Tom and Some Other Girls: A Public School StoryVaizey, George de Horne, Mrs.
History
Tom and Some Other Girls: A Public School Story
Vaizey, George de Horne, Mrs.
Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
"Yes! Like Miss Mott, for instance. What then?" Rhoda stood still in
the middle of her tirade, and stared at the speaker with startled eyes.
_Miss Mott_! No, indeed, she had meant nobody in the least like Miss
Mott. The very mention of the name was like a cold douche on her
enthusiasm. The creature of her dream was gowned and capped, and moved
radiant through an atmosphere of applause. Miss Mott was a commonplace,
hard-working teacher, with an air of chronic exhaustion. When one
looked across the dining-room, and saw her face among those of the
girls, it looked bleached and grey, the face of a tired, worn woman.
"The idea of working and slaving all one's youth to be like--Miss Mott!"
Rhoda exclaimed contemptuously, but Miss Everett insisted on her
position.
"Miss Mott is a capital example. You could not have a better. She was
the first student of her year, and carried everything before her. Her
position here is one of the best of its kind, for she is practically
headmistress. She would tell you herself that she never expected to do
so well."
"I think it's very mean of you, Evie, to squash me so! It's most
discouraging. I don't want to be the _least_ like Miss Mott, and you
know it perfectly well. It's no use talking, for we can't agree; and
really and truly you are the most unsympathetic to me just now."
Miss Everett looked at her steadily, with a long, tender gaze.
"I _seem_ so, Rhoda, I know I do, but it is only seeming. In reality
I'm just longing to help you, but, as you say, you think one thing and I
think another, so we are at cross purposes. Come and spend Sunday
afternoon with me in my den, dear, and I'll promise not to preach. I'll
make you so comfy, and show you all my photographs and pretty things,
and lay in a stock of fruit and cakes. Do; it will do you good!"
But Rhoda hesitated, longing, yet fearing.
"I'd love it; it would be splendid, but--there's my Scripture! I want
to cram it up a little more, and Sunday afternoon is the only chance.
I'm afraid I can't until after the exam., Evie, dear. I need the time."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account