For the Sake of the School | Page 2

misty, rose shouldering one
another till they merged into the white nebulous region of the
cloud-flecked sky. Those lucky ones who had secured window seats on
the river side of the carriage were loud in their acclamations of
satisfaction as familiar objects in the landscape came into sight.
"There's Cwm Dinas. I wish they could float a big Union Jack on the
summit."
"It would be a landmark all right."
"Oh, the flag's up at Plas Cafn!"
"We'll have one at school this term?"
"Oh, I say! Move a scrap," pleaded Ulyth Stanton plaintively. "We only
get fields and woods on our side. I can't see anything at all for your
heads. You might move. What selfish pigs you are! Well, I don't care;
I'm going to talk."
"You have been talking already. You've never stopped, in fact,"
remarked Beth Broadway, proffering a swiftly disappearing packet of
pear drops with a generosity born of the knowledge that all sweets
would be confiscated on arrival at The Woodlands.
"I know I have, but that was merely by the way. It wasn't anything very
particular, and I've got something I want to tell you--something
fearfully important. Absolutely super! D'you know, she's actually
coming to school. Isn't it great? She's to be my room-mate. I'm just wild
to see her. I hope her ship won't be stopped by storms."
"By the Muses, whom are you talking about?"
"'She' means the cat," sniggered Gertrude Oliver.

"Why! can't you guess? What stupids you are! It's Rona, of
course--Rona Mitchell from New Zealand."
"You're ragging!"
"It's a fact. It is indeed!"
The incredulity on the countenances of her companions having yielded
to an expression of interest, Ulyth continued her information with
increased zest, and a conscious though would-be nonchalant air of
importance.
"Her father wants her to go to school in England, so he decided to send
her to The Woodlands, so that she might be with me!"
"Do you mean that girl you were so very proud of corresponding with?
I forget how the whole business began," broke in Stephanie Radford.
"Don't you remember? It was through a magazine we take. The editor
arranged for readers of the magazine in England to exchange letters
with other readers overseas. He gave me Rona. We've been writing to
each other every month for two years."
"I had an Australian, but she wouldn't write regularly, so we dropped
it," volunteered Beth Broadway. "I believe Gertrude had somebody
too."
"Yes, a girl in Canada. I never got farther than one short letter and a
picture post card, though. I do so loathe writing," sighed Gertrude.
"Ulyth's the only one who's kept the thing up."
"And do you mean to say this New Zealander's actually coming to our
school?" asked Stephanie.
"That's the joysome gist of my remarks! I can't tell you how I'm pining
and yearning to see her. She seems like a girl out of a story. To think of
it! Rona Mitchell at school with us!"
"Suppose you don't like her?"

"Oh, I'm certain I shall! She's written me the jolliest, loveliest, funniest
letters! I feel I know her already. We shall be the very best of friends.
Her father has a huge farm of I can't tell you how many miles, and she
has two horses of her own, and fords rivers when she's out riding."
"When's she to arrive?"
"Probably to-morrow. She's travelling by the King George, and coming
up straight from London to school directly she lands. I hope she's got to
England safely. She must have left home ever such a long time ago.
How fearfully exciting for her to----"
But here Ulyth's reflections were brought to an abrupt close, for the
train was approaching Glanafon Ferry, and her comrades, busily
collecting their various handbags, would lend no further ear to her
remarks.
The little wayside station, erstwhile the quietest and sleepiest on the
line, was soon overflowing with girls and their belongings. Miss
Moseley flitted up and down the platform, marshalling her charges like
a faithful collie, the one porter did his slow best, and after a few
agitated returns to the compartments for forgotten articles, everything
was successfully collected, and the train went steaming away down the
valley in the direction of Craigwen. It seemed to take the last link of
civilization with it, and to leave only the pure, unsullied country behind.
The girls crossed the line and walked through the white station gate
with pleased anticipation writ large on their faces. It was the cult at The
Woodlands to idolize nature and the picturesque, and they had reached
a part of their journey which was a particular source of pride to the
school.
Any admirer of scenery would have been struck with the lovely and
romantic view which burst upon the