Chapter 7. Scotch Heather

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_ CHAPTER VII. SCOTCH HEATHER

Betty was true to her word. After school that day, Margaret Grant and Olive Repton came up to her and asked her in a very pretty manner if she would become a member of their Speciality Club.

"Of course," said Margaret, "you don't know anything about us or our rules at present; but we think we should like you to join, so we are here now to invite you to come to our next meeting, which will take place on Thursday of next week, at eight o'clock precisely, in my bedroom."

"I don't know where your bedroom is," said Betty.

"But I know where yours is!" exclaimed Olive; "so I will fetch you, Betty, and bring you to Margaret's room. Oh, I am sure you will enjoy it--we have such fun! Sometimes we give quite big entertainments--that is, when we invite the other girls, which we do once or twice during the term. By the way, that reminds me that you will be most useful in that respect, for you and your sisters have the largest bedroom in the house. You will, of course, lend us your room when your turn comes; but that is a long way off."

"I am so glad you are coming!" said Margaret. "You are the sort of girl we want in our club. And now, please, tell me about your life in Scotland."

"I will with pleasure," replied Betty. She looked full up into Margaret's face as she spoke.

Margaret was older than Betty, and taller; and there was something about her which commanded universal respect.

"I don't mind telling you," said Betty--"nor you," she added as Olive's dancing blue eyes met hers; "for a kind of intuition tells me that you would both love my wild moors and my beautiful heather. Oh, I say, do come, both of you, and see our three little plots of garden! There's Sylvia's plot, and Hester's, and mine; and we have a plant of heather, straight from Craigie Muir, in the midst of each. Our gardens are quite bare except for that tiny plant. Do, _do_ come and see it!"

Margaret laughed.

Olive said, "Oh, what fun!" and the three began to walk quickly under the trees in the direction of the Vivians' gardens.

As they passed under the great oak-trees Betty looked up, and her eyes danced with fun. "Are you good at climbing trees?" she asked of Margaret.

"I used to be when I was very, very young; but those days are over."

"There are a few very little girls in the lower school who still climb one of the safest trees," remarked Olive.

Betty's eyes continued to dance. "You give me delightful news," she said. "I am so truly glad none of you do anything so vulgar as to climb trees."

"But why, Betty?" asked Margaret.

"I have my own reasons," replied Betty. "You can't expect me to tell you everything right away, can you?"

"You must please yourself," said Margaret.

Olive looked at Betty in a puzzled manner; and the three girls were silent, only that they quickened their steps, crunching down some broken twigs as they walked.

By-and-by they reached the three bare patches of ground, which were railed in in the simple manner which Mrs. Haddo had indicated, and in the center of which stood the wooden post with the words, "THE VIVIANS' PRIVATE GARDENS," painted on it.

"How very funny!" exclaimed Olive.

"Yes, it is rather funny," remarked Betty. "Did you ever in the whole course of your existence see anything uglier than these three patches of ground? There is nothing whatever planted in them except our darling Scotch heather; and oh, by the way, I don't believe the precious little plants are thriving! They are drooping like anything! Oh dear! oh dear! I think I shall die if they die!" As she spoke she flung herself on the ground, near the path.

"Of course you won't, Betty," said Margaret. "Besides, why should they die? They only want watering."

"I'll run and fetch a canful of water," said Olive, who was extremely good-natured.

Betty made no response. She was still lying on the ground, resting on her elbows, while her hands tenderly touched the faded and drooping bells of the wild heather. She had entered her own special plot. Olive had disappeared to fetch the water, but Margaret still stood by Betty's side.

"Do you think they'll do?" said Betty at last, glancing at her companion.

Margaret noticed that her eyes were full of tears. "I don't think they will," she said after a pause. "But I'll tell you what we must do, Betty: we must get the right sort of soil for them--just the sandy soil they want. We'll go and consult Birchall; he is the oldest gardener in the place, and knows something about everything. For that matter, we are sure to get the sort of sand we require on this piece of waste ground--our 'forest primeval,' as Olive calls it."

"Oh dear!" said Betty, dashing away the tears from her eyes, "you are funny when you talk of a thing like that"--she waved her hand in the direction of the uncultivated land--"as a 'forest primeval.' It is the poorest, shabbiest bit of waste land I ever saw in my life."

"Let's walk across it," said Margaret. "Olive can't be back for a minute or two."

"Why should we walk across it?"

"I want to show you where some heather grows. It is certainly not rich, nor deep in color, nor beautiful, like yours; but it has grown in that particular spot for two or three years. I am quite sure that Birchall will say that the soil round that heather is the right sort of earth to plant your Scotch heather in."

"Well, come, and let's be very quick," said Betty.

The girls walked across the bit of common. Margaret pointed out the heather, which was certainly scanty and poor.

Betty looked at it with scorn. "I think," she said after a pause, "I don't want to consult Birchall." Then she added after another pause, "I think, on the whole, I'd much rather have no heather than plants like those. You are very kind, Margaret; but there are some things that can't be transplanted, just as there are some hearts--that break--yes, break--if you take them from home. That poor heather--once, doubtless, it was very flourishing; it is evidently dying now of a sort of consumption. Let's come back to our plots of ground, please, Margaret."

They did so, and were there greeted by Olive, who had a large can of cold water standing by her side, and was eagerly talking to Sylvia and Hester. Betty marched first into the center plot of ground.

"I've got lots of water," said Olive in a cheerful tone, "so we'll do the watering at once. Sylvia and Hester say that they must have a third each of this canful; but of course we can get a second can if we want it."

"No!" said Betty.

Sylvia, who was gazing with lack-lustre eyes at the fading heather, now started and looked full at her sister. Hester, who always clung to Sylvia in moments of emotion, caught her sister's hand and held it very tight.

"No," said Betty again; "I have made a discovery. Scotch heather does not grow here in this airless sort of place. Sylvia and Hester, Margaret was good enough to show me what she calls heather. There are a few straggling plants just at the other side of that bit of common. I don't want ours to die slowly. Our plants shall go at once. No, we don't water them. Sylvia, go into your garden and pull up the plant; and, Hester, you do likewise Go, girls; go at once!"

"But, Betty----" said Margaret.

"You had better not cross her now," said Sylvia.

Margaret started when Sylvia addressed her in this tone.

Betty's face was painfully white, except where two spots of color blazed in each cheek. As her sisters stooped obediently to pull up their heather, Betty bent and wrenched hers from the ground by which it was surrounded, which ground was already dry and hard. "Let's make a bonfire," she said. "I sometimes think," she added, "that in each little bell of heather there lives the wee-est of all the fairies; and perhaps, if we burn this poor, dear thing, the little, wee fairies may go back to their ain countree."

"It all seems quite dreadful to me," said Margaret.

"It is right," replied Betty; "and I have a box of matches in my pocket."

"Oh, have you?" exclaimed Olive. "If--if Mrs. Haddo knew----"

But Betty made no response. She set her sisters to collect some dry leaves and bits of broken twigs; and presently the bonfire was erected and kindled, and the poor heather from the north country had ceased to exist.

"Now, you must see _our_ gardens," said Margaret, "for you must have gardens, you know. Olive and I will show you the sort of things that grow in the south, that flourish here, and look beautiful."

"I cannot see them now," replied Betty. She brushed past Margaret, and walked rapidly across the common.

Sylvia's face turned very white, and she clutched Hetty's hand still more tightly.

"What is she going to do? What is the matter?" said Margaret, turning to the twins.

"She can't help it," said Sylvia; "she must do it. She is going to howl."

"To do what?" said Margaret Grant.

"Howl. Did you never howl? Well, perhaps you never did. Anyhow, she must get away as far as possible before she begins, and we had better go back to the house. You wouldn't like the sound of Betty's howling."

"But are you going to let her howl, as you call it, alone?"

"Let her? We have no voice in the matter," replied Hester. "Betty always does exactly what she likes. Let's go quickly; let's get away. It's the best thing she can do. She's been keeping in that howling-fit for over a week, and it must find vent. She'll be all right when you see her next. But don't, on any account, ever again mention the heather that we brought from Craigie Muir. She may get over its death some day, but not yet."

"Your sister is a very strange girl," said Margaret.

"Every one says that," replied Sylvia. "Don't they, Het?"

"Yes; we're quite tired of hearing it," said Hetty. "But do let's come quickly. Which is the farthest-off part of the grounds--the place where we are quite certain not to hear?"

"You make me feel almost nervous," said Margaret. "But come along, if you wish to."

The four girls walked rapidly. At last they found a little summer-house which was built high up on the very top of a rising mound. From here you could get a good view of the surrounding country; and very beautiful it was--at least, for those whose eyes were trained to observe the rich beauty of cultivated land, of flowing rivers, of forests, of carefully kept trees. Very lonely indeed was the scene from Haddo Court summer-house; for, in addition to every scrap of land being made to yield its abundance, there were pretty cottages dotted here and there--each cottage possessing its own gay flower-garden, and, in most cases, its own happy little band of pretty boys and girls.

As soon as the four girls found themselves in the summer-house, Margaret began to praise the view to Sylvia.

Sylvia looked round to right and to left. "_We_ don't admire that sort of thing," she said. "Do we, Hetty?"

Hetty shook her head with vehemence. "Oh no, no," she said. Then, coming a little closer to Margaret, she looked into her face and continued, "Are you the sort of kind girl who will keep a secret?"

Margaret thought of the Speciality Club. But surely this poor little secret belonging solely to the Vivians need not be related to any one who was not in sympathy with them. "I never tell tales, if that is what you mean," she said.

"Then that is all right," remarked Sylvia. "And are you the same sort of girl, Olive? You look very kind."

"It wouldn't be hard to be kind to one like you," was Olive's response.

Whereupon Sylvia smiled, and Hetty came close to Olive and looked into her face.

"Then we want you," continued Sylvia, "never, never to tell about the burnt sacrifice of the Scotch heather, nor about the flight of the fairies back to Scotland. It tortured Betty to have to do it; but she thought it right, therefore it was done. There are some people, however, who would not understand her; and we would much rather be able to tell our own Betty that you will never speak of it, when she has come back to herself and has got over her howling."

"Of course we'll never tell," said Olive; and Margaret nodded her head without speaking.

"I think you are just awfully nice," said Sylvia. "We were so terrified when we came to this school. We thought we'd have an awful time. We still speak of it as a prison, you know. Do you speak of it to your dearest friend as a prison?"

"Prison!" said Margaret. "There isn't a place in the world I love as I love Haddo Court."

"Then you never, never lived in a dear little gray stone house on a wild Scotch moor; and you never had a man like Donald Macfarlane to talk to, nor a woman like Jean Macfarlane to make scones for you; and you never had dogs like our dogs up there, nor a horse like David. I pity you from my heart!"

"I never had any of those things," said Margaret; "but I shall like to hear about them from you."

"And so shall I like to hear about them," said Olive.

"We will tell you, if Betty gives us leave," said one of the twins. "We never do anything without Betty's leave. She is the person we look up to, and obey, and follow. We'd follow her to the world's end; we'd die for her, both of us, if it would do her any good."

Margaret took Sylvia's hand and began to smooth it softly. "I wish," she said then in a slow voice, "that I had friends to love me as you love your sister."

"Perhaps you aren't worthy," said Sylvia. "There is no one living like Betty in all the world, and we feel about her as we do because she is Betty."

"But, all the same," said Hester, frowning as she spoke, "our Betty has got an enemy."

"An enemy, my dear child! What do you mean? You have just been praising her so much! Did any one take a dislike to her up in that north country?"

"It may have begun there," remarked Hetty; "but the sad and dreadful thing is that the enemy is in this house. Sylvia and I don't mind your knowing. We rather think you like her, but we don't. Her name is Fanny Crawford."

"Oh, really, though, that is quite nonsense!" said Margaret, flushing with annoyance. "Poor dear Fanny, there is not a better or sweeter girl in the school!"

Sylvia laughed. "That is your point of view," she said. "She is our enemy; she is not yours. Oh, hurrah! hurrah! I see Betty! She is coming back, walking very slowly. She has got over the worst of the howls. We must both go and meet her. Don't be anywhere about, please, either of you. Keep quite in the shade, so that she won't see you; and the next time you meet talk to her as though this had never happened."

The twins dashed out of sight. They certainly could run very fast.

When they had gone Margaret looked at Olive. "Well," she said, "that sort of scene rather takes one's breath away. What do you think, Olive?"

"It was exceedingly trying," said Olive.

"All the same," said Margaret, "I feel roused up about those girls in the most extraordinary manner. Didn't you notice, too, what Sylvia said about poor Fanny? Isn't it horrid?"

"Of course it isn't true," was Olive's remark.

"We have made up our minds not to speak evil of any one in the school," said Margaret after a pause; "but I cannot help remembering that Fanny did not wish Betty to become a Speciality. And don't you recall how angry she was, and how she would not vote with the 'ayes,' and would not give any reason, and although she was hostess she walked out of the room?"

"It's very uncomfortable altogether," said Olive. "But I don't see that we can do anything."

"Well, perhaps not yet," said Margaret; "but I may as well say at once, Olive, that I mean to take up those girls. Until to-day I was only interested in Betty, but now I am interested in all three; and if I can, without making mischief, I must get to the bottom of what is making poor little Betty so bitter, and what is upsetting the equanimity of our dear old Fan, whom we have always loved so dearly."

Just at that moment Fanny Crawford herself and Susie Rushworth appeared, walking together arm in arm. They saw Margaret and Olive, and came to join them. Susie was in her usual high spirits, and Fanny looked quite calm and collected. There was not even an allusion made to the Vivian girls. Margaret was most thankful, for she certainly did not wish the little episode she had witnessed to reach any one's ears but her own and Olive's. Susie was talking eagerly about a great picnic which Mrs. Haddo had arranged for the following Saturday. The whole school, both upper and lower, were to go. Mr. Fairfax and his wife, most of the teachers, and Mrs. Haddo herself would also accompany the girls. They were all going to a place about twenty miles away; and Mrs. Haddo, who kept two motor-cars of her own, had made arrangements for the hire of several more, so that the party could quickly reach their place of rendezvous and thus have a longer time there to enjoy themselves.

"She does things so well, doesn't she?" said Susie. "There never was her like. Do you know, there was a sort of insurrection in the lower school early this morning, for naughty sprites had whispered that all the small children were to go in ordinary carriages and dogcarts and wagonettes. Then came the news that Mrs. Haddo meant each girl in the school to have an equal share of enjoyment; and, lo and behold! the cloud has vanished, and the little ones are making even merrier than the older girls."

"I wish I felt as amiable as I used to feel," said Fanny at that moment.

"Oh, but, Fan, why don't you?" asked Olive. "You ought to feel more and more amiable every day--that is, if training means anything."

"Training is all very well," answered Fanny, "and you may think you are all right; but when temptation comes----"

"Temptation!" said Margaret. "In my opinion, that is the worst of Haddo Court: we are so shielded, and treated with such extreme kindness, that temptation cannot come."

"Then you wish to be tested, do you, Margaret?" asked Fanny.

Margaret shivered slightly. "Sometimes I do wish it," she said.

"Oh, Margaret dear, don't!" said Olive. "You'll have heaps of troubles in life, for my mother says that no one yet was exempt from them. There never was a woman quite like my darling mother--except, indeed, Mrs. Haddo. Mother has quite peculiar ideas with regard to bringing up girls. She says the aim of her life is to give me a very happy childhood and early youth. She thinks that such a life will make me all the stronger to withstand temptation."

"Let us hope so, anyhow," said Fanny. Then she added, "Don't suppose I am grumbling, although it has been a trial father going away--so very far away--to India. But I think the real temptation comes to us in this way: when we have to meet girls we can't tolerate."

"Now she's going to say something dreadful!" thought Olive to herself.

Margaret rose as though she would put an end to the colloquy.

Fanny was watching Margaret's face. "The girl I am specially thinking of now," she said, "is Sibyl Ray."

"Oh!" said Margaret. She gave a sigh of such undoubted relief that Fanny was certain she had guessed what her first thoughts were.

"And now I will tell you why I don't like Sibyl," Fanny continued. "I have nothing whatever to say against her. I have never heard of her doing anything underhand or what we might call low-down or ill-bred. At the same time, I do dislike Sibyl, just for the simple reason that she is _not_ well-bred, and she never will be."

"Oh! oh, give her her chance--do!" said Olive.

"I am not going to interfere with her," remarked Fanny; "but she can never be a friend of mine. There are some girls who like her very well. There's Martha West, who is constantly with her."

"I am quite sure," said Margaret, "that there isn't a better girl in the school than Martha, and I have serious thoughts of asking her to become a Speciality." As she spoke she fixed her very dark eyes on Fanny's face.

"Do ask her; I shall be delighted," remarked Fanny. "Only, whatever you do, don't ask her friend, Sibyl Ray."

"I have no present intention of doing so. Fanny, I don't want to be nasty; but you are quite right about Sibyl. No one can say a word against her; and yet she just is not well-bred." _

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