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For the Sake of the School By: Angela Brazil (1868-1947) |
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BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
16/18 William IV Street, Charing Cross, LONDON, W.C.2
17 Stanhope Street, GLASGOW BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED
103/5 Fort Street, BOMBAY BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED
TORONTO [Illustration: "I felt I must speak to you" Page 234 Frontispiece ]
FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOOL by Angela Brazil Author of "The School on the Loch"
"The School at the Turrets", &c. With Frontispiece Blackie & Son Limited
London and Glasgow
Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow
TO THE
SCHOOLGIRL READERS
WHO HAVE SENT ME
SUCH NICE LETTERS
Contents CHAP. Page I. THE WOODLANDS 11 II. A FRIEND FROM THE BUSH 24 III. ROUND THE CAMP FIRE 36 IV. A BLACKBERRY FORAY 51 V. ON SUFFERANCE 66 VI. QUITS 76 VII. THE CUCKOO'S PROGRESS 87 VIII. THE "STUNT" 104 IX. A JANUARY PICNIC 117 X. TRESPASSERS BEWARE! 130 XI. RONA RECEIVES NEWS 142 XII. SENTRY DUTY 156 XIII. UNDER CANVAS 170 XIV. SUSANNAH MAUDE 183 XV. A POINT OF HONOUR 194 XVI. AMATEUR CONJURING 208 XVII. A STORM CLOUD 221 XVIII. LIGHT 233 XIX. A SURPRISE 249
FOR THE SAKE OF THE SCHOOL
CHAPTER I The Woodlands
"Are they never going to turn up?" "It's almost four now!" "They'll be left till the six thirty!" "Oh, don't alarm yourself! The valley train always waits for the
express." "It's coming in now!" "Oh, good, so it is!" "Late by twenty minutes exactly!" "Stand back there!" yelled a porter, setting down a box with a slam, and
motioning the excited, fluttering group of girls to a position of
greater safety than the extreme edge of the platform. "Llangarmon
Junction! Change for Glanafon and Graigwen!" Snorting and puffing, as if in agitated apology for the tardiness of its
arrival, the train came steaming into the station, the drag of its
brakes adding yet another item of noise to the prevailing babel.
Intending passengers clutched bags and baskets; fathers of families gave
a last eye to the luggage; mothers grasped children firmly by the hand;
a distracted youth, seeking vainly for his portmanteau, upset a stack of
bicycles with a crash; while above all the din and turmoil rose the
strident, rasping voice of a book stall boy, crying his selection of
papers with ear splitting zeal. From the windows of the in coming express waved seventeen agitated
pocket handkerchiefs, and the signal was answered by a counter display
of cambric from the twenty girls hustled back by an inspector in the
direction of the weighing machine. "There's Helen!" "And Ruth, surely!" "Oh! where's Marjorie?" "There! Can't you see her, with Doris?" "That's Mamie, waving to me!" "What's become of Kathleen?" One moment more, and the neat school hats of the new comers had swelled
the group of similar school hats already collected on the platform;
ecstatic greetings were exchanged, urgent questions asked and hasty
answers given, and items of choice information poured forth with the
utmost volubility of which the English tongue is capable. Urged by brief
directions from a mistress in charge, the chattering crew surged towards
a siding, and made for a particular corridor carriage marked "Reserved".
Here handbags, umbrellas, wraps, and lunch baskets were hastily stowed
away in the racks, and, Miss Moseley having assured herself that not a
single lamb of her flock was left behind, the grinning porter slammed
the doors, the green flag waved, and the local train, long overdue,
started with a jerk for the Craigwen Valley. Past the grey old castle that looked seawards over the estuary, past the
little white town of Llangarmon, with its ancient walls and fortified
gates, past the quay where the fishing smacks were lying idly at anchor
and a pleasure steamer was unloading its human cargo, past the long
stretch of sandy common, where the white tents of the Territorials
evoked an outcry of interest, then up alongside the broad tidal river
towards where the mountains, faint and misty, rose shouldering one
another till they merged into the white nebulous region of the
cloud flecked sky... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Teen/Young adult |
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