Page 60 - An Australian Lassie

This morning she arrived at school flushed and hot, before either Cyril or Nancy, and she began at once to
explore the playground for John Brown the artist. Two little lines of boys and girls were playing a sober game
of French and English away under the gum trees, and Betty ran her eyes along the lines--but no John Brown
was there.

Two boys were skirmishing just behind the cloak-room, but neither of them was John Brown. Five were
playing "leap frog," but John Brown was not there. One sat on the doorstep learning a lesson, but that was
only Artie Jones.

Then a motley crowd of boys and girls came trailing in at the gate, and the bell began to ring.

Betty drew into the shadow of the new wing, the "Babies' Wing," and scanned the new arrivals eagerly.

Fat Nellie Underwood gave her a bunch of jonquils and fell into line to march into the schoolroom. Minute
Hetty Ferguson begged to be allowed to do her hair in the dinner-hour. "Please, Betty dear," she urged. But
Betty was looking for John and did not heed.

Cyril was there and grumbling. He was pushing a boy who had pushed him, and pressing his lips together as
he pushed, when, all at once, he saw Betty, and left the field to the other boy.

"You're going to catch it, Betty Bruce!" he whispered. "You'll just see! T'm going to tell of you when T go
home. Teach you to sneak off to school by yourself."

But Betty's eyes were looking past Cyril, looking for a squarely built figure in grey.

Cyril drew nearer. "You never washed up the porridge plates," he said. "T found them in the dresser cupboard.
An' the knives an' forks. An' baby's basin. T'll tell of you."

Then he fell into line and carried his fair pretty face into the schoolroom, where Miss Sharman patted his
cheeks when he went to present a little bunch of Czar violets to her.

Miss Sharman presided over Class A for grammar upon Mondays and Thursdays, and Cyril, who was but very
weak on adverbs and prepositions, always gave her a sweet-smelling nosegay to begin the day with.

And Miss Sharman had a very tender spot in her heart for pretty Cyril, where she had none for scapegrace
Betty. She had doctored Cyril for bruises, had washed his face in her own room and brushed his wavy hair;
had kissed him, and given him cakes, and acid drops, and bananas. And although these small sweet matters
were just between Miss Sharman and Cyril--their influence might be felt upon grammar days.

Nancy came into school crying--crying noisily. She was rubbing her eyes with one hand, a moist dirty hand,
and leaving her face the worse for the contact.

The master inquired sternly what was the matter, and called her to his side. And Nancy told him sobbingly
that she "fort she was late, an' now she wasn't." And he patted her head so kindly that the little maid lowered
her sobs at once and finally let them die away in an occasional hiccough of sorrow.

Betty came in at last. She had run as far as the store and back again in search of John Brown--and had found
him not. She felt quite certain now that he was away practising his genius upon some wall in the great world.

When she came into the schoolroom her face was red with running and excitement, her hair was rough, and
her bonnet under her arm still, so oblivious was she to the things of this very every-day and commonplace
world.