mostsuperb pleasure while one's family remains between certain romanticages; in the ca
se of the Leightons at the moment when Elma ran to herbedroom--between the ages of ten and seventeen. Betty was ten, Elmatwelve, Jean fifteen and Mabel seventeen.

  It was an axiom with the girls that their parents need not know how theyemulated the Story Book Girls. Yet the information leaked outoccasionally.

  It was also considered bad form to breathe a word to the one elderbrother of the establishment. Yet even there one got into trouble.

  "Why on earth do you call her Adelaide Maud when her name is Helen?"asked Cuthbert one day bluntly. "Met her at a dance--and she nearlyslew me. I called her Miss Adelaide!"

  "O--o--o--oh!"

  It is impossible to explain the thrill that the four underwent.Cuthbert had met Adelaide Maud!

  "Did she talk about us?" asked Elma breathlessly.

  "Doesn't know you kids exist," said Cuthbert.

  Here was a tumbling pack of cards.

  However the idylls of the Story Book Girls soon were built up again.

  Four girls at the west end of a town dreamed dreams about four girls ata still further west. They lived where the sun dropped down behind bluemountains in the sunny brilliant summer time. The Story Book Girls weregrown up, of "county" reputation, and "sat in their own carriages." Theothers invariably walked. This was enough to explain the fact that theynever met in the quiet society of the place. But one world was builtout of the two, and in it, the younger girls who did not ride incarriages, created an existence for the Story Book Girls which wouldhave astonished them considerably had they known. As it was, theysometimes noticed a string of large-eyed girls with a good-lookingbrother, going to church on Sunday, but it never dawned on one of themthat the tallest carried a heliotrope parasol in a manner familiar tothem, nor that another exhibited a rather extraordinary and highlydeveloped golfing stride. Grown-up girls do not observe those in thetransition stages, and just at the fiercest apex of their admiration,the Leightons were certainly at the transient stage. They reviewed theirown growing charms with the keenest anxiety. Everybody was hopeful ofMabel who seemed daily to be shedding angularities and developing apresence which might one day be compared with Adelaide Maud's. The timeof her seventeenth birthday had drawn near with the family palpitatingbehind her. Mrs. Leighton remembered that delicious period of her ownyouth, and was indulgently friendly, "just a perfect dear."

  "We are going to make a very pretty little woman of Mabel," she informedher husband. He was a tall man, with a fine intellectual forehead, andhandsome, clear-cut features. He stooped slightly, giving an impressionof gentleness and great amiability. He answered in some alarm.

  "You don't mean that our little baby girl is growing up."

  "Elma declares that Mabel reaches her 'frivolity' in May," said Mrs.Leighton sedately. A quiet smile played gently over a face, linedsoftly, yet cleared of care as one sees the mother face where happyhomes exist.

  Mr. Leighton groaned sadly and rubbed his finger contemplatively alongthe smoothed hair which made a gallant attempt at hiding more than ahint of baldness.

  "Why can't we keep them babies!"

  "Betty thinks we do," said his wife.

  "One boy at College, and one girl coming out! It's overwhelming. Wewere only married yesterday, you know," said poor Mr. Leighton.

  It troubled Mrs. Leighton that Mabel insisted on wearing heliotrope.She had white of course for her coming out dress, and among othercostumes the choice of colours for a fine day gown. The blue eyes ofthe Leightons were gifts handed down by a beneficent providence througha long line of ancestors, and one wise mother after another had matchedthe heavenly radiancy of these wide orbs as nearly as possible in sashesand silks for the children. Therefore Mrs. Leighton begged Mabel tohave at least that one day gown in blue.

  "I begin to be sorry I said you might have what you liked," she saiddismally. "Heliotrope will make you look like your grandmother."

  "Oh no it won't," clamoured Jean. "It will only make her look likeAdelaide Maud."

  "Traitor," was the expression on three faces.

  Sporting Jean had really rather a dislike to the garden-party smartnessof Adelaide Maud, and occasionally prejudice did away with honour.

  "I'm joking," she said penitently. "Do let her wear heliotrope, mummy."

  Mrs. Leighton sighed amiably yet disappointedly, but at last gave Mabelpermission to wear heliotrope. They had patterns from Liberty's andPeter Robinson's and Woolland's in London, and a solid week of raptureensued while Mabel saw herself gowned in a hundred gowns and fixed onnone.

  They sat over the patterns one day with Mrs. Leighton in attendance.Mabel's choice lay between fifteen different qualities of heliotrope.

  "I shall have this," she said one minute, and "No, this" the next.

  "Patterns not returned within ten days will be charged for," quotedJean.

  Just then a certain rushing sound of light wheels could be heard. Eachgirl glanced quickly out of the window. The clipity-clop of a pair ofhorses might be clearly distinguished; and through the green treesskirting the bottom of the garden, appeared patches of colour.

  Two Story Book Girls drove past, Adelaide Maud and Theodora. Theodorawas sitting in any kind of costume--what did _her_ costume matter?

  Adelaide Maud was in blue.

  The girls gazed breathlessly at one another.

  "I think you must really now make up your mind," said Mrs. Leightonpatiently, whose ears were not attuned so perfectly to distinction incarriage wheels.

  Mabel glanced round for support.

  "Oh, mummy," said she very sweetly, "I do believe you were right. Ishall have blue after all."

  That was a few weeks before the great day when Mabel attained her"frivolity" and put up her hair. Cousin Harry's being with them gave anair of festivity to the occurrence, and curiously enough, Mrs.Leighton's drawing-room filled with visitors on that afternoon as thoughto celebrate the great occasion.

  Throughout her life Elma never forgot to link the delight of that day,when for the first time they all seemed to grow up, with the despair ofher sallies in Cousin Harry's direction.

  When she did trail back to the drawing-room, crushed yet educated, shefound Mabel with carefully coiled hair standing in a congratulatorycrowd of people, looking more like Adelaide Maud than one could haveconsidered possible.

  "Such excitement," whispered Jean, "Mrs. Maclean has brought her nephewand he knows the Story Books."

  It put immediate thoughts of having to explain to Cousin Harry out ofElma's mind.

  "Oh, do you know," she said excitedly to him, "I want one thing mostawfully. I want to know Mr. Maclean so well in about five minutes as toask him a fearfully particular question."

  Dr. Harry, who, as he always explained to people, was continually ninehundred and ninety-nine days at sea without meeting a lady, could becounted on doing anything for one once he had the chance of beingashore. Even a half-grown lady of Elma's type.

  "Mr. Maclean shall stand on his head inside of three minutes," hepromised her.

  Elma noticed a new twinkle in his eye. It enabled her to take hercourage in both hands and confess to him.

  "I'm always trying to use long words, Cousin Harry. It's like havingmeasles every three minutes. It was awfully nice of you not to laugh.I went to look it up, you know."

  Nothing pleased Elma so much as the naturalness with which she made thisconfession. She felt more worldly and developed than she could haveconsidered possible.

  Cousin Harry roared.

  "Try it on the Maclean man," he said.

  But Mr. Leighton had that guest in tow, and they talked art and politicsuntil tea appeared. Elma did all she could in connection with thepassing of cups to get near him, but Cuthbert and Harry and Mr. Macleanwere too diligent themselves. She saw Mr. Maclean's eyes fixed on Mabelwhen she at last gained her opportunity. Mabel had gone in a verycareful manner, hair being her chief concern, to play a Ballade ofChopin, and this provided an excellent moment for Elma to sidle into achair close to Mr. Macle
an. It was pure politeness, she observed, whichallowed anyone to stare as much as one liked while a girl played thepiano. Mr. Maclean was quite polite.

  Mabel had the supreme talent which already had made a name for theLeighton girls. She could take herself out of trivial thoughts andenter a magic world where one dreamed dreams. Into this new world shecould lift most people with the first touch of her fingers on the keysof the piano.

  Elma's thoughts soared with the others, and Mabel played till a littlerebellious lock of the newly arranged plaits fell timorously on herneck. She closed with a low beautiful chord.

  Mr. Maclean sighed gently.

  Elma leant towards him.

  "You know the--er--Dudgeons, don't you? Do you know the eldest?"

  He nodded.

  "Is Mabel like her?" she asked anxiously.

  "Mabel," said Mr. Maclean.

  "Yes, Mabel. Is she--almost--as pretty, do you think?"

  "Mabel is a thousand times more pretty than Miss Dudgeon," said Mr.Maclean.

  "Oh, Mr. Maclean!" said Elma.

  He could not have understood her sigh of rapture if he had tried to. Atthat moment his thoughts were not on Elma.

  She was quite content.

  She sank back on the large easy chair which she had appropriated, andshe felt as though she had brought up a large family and just at thatmoment seen them settled in life.

  "Oh, I do feel heavenly," she whispered to herself. "Mabel is prettierthan Adelaide Maud."

  "I beg your pardon?" asked Mr. Maclean.

  "Oh, nothing--nothing," said Elma. "I don't even care aboutemb--emb--Do you mind if I ask you?" she inquired. "Is itembarr*ass*ment or emb*arr*assment?"

  "Emb*arr*assment," said Mr. Maclean.

  "Thank you," said Elma. "I don't care whether I'm embarrassed now ornot, thank you."