Meade L. T.
A Bunch of Cherries: A Story of Cherry Court School

CHAPTER I.
THE SCHOOL

The house was long and low and rambling. In parts at least it must have been quite a hundred years old, and even the modern portion was not built according to the ideas of the present day, for in 1870 people were not so aesthetic as they are now, and the lines of beauty and grace were not considered all essential to happiness.

So even the new part of the house had square rooms destitute of ornament, and the papers were small in pattern and without any artistic designs, and the windows were square and straight, and the ceilings were somewhat low.

The house opened on to a wide lawn, and at the left of the lawn was a paddock and at the right a shrubbery, and the shrubbery led away under its overhanging trees into the most perfect walled-in garden that was ever seen. The garden was two or three hundred years old. The oldest inhabitants of the place had never known the time when Cherry Court garden was not the talk of the country. Visitors came from all parts round to see it. It was celebrated on account of its very high walls built of red brick, its size, for it covered at least three acres of ground, and its magnificent cherries. The cherry trees in the Court garden bore the most splendid fruit which could be obtained in any part of the county. They were in great demand, not only for the girls who lived in the old house and played in the garden, but for the neighbors all over the country. A big price was always paid for these cherries, for they made such splendid jam, as well as being so full of juice and so ripe and good to eat that their like could not be found anywhere else.

The cherries were of all sorts and kinds, from the celebrated White Heart to the black cherry. There were cherries for cooking and cherries for eating, and in the season the trees, which were laden with ripe fruit, were a sight to behold.

In the height of the cherry season Mrs. Clavering always gave a cherry feast. It was the event of the entire year, and the girls looked forward to it, making all their arrangements in connection with it, counting the hours until it arrived, and looking upon it as the great feature of their school year. Everything turned on whether the cherries were good and the weather fine. There was no greater stimulus to hard work than the merest mention of this golden day, which came as a rule towards the end of June and just before the summer vacation. For Cherry Court School was old-fashioned according to our modern ideas, and one of its old-fashioned plans was to give holidays at the end of June instead of the end of July, so that the girls had the longest, finest days at home, and came back to work at the end of August refreshed and strengthened, and prepared for a good long tug at lessons of all sorts until Christmas.

The school consisted of twenty girls, never more and never less, for Mrs. Clavering was too great a favorite and had too wise and excellent ideas with regard to education ever to be without pupils, and never more, for she believed twenty to be the perfect number to whom she could give every attention and offer every advantage.

The school, small as it was, was divided into two sections, the Upper and the Lower. In the Upper school were girls from eighteen to fourteen years of age, and in the Lower some of the small scholars numbered even as few years as six. There was a resident French mistress in the school and also a resident German, and there was an English governess, and, of course, Mrs. Clavering herself; but the other teachers came from the neighboring town of Hartleway to instruct the pupils in all those accomplishments which were in the early seventies considered necessary for a young lady's education. I can assure those of my readers who are well acquainted with modern schools that no one could have been more particular than Mrs. Clavering with regard to her girls. In such things as deportment and nice manners and all the code which signifies politeness, and in the almost lost art of brilliant conversation, she could instruct as very few other people could in her day, and then what accomplishments she did teach were thorough. The girls were taught French properly, they understood the grammar of the language, and could also speak it nicely; and their German was also very fair, if not quite as thorough as their French. And their music had some backbone in it, for a little of the science was taught as well as the practice, and their singing was very sweet and true. They could also recite, those of them who had any gift for it, quite beautifully, and if they had a turn for acting that also was brought to the fore and made the most of. As to their knowledge of the English language, it bade fair to eclipse many of the High School girls of the present day, for they did understand in the first place its literature, and in the next its grammar, and were well acquainted with the works of Shakespeare and those other lions of literature whose names we are so proud of and whose works we love.

CHAPTER II.
THE GIRLS

It was a lovely day in the beginning of June, and, being Wednesday, was a half-holiday. The girls of the Upper school, numbering seven in all, were assembled in the cherry garden. The cherry garden stood a little apart, to the left of the great general garden, and was entered by a low walled-in door.

Mrs. Clavering was so proud of her cherries and so afraid that the neighbors might be tempted to help themselves to the luscious fruit, that she kept the door locked between the cherry garden and the other, and only those girls who were very privileged were allowed to sit in it. But the girls in the Upper school were, of course, privileged, and they were now enjoying a fine time seated on the grass, or on little camp-stools and chairs, under the trees, which were already laden with the tempting fruit.

They were all eagerly discussing the great event of the year, the Cherry Feast, which was to take place in three weeks from the present day. Their names were Mabel and Alice Cunningham, two handsome dark-eyed girls, aged respectively seventeen and fifteen; Florence Aylmer, who was also fifteen and the romp of the school; Mary Bateman, a stolid-looking girl of fourteen; Bertha Kennedy, who had only lately been raised to the rank of the Upper school; Edith King, a handsome, graceful girl, who competed with Mabel for the honors of the head of her class; and Kitty Sharston, who had only lately come, and who had some Irish blood in her, and was very daring and very much inclined to break the rules. She was a hobbledehoy sort of girl, having outstripped her years, which were only thirteen, and was considered by some of her companions very plain and by others very fascinating.

Mrs. Clavering did not quite know what to make of Kitty, but hoped to break her in by and by, and meanwhile she was very gentle, and Kitty loved her, although she never could be got to see that so many restrictions and so many little petty rules were not good, but extremely bad, for her character.

On this particular lovely summer's afternoon Kitty was the last to make her appearance. She came skimming gracefully through the orchard under the cherry trees, with her hair down her back, her skirt awry, and a great stain on the front of her pinafore. In the seventies girls as old as Kitty wore long white pinafores. The stain was caused by some cherry juice, for Kitty had stopped many times as she approached the others to take great handfuls of the ripe fruit, and thrust them into her mouth. Mabel called to her to sit down.

"We are all busy discussing the great event," she said, "and I have kept a seat for you near me, Kitty; wasn't it good of me?"

"Awfully good," answered Kitty. She flung herself on the ground by her friend's side and looked up at her with affectionate eyes.

"I like you all," she said, glancing round at them, "and yet all the same I hate school. The great thing that I look forward to in the treat is that immediately afterwards the holidays follow. I shall go down to join my father in Cornwall. He said he would take me to Ireland, but I doubt if he will. Now, Tommy, what are you frowning at?"

This remark was made to Florence Aylmer. Kitty from the first had insisted upon calling her Tommy. She was the first girl in Cherry Court School who had dared to adopt a nickname for any of her companions, and Florence, who had begun by being indignant, could not help laughing now as the saucy creature fixed her with her bright eyes.

"What are you frowning at, Tommy? Aren't you glad, too, that the holidays are so near?"

"No, I am not – I hate the holidays," replied Florence Aylmer. As she spoke Mabel took one of Kitty's hands, gave it a slight squeeze, it was a sort of warning pressure. Kitty looked up at her with a startled glance, then she glanced again at Florence, who was looking down. Suddenly Florence raised her face and returned the girl's gaze fully.

"I have no home like the rest of you," she said; "my mother is very poor and cannot afford to have me at home."

"Then where are you going to spend the holidays?" said Kitty; "do say, dear old Tommy, where – where?"

"Here probably, or wherever Mrs. Clavering likes to take me," replied Florence; "but there, don't talk of it any more – I hate to think of it. We have three weeks still to be happy in, and we'll make the best of that."

"Do you know, Mabel," asked Mary Bateman, now bending forward, "if Mrs. Clavering has yet decided what the programme is to be for the 25th?"

"I think she will tell us to-night," replied Mabel; "she said something about it this morning, didn't she, Alice?"

"Yes, I heard her talking to Mademoiselle Le Brun. I expect we shall hear at tea-time. If so we will meet in the oak parlor, and Mrs. Clavering will have her annual talk. She is always very nice on those occasions."

"She is nice on every occasion – she is an old dear," said Kitty.

"Why, Kitty, you don't know her very well yet."

"She is an old dear," reported Kitty; "I love her with all my heart, but I should like beyond words to give her a right good shock. I cannot tell you girls, how I positively tremble to do it. At prayers, for instance, or still more at meals, when we are all so painfully demure, I want to jump up and utter a shout, or do something of that sort. I have suppressed myself hitherto, but I really do not know if I can go on suppressing myself much longer. Oh, what is the matter, Edith – what are you frowning at?"

"Nothing," replied Edith King; "I did not even know that I was frowning. I was just thinking how nice it was to be trained to be ladylike and to have good manners and all that. Mrs. Clavering is such a perfect lady herself that we shall know all the rules of polite society when we leave the school."

"And I hate those rules," said Kitty; "but there, somebody is coming to meet us. Oh, it is little Dolly Fairfax; she is sure to be bringing a message."

CHAPTER III.
THE TELEGRAM

Dolly came up in her brisk way. She was holding something concealed in her little pinafore. She looked very mysterious. She had a round cherub face and two great big blue eyes, and short hair, which she wore in a curly mop all over her head. Dolly was the youngest girl in the school and a great pet with everyone. When Bertha saw her now she sprang to her feet and went forward in her somewhat clumsy way.

"Come, little Dolly," she said; "what's the mystery?"

"It's not for you, Bertha," said Dolly, "and don't you interrupt. It's for – it's for Kitty Sharston."

"For me?" cried Kitty. "Oh, what a love you are, Dolly; come and sit on my lap. Is it a box of bon-bons or is it a letter?"

"Guess again," said Dolly, clapping her hand to her little mouth, and looking intensely mysterious. Her blue eyes rolled roguishly round until they fixed themselves on Edith King's face, then she looked again at Kitty as solemn as possible.

"You guess again," she said; "I'll give you five guesses. Now, then, begin right away."

"It's the book that Annie Wallace said she would lend me – that's it, now, isn't it, Dolly? See, I'll feel in your pinafore."

"No, it's not – wrong again," said Dolly; "that's three guesses – two more."

Kitty made another guess – wrong again. Finally Dolly was induced to unfold her pinafore, and inside lay an unopened telegram.

Now, in those days telegrams were not quite as common as they are now. In the first place, they cost a shilling instead of sixpence, which made a vast difference in their number. Kitty's face turned slightly pale, she gripped the telegram, shook little Dolly off her lap, stood up, and, turning her back to the girls, proceeded to open it. Her slim, long fingers shook a little as she did so. She soon had the envelope torn asunder and had taken out the pink sheet within. She unfolded it and read the words. As she did so her face turned very white. "Is the messenger waiting for an answer?" she said, turning to Dolly.

"Yes," replied Dolly; "he is waiting up at the Court."

"Then I must run away at once and answer this," said Kitty. "Oh, I wonder if I have got money enough!"

"I'll lend you a shilling if you like," said Edith King.

"Thanks, awfully," replied Kitty. "I'll pay you back when I get my pocket-money on Saturday."

There was a queer, troubled, dazed sort of look in her eyes. Edith handed her the shilling and she disappeared under the cherry trees.

Dolly proceeded to skim after her.

"No, do stay, Dolly," cried Florence Aylmer; "stay and sit on my lap and I'll tell you a story."

Dolly looked undecided for a moment, but presently she elected to go with Kitty.

"There is something bothering her," she said; "I wonder what it can be. I'll run and see; I'll bring word afterwards."

She disappeared with little shouts under the trees. Nothing could ever make Dolly sad long. The other girls turned and looked at one another.

"What in the world can it be?" said Florence. "Poor Kitty! how very white she turned as she read it."

Meanwhile Kitty had reached the house; the messenger was waiting in the hall. Mrs. Clavering came out just as the girl appeared.

"Well, my dear Kitty," she said, "I hope it is not very bad news?"

"I will tell you presently; I must answer it now," said Kitty.

"You can go into the study, dear, and write your telegram there."

Kitty went in; she spent a little time, about ten minutes or so, filling in the form; then she folded it up, gave it to the boy with a shilling, and went and stood in the hall.

"What is the matter, Kitty?" said her governess, coming out and looking her in the face.

"My telegram was from father. He – he is going to India," said Kitty, "that is all. I won't be with him in the holidays – that's all."

She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice; her eyes, brave, bright, and fearless, were fixed on Mrs. Clavering's face.

"Come in here and let us talk, dear," said Mrs. Clavering.

"I can't," said Kitty; "it is too bad."

"What is too bad, dear?"

"The pain here." She pressed her hand against her heart.

"Poor child! you love him very much."

"Very much," answered Kitty, "and the pain is too bad, and – and I can't talk now. I'll just go back to the other girls in the cherry orchard."

"But, Kitty, can you bear to be with them just now?"

"I can't be alone," said Kitty, with a little piteous smile. She ran out again into the summer sunshine. Mrs. Clavering stood and watched her.

"Poor little girl," she said to herself, "and she does not know the worst, nor half the worst, for I had a long letter from Major Sharston this morning, and he told me that not only was he obliged to go to India, but that he had lost so large a sum of money that he could not afford to keep Kitty here after this term. She is to go to Scotland to live with an old cousin; she must give up all chance of being properly educated. Poor little Kitty! I wonder if he mentioned that in the telegram, and she is so proud, too, and has so much character; it is a sad, sad pity."

Meanwhile Kitty once more returned through the orchard. She began to sing a gay song to herself. She had a very sweet voice, and was carolling wild notes now high up in the air – "Begone, dull care; you and I shall never agree."

The girls sitting under the finest of the cherry trees heard her as she sang.

"There can't be much wrong with her," said Mary Bateman, with a sigh of relief. "Hullo, Kitty, no bad news, I hope?"

"There is bad news, but I can't talk of it now," said Kitty. "Come, what shall we do? We need not stay under the trees any longer surely, need we? Let's have a right good game – blind man's buff, or shall we play hare and hounds."

"Oh, it's much too hot for hare and hounds," said Edith King.

"Well, let's do something," said Kitty; "we all ought to be very happy on a half-holiday, and I don't mean to be miserable. Now, then, start something. I'll go and hide. Now, who will begin?"

Kitty laughed merrily; she glanced from one to the other of the girls, saw that their eyes were shining with a queer mixture of curiosity and sympathy, and felt that she would do anything in the world rather than gratify them.

"After all," she said to herself, as she ran wildly across the cheery orchard, "poor old Tommy and I will have our holidays together, for at the very best, even if father has not lost that money, I will have to stay here during the holidays. Oh, father! oh, father! how am I to live without you? Oh, father, dear, this is too cruel! I know, I am certain you have lost the money, or you would not be going to India away from your own, own Kitty."

She crushed down a sob, reached a little summer-house, into which she turned, pulled down some tarpaulin to cover her, and, crouching in the corner, lay still, her heart beating wildly.

"Begone, dull care," she whispered stoutly under her breath; and then she added, with a sob in her voice, "whatever happens, I won't give in."

That evening was a time of great excitement in the school, for the programme for the Cherry Feast was to be publicly announced, and the girls felt that there was further news in the air.

Immediately after early tea, between five and six o'clock, Mrs. Clavering called Kitty into the oak parlor.

"My dear," she said, "I want to have a talk with you."

Some of the wild light had gone out of Kitty's eyes by this time, and the flush had left her cheeks, leaving them somewhat pale.

"Yes, Mrs. Clavering," she said; "what is it?"

"I want you, my dear little girl, not to keep all your troubles to yourself."

"But what am I to do?" said Kitty, standing first on one leg and then on the other.

"Hold yourself upright in the first place, dear. After all, the laws of deportment ought to be attended to, whatever one's trouble."

Kitty gave an impatient sigh.

"There you are," she exclaimed, "that's what makes you so very queer; that's what makes it almost impossible for me to bear the restraint of school. When – when your heart is almost breaking, what does it matter how you stand?"

"My dear child, you will find in the events of life that it greatly matters to learn self-control."

"I have self-control," said Kitty, with a quiver in her lips.

"Well, dear, I hope you will prove it, for I fear, I greatly fear, that you are about to have a bad time."

"Oh, I am having a bad time," said Kitty; "don't you suppose that I am not suffering. I am suffering horribly, but I won't let anybody know – that is, if I can help it. I am not going to damp the pleasure of the others; you know that father is going, and I am his only child. He is coming just once to say good-bye to me; yes, he promises me that even in the telegram. He will come in about a fortnight from now, just a week before the Cherry Feast. Oh, I am miserable, I am miserable!"

All of a sudden the poor child's composure gave way, she covered her face with her trembling hands, and burst into a great flood of weeping.

A look of relief crossed Mrs. Clavering's face.

"Now she will be better," she said to herself; "she will understand what I have to say to her better. Shall I say it to her now or shall I wait until the morning? It is very hard; perhaps she had better know all at once."

So Mrs. Clavering led the weeping girl to the nearest sofa, and presently she stole her arm round her waist, and coaxed her to lay her head on her shoulder, and by and by she kissed the tired, flushed little face.

Kitty, who had the most loving heart in the world, returned her embrace, and nestled close to her, and felt in spite of herself a little better than she had done before.

"I know it is very bad, dear," said Mrs. Clavering, "but we can talk about it now if you like."

"I don't know that there is anything to say," said Kitty; "he would not have gone but for – "

"But for what, my child!"

"But for that dreadful money. He was very anxious when he sent me here. Oh, perhaps, I ought not to say anything about it."

"I think you may, Kitty, for I know, dear. I had a long letter from your father this morning. He told me then news which I considered very sad. You know, my love, that this is an expensive school. All the girls who come here pay well; most of the girls who are here have rich fathers and mothers."

"Oh, I know that," interrupted Kitty; "and how I hate rich fathers and mothers! Why should only rich people have nice things?"

"Then you do like this school, don't you, my love?"

"As much as I could like any place away from father; but what did he say this morning, Mrs. Clavering?" Kitty started restlessly and faced her governess as she spoke.

"He said, dear, that he must go to India because he had lost a very large sum of money. He said he would send you a telegram as soon as he had made arrangements, as there was no good troubling you before. He thought it best you should know by telegram, as the sight of the telegram itself would slightly prepare you for the bad news. But, my dear little Kitty, in some ways there is worse to follow, for your father cannot afford to pay my fees, and you must leave Cherry Court School at the end of this term."

Kitty sat silent. This last news, very bad in itself, scarcely affected her at first. It seemed a mere nothing compared to the parting from her beloved father.

"Yes," she said at last, in a listless voice, "I must leave here."

"I will keep you with me, darling, until the end of the vacation." Kitty gave a perceptible shudder. "I am going to the seaside with Florence Aylmer, and you shall come with us. I will try and give you as good a time, dear little Kitty, as ever I can, but it would not be fair to the other girls to keep you here for nothing."

"No, of course it would not be fair," said Kitty. "And where am I to go," she added, after a very long pause, "when the vacation is over, when the girls come back here again at the end of August?"

"Then, my dear child, I greatly fear you will have to go and stay with your father's cousin, Miss Dartmoor, in Argyleshire."

"Helen Dartmoor!" said Kitty, suddenly springing to her feet, "father's cousin, Helen Dartmoor! She came to stay with us for a month after mother died, and if there is a person in the whole world whom I loathed it was her. No, I won't go to her; I'll write and tell father I can't – I won't; it shan't be. Nothing would induce me to live with her. Oh, Mrs. Clavering, you don't know what she is, and she – why, she doesn't speak decent English, and she knows scarcely anything. How am I to be educated, Mrs. Clavering? I could not do it."

"There is a school not far from Miss Dartmoor's; of course, not a school like this, but a school where you can be taught some things, my poor child."

"I won't go to Helen Dartmoor – I won't!" said Kitty, in a passionate voice.

"I fear there is no help for it, my love; but when you see your father he will tell you all about it. I wish with all my heart, I could keep you here, but I greatly fear there is no help for it."

"And is that all you have to say?" said Kitty, rising slowly as she spoke.

"Yes, dear, all for the present."

"Then I am a very miserable girl. I'll go away to my room for a little. I may, may I not?"

"On this occasion you may, although you know it is the rule that none of the girls go to their dormitories during the daytime."

Kitty left the room, walking very slowly. She had scarcely done so before a loud ring, followed by a rat-tat on the knocker of the front door, was heard through the house.

A moment later the door of Mrs. Clavering's oak parlor was flung open, and Sir John Wallis entered the room.

Sir John Wallis was the great man in the neighborhood.

He was the owner of Cherry Court School, renting the house and beautiful grounds to Mrs. Clavering year by year. He was an unmarried man, and took a great interest in the school. He was a very benevolent, kindly person, and Mrs. Clavering and he were the closest friends.

"Ah, my dear madam," he said, bowing now in his somewhat old-fashioned way, and then extending his hand to the good lady, "I am so glad to see you at home. How are you and how are the girls?"

"Oh, very well, Sir John."

"But you look a little bit worried; what is wrong?"

"Well, the fact is, one of my girls, Kitty Sharston – "

"That pretty, queer-looking half-wild girl whom I saw in church on Sunday?"

"The same; she is the daughter of Major Sharston, a very estimable man."

"Sharston, Sharston, I should think he is. Why, he is an old brother officer of mine; we served together in the time of the Crimea. Anything wrong with Sharston! What's up, my dear madam, what is up!"

"Well, it's just this," said Mrs. Clavering. "Major Sharston has lost a lot of money, and is obliged to take an appointment in India, and he cannot afford to leave poor Kitty at the school longer than till the end of term. I intend to have her as my guest during the holidays, but afterwards she must go to an old cousin in Scotland, and the poor child has little chance of ever being very well educated. She is very much shaken by the blow."

"But this is fearful," said Sir John, "fearful! What can we do?"

"Nothing, I am afraid," said Mrs. Clavering. "Nothing would offend Major Sharston more than for his daughter to accept charity in any form. He is a very proud man, and Kitty, when all is said and done, although very wild and needing a lot of training, has got a spirit of her own. She will be a fine girl by and by."

"And a beautiful one to boot," interrupted Sir John. "Well, this is terrible; what can we do?"

"Nothing," repeated Mrs. Clavering again.

Sir John looked very thoughtful.

"Is it to-night," he said, "you announce your programme for the Cherry Feast?"

"Yes," answered the good lady.

"Then I have a crow to pluck with you; you never sent me notice to attend."

"I did not, for I thought you would be away, but will you come in this evening, Sir John, we shall all be delighted to see you?"

Sir John considered for a moment.

"I will," he said, "and you know I always offer a prize of my own, which is to be given at the Cherry Feast. Now, why should not we on this occasion offer a prize which Kitty Sharston runs a chance of winning, and which would save her from leaving Cherry Court School?"

Mrs. Clavering shook her head.

Sir John bent forward and began to speak eagerly.

"Now, come," he said, "I think I can manage it. Could it not be done in this way?" He spoke in a low tone, and Mrs. Clavering bent her head to listen.

"But, even if you did offer such a prize," she said, "which in itself would be very valuable, what chance has Kitty of winning it? She is not particularly forward in any of her studies, and then the girls who did not want it would get it."

"I am persuaded that Kitty has plenty of ability," said Sir John.

"I quite agree with you, and to work for such a prize would be an immense stimulus; but then, you know, the feast comes on so soon, and there are only three weeks in which to prepare."

"We can manage it by means of a sort of preliminary canter," said the baronet, in a musing tone; "I am sure we can work the thing up. Now, let us put our heads together and get some idea into shape before to-night. That child must be saved; her father's feelings must be respected. She must stay here and be under your wing, and I will go and have a chat with Sharston and see if I cannot make life endurable to the poor little girl, even though he is away in India."

"Well, it is very nice your being a friend of Major Sharston's. If you will stay here for about half an hour while I am attending to something else, I will come back and we will see what scheme we can draw up."

"Good," said Sir John, "and don't hurry back, for I am going to put on my considering-cap. This thing must be managed by hook or by crook."