Chapter XV: Part II

Determined to save his lady love from so terrible a fate, Sir
Brian de Fotheringay collected all his retainers, together with
a band of outlaws to whom he had rendered some services, and who
had promised to assist him in time of need. Uttering his
warcry, they rushed at the Castle, the portcullis gave way
before their furious attack, and the archers were slain at their
posts.

'Yield thee, Sir Guy de Montmorency!' cried Sir Brian, waving
his invincible sword.

'Never!' shouted the Baron, but it was his last word, for Sir
Brian stabbed him to the heart.

He had soon forced open the dungeon and released the beautiful
Lady Guinevere. The Castle was now hers, so they were married
without delay, and the King and Queen themselves came to the
wedding."

"It's perfectly splendid!" cried the girls, when Marian had finished reading. "Nina, how did you manage to think of it?"

"Oh, I don't know; it just came!" said Nina, modestly. "I'm rather fond of making up tales."

"There's only one thing," said Connie. "Wasn't the lady rather sorry when her father was stabbed to the heart, even if he had shut her up in a dungeon? I should be."

"I don't think people minded in the Middle Ages," said Nina. "You see, somebody had to get killed, and she liked the knight best."

"But her own father!" objected Connie.

"I'm going to read the next one now," said Marian, who, as President, felt bound to keep the peace. "I think Nina's story's very good, and makes a capital beginning. This one seems much shorter. It's called:

MOST HASTE, LEAST SPEED

By GWENDOLEN WOODHOUSE

Matilda Jane was a girl who was always in a hurry. One day her
grandmother told her to take the bucket and fetch some water
from the well, but to be sure to tie her boot lace first. Now
Matilda Jane wanted to be very quick, so that she might go and
play, and she did not stop to tie her boot lace. As she ran out
of the door, she tripped over it and fell. The bucket rolled
from her hand and hit the dog; the dog howled and made the geese
cackle; the geese cackling made the pigs grunt; the pigs
grunting frightened the hens into the field; the hens frightened
the cow, which began to run; when the horse saw the cow running,
it ran too, and they both jumped over the hedge into the road;
then the hens flew after the horse and the cow, and the pigs
went after the hens, and the geese followed the pigs, and the
dog chased the geese, and it took Matilda Jane and her
grandmother the whole afternoon to drive them back, and all
because she had been in too great a hurry to tie her boot lace.
The moral of this tale is 'Most haste, least speed!'"

The girls laughed.

"I don't generally like stories with a moral," said Brenda, "but I don't mind this one at any rate. Go on, Marian!"

"The next is a piece of poetry," said Marian.

THE KITTENS' CHORUS

By SYLVIA LINDSAY

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch mice, we do, we do!
But our mother, the old white cat,
Says we are rather too young for that.

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch flies, we do, we do!
But our mother says that if we do it
We'll grow so thin that we soon shall rue it!

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch mother's tail we do!
But she says she is not such a common cat
As to let her kits be so pert as that.

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to be good, we do, we do!
But that's much harder to do than to say,
So we'll think about that another day.

The poem proved so popular that Marian had to read it over again. It was the first time that the class had heard any of Sylvia's effusions, and they were quite impressed.

"I'm afraid mine will seem very stupid after it," said Brenda. "I couldn't think of anything to write, but I was obliged to put something."

"The title sounds interesting," said Marian.

MY VISIT TO FRANCE

By BRENDA G. PRESTBURY

Last summer Mother took Hazel and me with her to France, to
visit Aunt Cecily, who was staying near Rouen. The first thing
we saw was a funny old woman in a big white cap, like a large
poke bonnet, and wooden shoes on her feet. The porters all wore
baggy blue blouses something like pinafores. We were obliged to
go through the Customs. A man in a uniform was looking to see if
anybody had brought any tea. He took a little girl's doll away
from her, and felt it to see if it had any tea inside it; then
he took a lady's cushion, and because she got angry, he stuck
his sword through it, and all the feathers came out over his
grand coat. We were so glad! There were no carpets in the house
where Aunt Cecily was living; the floors were of polished wood,
and so slippery. Jean, the servant, used to rub them with
beeswax every morning, but he was very cross in French when
Hazel and I made slides on them. We used to have coffee and
lovely little rolls at seven in the morning, and then proper
breakfast at eleven, and we had quite different things to eat
from what you get in England. One day Hazel and I went such a
long walk that we got lost, and we couldn't remember enough
French to ask our way home. A woman came along with a donkey
and two big baskets on it, and when she saw us crying she gave
us each an apple, and took us to the cure of the village, who
could speak English. He was very kind; he showed us round his
garden, and then he borrowed a cart from the farmer, and drove
us home to Aunt Cecily's. This is all I can tell you about my
visit to France.

"I know it's horrid!" said Brenda. "But I really can't write well, and make up tales like Nina. I don't know how she does it!"

"It's jolly!" said Marian. "We've none of us been to France, so we like to hear about it. I wish you had written more. The next one's very short indeed.

THE LADY AND THE SNAKE

By JESSIE ELLIS

A lady who lived in Australia one day put a great log of wood on
to the fire. In a little while she was going to poke it, and she
stooped to pick up what she thought was the poker, but it was
really a horrible black snake, which coiled at once round her
arm. She had the presence of mind not to move, but remained very
still, and in a few moments it slid down on to the ground. A
gentleman who was in the room killed it, and taking the log from
the fire he carried it into the yard, where seven more snakes
dropped out of it. The wood was hollow, and they had made a nest
inside it, and gone to sleep, and the warmth of the fire had
wakened them up."

"It's quite true," said Jessie. "The lady was my aunt. She told us about it in a letter."

"What a horrid thing to happen!" cried the girls.

"A nice tale, but too short," commented the President. "I'm afraid Linda hasn't written a long one either.

THE STORY OF A DOG

By LINDA ACTON MARSHALL

I have a little dog called Scamp, that follows me wherever I go.
He can sit up and beg, and catch biscuits on his nose, and do
all kinds of tricks. One day I was in bed with a bad cold, and
Scamp came upstairs to my room. I told him I was ill, and he
gave a sharp bark, and ran out. I could hear him trot up to the
attic, and soon he returned with a biscuit in his mouth, and
laid it on my pillow, wagging his tail, and looking very sorry
for me, and very pleased at himself. He must have kept a store
of biscuits in the attic. I think he is just the cleverest
little dog in the world."

"My tale's true, too," said Linda. "No, I didn't make it up, Nina; he really did. There are only two stories left now, Connie's and Marian's. I wonder which comes next."

"Connie's," said Marian. "And it's in poetry, too. It's called:

THE S.S.L.U.

By CONSTANCE MARY CAMDEN

Said the girls of the third class 'All we
A Secret Society will be.
Though the second may hover
Our words to discover,
It's nothing they'll hear or they'll see.

They may listen at doors in the hall,
Or round by the keyhole may crawl,
They may search through the schools,
But they won't find our rules,
And they'll never know nothing at all'."

The girls clapped, both at the sentiments expressed, and at the poetical setting.

"I know they'd listen if they could," said Connie. "They're mean enough for anything. What's that noise?"

"Why, nothing."

"I thought I heard a kind of snorting."

"I expect it was only my cold," said Nina. "Do go on, Marian; we want your story."

"But I did hear something," persisted Connie. "I believe it was outside the door, too, and I'm going to look."

She rose hastily, and, creeping softly to the door, opened it suddenly, disclosing the laughing faces of half a dozen of the second class, who had been taking it in turns to listen at the keyhole, and who jumped up in a hurry and fled from the outburst of wrath which greeted them.

"Oh! Oh!" shouted Sybil Lake. "Won't they hear or see anything? Don't make too sure!"

"I have a little dog that swallows me wherever I go!" called Eileen Butler. "I think he's just the cleverest little dog in the world!"

"The slugs are crawling fast!" cried Lucy Martin. The injured third had risen in a body and pursued the intruders along the passage even to the door of their own sitting-room; but, seeing Miss Barrett coming downstairs, they did not dare to carry the fight into the enemy's camp, and were obliged to return to the playroom, and hold an indignation meeting over the glasses of milk and biscuits which arrived at that moment for supper.

"We must read Marian's story to-morrow," said Sylvia. "Wasn't it horrid of them? I wonder how much they really heard? Next time we shall have to stuff up the keyhole, and keep opening the door every few minutes to see that the coast is clear. There's one good thing: they didn't discover our signs, or the password, and they'll have hard work to find the rules, because the book's hidden under the oilcloth in the corner by the piano; only be sure and don't let the little ones know, because I don't believe there's one of them that can keep a secret!"