Page 37 - An Australian Lassie

She discussed "fashion" and "society" with Alma Montague and Nellie Harden, and grew quite familiar with
the names and doings of the great society dames. She even learned--at considerable pains--a "society" tone of
voice with a drawl in it and a little lisp.

School life was a great happiness to her--the regular hours, the beautifully ordered house, the neat table, the
daily constitutional, the morning and evening prayer-time, and the hour in the drawing-room at night,
everything that made life from Monday till Friday.

Tt was Friday till Monday that was the cross, Friday till Monday, the days when the cloven foot would not be
draped, when the elegancies of life were left behind in the city, when the twins and the babies were
everywhere, when the meals were often but suddenly thought of snatches of food.

Sometimes the thought of the looming future--the time when all the days would be as Friday till Monday,
when there would no longer be any school days to be lived by her--would quite break down her placidity, and
make her feel she could put down her head anywhere and cry.

Yet away they were marching, one by one, all the beautiful school-days, all the days of discipline and pleasant
duty, and the ugly slack days, when there would be nothing but home with house-work to do, were drawing
near.

And at last she could bear the thought of it by herself no longer.

Tt was early evening, and she was on the schoolroom verandah, watching the young moon rise over a distant
chimney. Every moment she expected the prayer-bell to ring, and meanwhile, as it was not ringing, she filled
up the time by counting how many more evening prayer-bells would ring before the end of term.

She counted on her fingers, out aloud, and found there were just twenty-nine--twenty-nine without Fridays,
Saturdays, or Sundays. Twenty-nine days, and then came the end of term, and the end of her school-days.

Tt would then be Betty's turn--larrikin Betty's! The moon sailed over the chimney, and Dot put her head down
on the verandah railing and began to cry. She did not cry in the vigorous whole-hearted way in which Betty
cried, but she sighed heavily, and sobbed gently, and allowed two or three tears to run down her cheek before
she brought out her dainty handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

And at that precise moment Mona was crossing the schoolroom floor, and she saw her darling Thea in tears!
She was not given to light impulsive movements at all, but this time she really did spring forward and kneel at
Dot's side.

"Dear, darling Thea!" she whispered, "what is the matter? Miss Cowdell has been bullying you for the silly
old French? That's it, isn't it dear?"

"Oh, no!" said Dot hopelessly, "nothing half as small as that."

"You've lost the new sleeve-links Alma gave you? Never mind--there are plenty more. Not that? What then?
Tell your own Mona--tell your own old Mona."

Two more tears ran down Dot's cheeks.

"Tt's--it's nearly the end of term," she said.

Mona nodded.